"I think you have to shake them," Tony purred in her ear, then snuck a hand around her waist to keep her still for a kiss to her cheek. Her lips were still on his, barely faded and smudged at the corner from a brief attempt at fussing over him that he didn't rebuff quite quickly enough. It was only fair. Tony didn't carry a drink like Wicked, though, but his jacket over his arm, part of him always turned toward the door; what Wicked did with her own gifts was going to have to be alone, Tony wasn't staying long enough to be a conspirator this time.
"I expect a play by play of the honeymoon," he said as he released the bride. "Just text me when he's not looking, don't worry, he won't mind." If Wicked wasn't convinced, Tony opened his arms to indicate his grand failure of the evening: he came alone, and he was leaving alone and someone needed to take pity on him. He wasn't too bothered, though, if his smile was to be trusted. It wasn't as though the day had been a complete waste.