Chapter 1

My fiancé presented two engagement rings—one for me, one for my sister to choose first.

The first was a three-carat fancy pink diamond, flown in from Antwerp, the kind that made dealers go quiet. The second was a plain platinum band, standard issue, the sort you buy off the tray as a backup.

For the first time in my life, I pointed at the pink diamond. "I'll choose first this time."

Dante Moretti ran his hand through my hair, the way you soothe a restless dog. "Eleanor, you know Grace has always been particular. If she can't have the best, she'd rather have nothing. You've never cared about any of this. The other one is fine."

I didn't answer. My chest felt hollow.

We'd grown up together—his father ran the West Coast territory, mine the East. But in Dante's eyes, I'd always been the second daughter, the one who got what Grace didn't want. Every summer, he'd cut watermelon and bring the first plate to Grace. She'd take the center slice—sweetest, seedless, deepest red. He'd push the rest toward me—the pale pink near the rind. "This part's still good. Just not as sweet."

When he bought his first Maserati, Grace picked the front seat—less motion sickness. He gestured at the back. "A little tight, but you can pick either side."

Even our love was secondhand. He'd loved Grace first. She chose her academic career over him. So Dante, wounded and restless, came to me. In his world, Grace was always the first choice.

I looked at the platinum band and pushed it across the table. "Give them both to Grace. I don't want either."

Chapter 1

Dante sighed, like I was being difficult. "Eleanor, this cheap thing isn't even worthy of your sister."

I met his eyes. "Then why is it worthy of me?"

He blinked, then smiled. "When you two were kids, everyone said you looked like her shadow—smaller, darker. The pink diamond requires someone who can carry it off. Platinum is understated. It suits you."

Shadow. Grace and I were twins, but I'd never matched her. In school, she was always top. I stayed up until my eyes burned red and barely scraped the middle. My mother would press her finger to my forehead and sigh. "Same womb, and you turned out like this? At least one of you turned out right."

I followed Grace around, carrying her bag, peeling her apples. For ten years, I was her shadow. I'd told Dante I hated that name. He always promised to stop. But whenever Grace was in the room, the words slipped out anyway.

I looked at him evenly. "Dante. We're done."

He stared, then laughed like I'd told a bad joke. "Fine, you don't like the ring, we'll get you another. Come on, we'll go to the jeweler right now. Pick whatever you want."

Grace pushed the pink diamond toward me. "Eleanor, take mine. You're getting married—stop acting like a child."

But Dante stopped her. "That ring was for you, Grace. Eleanor wouldn't know what to do with it. It'd be wasted on her."

So it was never really a choice. Dante put his hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the door. But the moment we hit the ground floor, Grace spotted a new watch display. Dante nodded immediately. "Let's look at watches first. Eleanor can wait. No rush."

Grace lingered at the counter, torn between two Patek Philippes. Dante saw her hesitation and waved the salesgirl over. "Take both. Grace, pick the one you want first. Eleanor can have the other one later." He paid and handed me a box. "There. Gift sorted. Grace has good taste—you should be happy."

I didn't take it. I stared at the box, biting back a bitter laugh. He'd said we were shopping for me.

"I'll move my things out tonight. I'm not coming back."

Dante's hand froze. For the first time, his smile faltered. "Eleanor. Don't."

That night, my parents showed up. My mother's finger found my temple before the door even closed. "What's wrong with you? Breaking up with Dante? You think you deserve better? You're average-looking, average-brained. If Grace weren't busy with her work, you'd never have gotten him in the first place."

Her finger pressed hard. Same words, same spot, same burning sting. Stupid. Ugly. Never enough.

Dante stepped in front of me, playing the protector. "Don't say that about Eleanor. She's exactly what I want."

My mother's face softened immediately, beaming at him. "And you still defend her. Do you know how lucky she is? If she throws this away, don't bother coming back."

Lucky. Right. I should be grateful.

I sniffed, wiped my nose. "Okay."

Everyone exhaled, relieved. The difficult child had finally come to her senses. I walked into my room and called my friend. Tears rolling silently down my face, I whispered. "Vera? Is your pottery studio still open?"

Her voice was careful. "Eleanor... you're getting married. Does your family know?"

I stared out the window into the dark, and I smiled. "Vera. What if I don't show up?"

Chapter 2

Vera didn't believe me. To her, I was the good one. Obedient. Quiet. The girl who never fought back. But being good was the only way anyone loved me. Grace was the sun. Everyone orbited around her. I scraped for scraps, learned to shrink, to make myself small. That was the only way to get Dante and my parents to glance my way. I was done shrinking.

The next morning, Dante took me to see the wedding venue. I headed for the passenger door. He pulled me back. "Eleanor. That's Grace's seat.Grace wants to see a property nearby too. She's coming with us."

Grace slid into the front, flashing him a smile. I got in the back. "Fine."

The venue was a glass-walled estate overlooking the bay. Grace's eyes lit up when she saw the conservatory. "The light here is perfect. I could set up my fermentation experiments—the humidity, the temperature. It's ideal."

Dante stood beside her. "If you like it, the room's yours. I'll have my best architect come in and convert it for you."

I stood at the door. In all the months we'd been planning this wedding, Dante had shown zero interest. "A venue is just a room," he'd said. Now he stood with Grace by the window, discussing floor plans, pointing at corners, laughing. Like a real couple.

Grace turned, playful. "Eleanor, you don't mind if I take this room, do you?"

I looked at Dante. "You know this was supposed to be part of our wedding venue, right?"

He shrugged. "It's a building, Eleanor. It's not like it cares. You can pick any other room."

I unclenched my fists. "She's my sister. She can have it."

Dante patted my head. "That's my girl."

The dress fitting was next. Grace insisted on coming. "Let me help you pick, baby sister." She held my arm, so sisterly, so warm.

But when I came out in the first gown, Grace's phone rang. She listened, then turned to Dante with a helpless look. "My gala dress is ruined. The designer had a fire. I have nothing to wear tonight."

Dante scanned the boutique, then his eyes landed on me. "This one. Grace, it suits you. Take it."

The salesgirl spoke up. "Sir, Miss Eleanor visited thirty times to get this dress fitted. She redesigned the back herself. You can't—"

But Dante was already nodding. "Grace needs it more."

I peeled off the dress. Held it out. "Go ahead, Grace. You'll look beautiful."

Dante smiled, satisfied. "Good girl. We'll find you something else."

But his eyes never left Grace. He crouched to adjust the hem, smoothing every fold with his own hands. I'd once imagined him doing that for me. He'd only come with me once in thirty visits. When the salesgirl suggested he adjust my hem, he hadn't even looked up. "That's what you're paid for, isn't it?" I watched him kneeling at Grace's feet and finally understood the cost of hoping.

Everyone always loved Grace more. My parents. Dante. But I'd loved him anyway. Because when my parents called me stupid, when they said I wasn't their child, he'd slipped me a strawberry candy and said, "Stupid's cute too." I held that love close. After he confessed to Grace and she rejected him, he came to me. I knew he was settling. I said yes anyway.

I loved painting, but I became his assistant. Learned to read his ugly spreadsheets. Tried to be Grace-lite. But I'd never be Grace. And he'd never love me.

My phone buzzed. "Studio's ready. When are you coming?"

Grace had changed out of the dress. Dante grabbed a black gown off a rack and handed it to me. "Pick something fast, Eleanor. Grace has places to be. This one's fine. Simple. You."

Black. Always black.

I typed back. "Wedding day. I told you I was running."

Chapter 3

We went to my parents' for dinner that night. Only then did I realize it was our birthday. Dante had ordered the cake. "Two birthdays, one cake. Efficient." It was beautiful. Layers of cream and fruit. Mango. Grace's favorite. I was allergic to mangoes. Nobody noticed. Dante lit the candles and put the crown on Grace's head. "Grace. Make a wish."

I stared at the cake. The crown. His patient smile.

"Dante." He glanced at me. "Every gift you ever gave us came in two. Except the cake. Why am I always last?"

The room went quiet. He frowned. "This is how it's always been. What's wrong with you today?"

My mother shot me a look. "She's older. She's better. That's the order. If you were half as good as her, you'd go first."

I had nothing left to say.

Grace made her wish. The family sang around her. When it was my turn, the candles had almost burned out. Dante shrugged. "No more candles. Wishes don't mean anything anyway. You can make one next year, Eleanor."

Twenty years. Every year, he said next year. And every year, I waited. Was it really that hard to love the child who wasn't the best?

I watched them slice the cake and let my mind wander. The conversation drifted to the wedding. My mother asked, "How's the planning?"

Before I could answer, she'd already turned to Dante. "Actually, Grace's research product launch is the same week. You could use the wedding to promote it."

Dante nodded without thinking. "Sure. We can cut the speeches. Give Grace the floor."

Grace smiled. "I don't want to take over her wedding. Just a few words."

Dante was serious. "If you're doing it, do it right. I'll handle the schedule."

The three of them talked logistics. Booths. Signage. Timing. My wedding. Turning into a sales pitch. And nobody asked me.

I couldn't breathe. I went to my room. In the living room, Grace's competition results were being broadcast. Everyone gathered around the television, barely breathing. I packed my old things. All I took was a sketchbook—my childhood drawings.

Grace won first place. The cheers from the living room filtered through the walls. Then I heard Grace's pout. "The award ceremony is the same day as Eleanor's wedding. You all can't come with me. I'll be so alone."

Chapter 4

The room went silent. Then Dante's voice, steady and soft. "You won't be alone."

My door opened. He stood in the doorway. "Eleanor. The ceremony is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Grace. Can we move the wedding to the evening?"

I almost laughed. As if weddings happened twice. One of the maids muttered, "Weddings at night? That's only for second marriages." My mother snapped. "Don't be superstitious. We don't believe in that nonsense."

Dante's eyes were gentle. "Eleanor. You understand. You've always been the reasonable one."

I looked at him. I remembered when I'd won a painting competition as a child. I'd begged my parents to come. They said Grace's speech contest was more important. Dante had promised he'd be there. He went to Grace's contest anyway. I stood alone on stage, surrounded by strangers' applause. I was still standing alone.

"Fine. Evening is fine."

There was no wedding without the bride. So what did it matter?

They celebrated that night. Glasses clinked. Plans were made. Dante drank too much. In the quiet aftermath, I asked him. "Dante. Were you ever excited to marry me?"

He didn't answer. The wind blew between us, cold and bitter.

"Then why did you say yes? Why did you ask me?"

I knew it was a lie. I wanted to hear him say it. He slurred, half-asleep. "I aimed high. Got something close enough. You're her sister. At least I'd still have her in my life..."

The wind stung my eyes. I'd long stopped crying. The truth was worse than I'd imagined.

Wedding day. Dawn. The house buzzed—but not for me. Everyone dressed for Grace's ceremony. They planned routes. Argued about suits. I appeared in the hallway, fully dressed. "I'll skip the ceremony. I need to handle the wedding prep."

Dante didn't look up. He was adjusting Grace's sleeve. "Fine. Go ahead. Don't slack off."

I carried one small bag out the front door. The airport was next. As my car pulled away, I saw their car heading the other direction. Full of laughter. Heading toward Grace.

Four hours later, the ceremony ended. Four hours later, I landed in the South. My phone buzzed. "Eleanor. We'll be late. Skip the pickup and tea ceremony. Handle the venue yourself. Grace needs us here."

I read it twice. Then I blocked him.

Vera hugged me. "Let's go."

Meanwhile, at the venue, Dante arrived to chaos. Guests milling. Tables half-set. No bride. A friend grabbed his arm. "Where's Eleanor? She said she'd come early."

Dante froze. The wedding planner rushed over, panicked. "Mr. Moretti, the bride's phone is off. She's not answering anything."