Sunny did indeed end up sitting next to Carrie. The six couples and Sunny had ranged themselves about the round dining table and were busy piling food onto their plates. Across from her, Isadora and Violet were sitting together in order to gossip more easily. "This smells delicious, Sunny," gushed Isadora, lifting a square of lasagna onto her plate.

"Thanks."

Quigley, never having been the kind of guy who talked while he ate, dug in. "Do you have the recipe for this, Sunny?" asked Klaus, taking a bite. "I'm sure if you could lend us your cookbook, then Isadora..."

"Klaus," his wife interrupted, "you know I can't cook anything like Sunny does, even if I follow the recipe perfectly."

"But if you read how to do it, I can't see why..."

"I didn't use a recipe anyway," Sunny informed him. "I just sort of did it from memory. I do that a lot."

"Oh."

Meanwhile, Duncan had pushed his plate over to Carrie's, which was bare except for a small heap of salad taking up no more space than a dollar bill. "Come on, sweetie, have some of my lasagna."

"No Duncan!"

"Trust me, it's delicious. Sunny here's a professional chef."

"But Duncan, it's a very fattening dinner!"

Everyone grew silent. Looking up, Sunny saw Quigley wince, Violet choke on her food, and Isadora tighten her grip on Klaus's sleeve. Then Sunny realized what had upset her siblings. Carrie had accidently broken the most fundamental unwritten rule of the Quagmire/Baudelaire clan: she had uttered a phrase with the initials "VFD". Sunny remembered doing just the same a couple of times when she was younger, and how everyone had looked at her. She had never been as afraid of VFD as her siblings, and didn't feel the need to avoid the memory of it. But then again, the entire mess had happened when she was so young, there were very few memories to avoid. "I mean, that pasta must have so many carbs..." Carrie's voice trailed off as she noticed everyone else's strange behavior. "What? Did I say something?"

Duncan recovered first. "Uh, no, hon. It's just..."

"We're thinking of something," interrupted Violet. "That's all."

Isadora joined in. "Yes, Carrie. Don't worry about it."

"Oh. Okay." She smiled brightly and speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. Suddenly, with the fork full of lettuce half raised to her mouth, Carrie froze. She looked up at the rest of the table, an air of revelation beaming from her face. "I just had the most adorable idea! Why don't you guys name the baby Sunny? Wouldn't that be cute?"

"Yep," said Sunny. "Very cute. Awesomely cute. I mean, there's no words to describe how cute that would be. Carrie, you're a genius."

For a second or two, Carrie looked flattered, but then she seemed to consider the tone of voice in which Sunny had spoken and her face fell. For a moment she seemed about to get offended, but she merely wrinkled her forehead and looked confused. Across the table, Violet did not look confused. She looked anything but. "Sunny, it just occurred to me that I haven't seen your new bedroom yet. Could you show it to me?"

Sunny raised her eyebrows. "But you've barely begun eating. Aren't you hungry?"

"Oh, I'm plenty full." Violet stood up, walked around the table, and placed a hand on Sunny's shoulder. "Come on," her voice was calm, but in it Sunny could detect a hint of Firm, Disciplinary Substitute Mother. "I can't wait to see what you've done with your room." Very, very gently, Violet pulled her little sister out of the chair and led her into the other room, all the while tightly squeezing her shoulder.

The moment the door to the bedroom closed, Violet let go of Sunny. She turned around to face her older sister. "So what's this about?"

"You know perfectly well!" Violet hissed.

"Do I?"

"What you said to Carrie in there? That was rude, Sunny. You know that. Why would you do something so..."

Sunny shrugged. "It's not like she understood it."

"Weren't you looking at her? Of course she understood you! Or at least, she understood what you thought of her. People can sense things like that, Sunny, and someday you are going to say something that to someone who isn't as nice as Carrie and they will be seriously ticked off!"

"Like you are right now?"

"Yes like I am right now!" For a moment Violet stared straight into Sunny's eyes, but at last she sighed and dropped her gaze. "Seriously, Sunny, ever since you turned sixteen... I just don't know what's wrong with you lately."

"Wrong with me?" The nerve of her, suggesting that it was Sunny who had the problem. "Wrong with me? There is nothing wrong with me!"

"There must be, or else you wouldn't be acting like...like such a brat. I'm sorry, I really am;
I've been trying to ignore it, but it's really hard when it's your baby sister."

"I'm not a baby anymore."

"Really? Because the way you talked to Carrie, to Duncan's girlfriend, was just childish. Childish and spiteful. I was never like this when I was your age. I couldn't afford to be; I had to take care of you and Klaus."

"Yes, I know. I've heard it all before."

"And the thing is, you aren't even that horrible to Klaus or Duncan. It's just me, and I can't figure out why. What are you so angry about, Sunny? What are you holding against me?"

Sunny looked at her sister, and as she did she seemed to see past Violet and through the wooden door, into the other room where Duncan sat at the table with the others. And she remembered. She remembered a day nearly ten years earlier, back when Violet was Sunny's hero and could do no wrong in her eyes.

Sunny had been standing in a church. It was a beautiful church, with statues of angels in alcoves high in the stone wall, and light streaming in through towering, jewel-colored windows. Klaus had taken her there earlier and told her that their parents had been married in that very chapel. People crowded the polished wooden pews: Justice Strauss, Mr. Poe–coughing into the embroidered silk handkerchief he carried on special occasions, his wife and two horrible sons–long-legged, pimply teenagers at the time, Mr. Snicket–looking tired and nervous, as always, friends of the family, distant relatives, and many people who Sunny didn't know, but whom Violet insisted had helped the Baudelaires in the past and must be invited.

Sunny was standing between Isadora and May, one of Violet's college friends. She was quite proud of the fact that she was an actual bridesmaid, not just a flower girl, and she got to wear a purple silk dress just like the two older girls. She tried to stand tall, with her back straight, to make a good impression on all the people in the church.

And then the doors opened, Violet walked in, and Sunny forgot all about herself. Violet looked like a doll, or a queen, or an angel. Sunny watched, transfixed, as her older sister glided slowly up the aisle. The dress she wore was relatively simple in cut, without much ornamentation, but it hung on her body in a way that flattered every curve perfectly, and it was the shade of white rose petals, and the veil glistened and gleamed and let her beautiful face show through. Yes, definitely an angel.

Sunny watched Violet's every step, every swish of the white skirt, every flash of the glitter in the veil, and was completely enthralled. Her eyes followed her sister all the way up the aisle, but as she took her spot next to Quigley, Sunny noticed something, something that distracted her. There was a look on Duncan's face. It was an odd look, one that she hadn't quite seen before, and it confused Sunny. She listened to the preacher begin the ceremony with only half of her mind, her eyes and her attention on Duncan's face. Before she knew it, the preacher was saying "And you may now kiss the bride." Quigley swept Violet into his arms, and the two embraced so deeply it seemed they were never going to stop.

It was then that Sunny realized what the look on Duncan's face was. It was pain. Raw, horrible, pain that made her ache just to see it. And Duncan was watching Violet. Violet was hurting Duncan, and Sunny couldn't figure out why.

Later on, she realized: Duncan was in love with Violet. Of course it hurt him to see her marry his brother. It was then that Violet's shining image began to fade just a little in Sunny's eyes. She couldn't understand how Violet had been so blind not to notice how he looked at her, how cold not to care about the pain that she caused him. It was then that the shining image that was Violet seemed to dull just a little in Sunny's mind.

"So Sunny, could you please, please, go back in there and be nice to Carrie?"

Sunny looked at her sister. "You want me to apologize?"

"No, that would be embarrassing. Just sit down and say something civil." Violet sighed, apparently exhausted from railing at Sunny. "Come on."

She hesitated for a moment, but then decided it wasn't worth it. It wouldn't be too hard to say something "nice" to Carrie; Sunny was a nice person, she really was. As she turned toward the door, Violet lifted a hand as if to place it over Sunny's shoulder in a sort of half-hug, but Sunny sidestepped her. You couldn't make an affectionate gesture like that after chewing someone out, you just couldn't. Even if you happened to be right, just this one time.

The two women stepped back into the main room and the guests at the table looked up for just a moment before returning to their meals. Except Duncan. His eyes stayed on them for just a few seconds longer, and were dragged slowly back down to his plate as they moved toward the table. Or rather, he hadn't been watching the two of them, he had been watching Violet. Just Violet. Sunny knew, she could tell. Duncan had been in love with Violet, and he still was. After all these years. Sunny was good at seeing things like that. She knew, she could tell.

"I...like your shirt. Carrie."

"Thanks!"