Francis was sure that if he heard a word about a wedding announcement or a cake or a bouquet or a bridesmaid or a feast or decoration, he would be sick. This whole pre-wedding merrier somehow misses him, and rather than happiness he catches him panic and anxiety. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have asked her to marry her. Maybe they should have talked about it before Bohuslav made a huge event for one hundred and fifty guests. He just wanted an ordinary ceremony, sure, handsome and why not, calmly luxurious, but probably only with the closest family, maybe one or two friends.
He cannot imagine how he will renunciation his promise from a hundred and fifty people, of whom he will know barely one-tenth. This is gaining a much higher speed than it was ready for, but it doesn't know if it can be stopped right now.