She turns over her hand, and he places the tiny card on her palm, already flipped to his handwriting in black Sharpie. Be my groomswoman? Luna wipes her tearful gaze. “Me?” Farrow smiles softly. “You’re the one holding the card.” Her eyes drift to me. “We fought over you,” I tell my sister. “It took hours.” “I won.” Farrow lifts and lowers his brows in a wave.
