My Sister’s Fiancée

SKY POV

A wedding?

It doesn’t always mean the happiest day in one’s life. At times, it is nothing but deliverance to an abyss of great despair and misery. 

And marriage?

It's not always about two people united together by the holy matrimony, bound by the heartfelt vows of loving each in this lifetime, maybe the next if the universe allowed. At times, it is just a show, a façade put for the prying, unsettling public. And when the two parties tire from the unending pretense of love and feigned happiness, true colors and intentions suffice, leaving souls to bleed and scars bared to the open.

All of these thoughts ran through my mind as I sat on the vanity, with the hairstylist putting on some finishing touches. My face was puffy from crying, and the lump in my throat was enough to tell me that I wasn’t done shedding tears. For a bride in despair, I looked rather exquisite in white. The gown hugged all of my figure like a glove, and one would mistake my look for unmatched happiness.

It was a good day. Or at least it was supposed to be.

But being forced to marry my sister’s fiancée only because it benefitted the business was something I never hoped for, lest bargained for. And right about now, I wanted nothing more than to just disappear into thin, leave without a trace and never come back. But it's not always we get what we hope for, it’s not always we get what we want.

You are probably wondering why in the crazy America would I be marrying my sister’s fiancée. So let’s go a little back to where it all started, shall we?

Not more than a week ago, I stood under the blazing sun fixing my sun hat as I glanced around my surrounding. Spotting a little weed I left near the marble wall of the grave, I fixed my gloves and headed to it, then angrily yanked it with all my might before placing my hands on my waist and admiring the work of my hands. It was neat, just how I wanted it to be.

The sound of an old car horn sounded somewhere from the road, and I looked up adjusting my sun hat to find none but that ugly oldest mustang pulling in the parking lot of the cemetery. I chuckled as I watched Diego, my only friend, and the most gay-est man alive, wrestling with the flowers and the bazillion baskets he had carried along, then kicked his car door closed before proceeding into the cemetery where I stood with a shovel in my hand, just watching him.

He remembered. He always did.

“Principessa…” he greeted out loud while waltzing to where I was and dumping everything on the clean ground beneath our feet. When his arms were free, he pulled me in a bear hug, crushing me ever so tight causing me to grin like an idiot.

“You did take that truck to the mechanic, right?” I asked eyeing him through my lashes. He averted his gaze before toppling me to the ground and climbing on top of me. I laughed hard as he attacked my sides with tickles, sending me to hysteric laughter, so hard that I almost peed.

“Okay, stop, stop. Where is Jack?” I asked, breathless. And he humored me by blushing a hundred shades of red. Someone was in love.

"You didn't cancel your date for me, did you?" I cocked a brow at him, and he ignored me. 

"I don't care if the moon was falling, I wouldn't miss this day for anything." He got onto his feet and pulled me along, and then went about placing his paraphernalia on the swept ground below our feet. It was a blanket, followed by some food baskets and flowers. 

A picnic in the cemetery. Not too ideal for a birthday.

That's right, today was my birthday. My 22nd birthday. A birthday? Hah!

More like a sad reminder that you are one more step closer to the grave. Don’t get me wrong. I loved birthdays. Or at least I used to, but that ship had long sailed and now, I was just going by, grateful to see the sunrise and waiting for sunset with great anticipation. You see, as someone who has been told more than a million times, that my birthday was nothing but a big curse that has fallen upon my family, I had no choice but to believe in all that anathema. 

Growing up as the black sheep of the family, always reprimanded and compared to my ever effortlessly flawless sister, nobody really paid much attention to me, things I did, or even liked. I was always overlooked, so bad that I had grown used to it and honestly, I kind of liked it. The peace and quiet were my little haven. I would rather be hated by the whole world for being myself, than pretending to be something I am not only to please them, subjecting myself to a lifetime of misery.

Someone would, but not me. Call me timid, mundane, and boring, but I didn’t really care. I was happy with the life I was living, even though it meant being hated by my own parents and everyone I have ever known.

“Here.” Diego intoned pulling me from my thoughts by presenting a yellow rose at me. My face split into a giant grin as I grasped It and dropped onto my knees beside him, then threw myself at him in a giant hug.

Of all people I had surrounding me, he was the only one who ever remembered my birthdays and the only one who has ever gone to the extra lengths of celebrating them with me. But before, there was another person...

“Happy Birthday, Principessa.” Diego cooed softly rubbing small circles on my back. I nestled into his hold further, dwelling in the comfort of his welcoming, warm embrace. After a long moment, I pulled back and sat straight, then tucked the rosebud into my curly hair.

“Do you think she hates me?” I asked all of a sudden, but I needed that reassurance that she was never angry at me.

“You really want to go down that route?” Diego asked in mocked disbelief, and I looked down trying to hide the tears that were threatening to spill. “Okay, fine.” 

“If your sister was here, she was going to tell you that you are the finest, most beautiful, and witty young woman in the entire world. You are clever and know your place, and you never fail to stand and brace your ground. You don’t care about others' opinions of you because you are the most badass woman I have ever seen. And… the best fashion designer in entire Georgia.” The last word was accompanied by a smooth nudge of his shoulder.

I gave a small smile before looking up in the sky. At that moment, I could have sworn that I felt a presence, her presence. 

Samantha Camilla Campbell was a force to be reckoned with, the kind of woman you wish to be and just fall in love with by just a simple look at her.  A promising future, a drop-top dead gorgeous fiancee who would do about anything just to see her smile, she was a kind of woman who had it all figured. I have seen how everyone worshipped the very polished ground she walked on, and I was damn proud of the woman she was. As the first born of the Campbells, my sister was to inherit the family business once she turned 25, and everyone was anticipating the great change she carried on her back.

That was until she died from a drastic accident that changed everything completely, an accident that ruined me completely, and an accident that left me scarred for life. And it had to be all on my birthday!

Isn't that classic?