Mrs. Grady looks confused.
“Before I thank all of you for being here, there’s one thing I need to make perfectly clear.” He pauses, turning to look at Luna.Onlyat Luna.“You are my person. You walked into my life when I didn’t even know how much I needed you. You challenge me. You see me. You make me want to be a better man—not justforyou, butbecauseof you.”
His voice wavers slightly, then steadies.
Luna blinks fast. Her smile gets shaky.
“No one in this world knows me like you do. No one. And I promise—right here, right now—that you’ll never come second. Not to anything, oranyone. Not ever.”
Then he pulls her up out of her chair and kisses her.
Not some awkward rehearsal kiss. No, this is one for the damn ages.
Not a single person in the room isn’t misty-eyed.
“See?” Beckett murmurs into my ear. “She’s fine.”
I watch Luna across the room—laughing softly at something Noah says, leaning into him like she belongs there. Like she knows it.
“She’s more than fine,” I whisper back.
Later, as the dinner winds down and chairs start scraping across the floor, I cross the room before I can overthink it. Luna spots me and meets me halfway.
I wrap my arms around her, tight—too tight—and she lets me.
“Want me to throw her overboard?” I whisper, and I feel her laugh against my shoulder. “Because I will, you know.”
But then she pulls back just enough to look at me. “I think we’ve got this,” she says, and for a second, I almost don’t recognize her. There’s something so sure in her voice. No second-guessing. No looking over her shoulder for someone else to fix it.
“So…” I clear my throat. “You don’t need me to protect you anymore?”
She rolls her eyes like I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Please. I’ll always need my big sister to protect me.”
Then she pulls me in again, tighter than before. “But not because I’m afraid. Just because you’re you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. God, I am not going to cry in front of half a banquet hall full of guests.
“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere,” I manage, pressing a kiss to her temple.
For a long second, we just stay there—arms wrapped, hearts steadying.
Not as the little sister and the fixer.
But as two women who’ve grown up together, drifted apart sometimes, but always found their way back—because we wanted to.
Finally, she lets go, sniffling, but smiling. “Go on. Before I make you ugly cry in public.”
“Too late.” I sniff, laughing as I wipe under my eyes. “That’s what waterproof mascara is for.”
She snorts, and with one last look, I let Beckett lead me away—back to our cabin.
It’s been a long day, and I’m already imagining the blissful fall-onto-the-bed moment waiting for me.
Except.
When we walk inside, we both stop short.
Because someone—someone with a twisted sense of humor and access to our room—has scattered at least a dozen of the "bachelorette prizes” across our duvet.
