The Wedding Session

Emily’s POV

“Emily you have been chosen as the substitute wife for Prince Reuben,”

Those words of my uncle still hung in my heart as I stared at my twin sister, still unconscious under the oxygen mask.

That same hour Uncle Charles had revealed it to me; my mom held me by the arm and led me to our lobby where she unveiled everything to me in detail.

Queen Theresa had always loved Imelda and didn’t want to lose such a talented, intelligent beautiful hockey player for a sister-in-law. Her love for hockey had invested so much in this rare admiration that she started fanning Imelda even before Prince Reuben dated her.

“Since the coma is going to last for one week,” mom said to me, her face peeled with tears, and a longing in her eyes that made me think I was the only savior for Imelda’s marriage. “Queen Theresa believes your sister should wake up and take over from you. She doesn’t want the marriage to be annulled. That is why we want you to substitute for Imelda.”

“Substitute bride?” I retorted, gaping at her and still trying to process those words in a seamless way that wouldn’t make me take them for a death sentence.

That very night mom had pestered me with the issue at hand and it put me in the picture of rejecting it. Although I wondered why I would reject such an offer for my twin sister, who had been more loyal, it still didn’t steal form my mind all she had done for me.

She had abandoned her tournament several times and stayed with me in the hospital when I was diagnosed of pleurisy. She had donated her pints of blood to me when I was anemic.

And now this is the most maddening of it; we shared a common kidney, because she had also donated one of her kidneys to me, when I became alcoholic and had a kidney failure.

Our growing up was clouded with sacrifices and loyalty with much of it coming form Imelda.

And I would never forget the days we walked in the park, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. This was more than an oath. It was a soul to soul bonding that cemented our sisterhood.

Holding my mother’s tiny fingers firmly I had assured her, “I will do it, mom. I will do anything for Imelda. This is the only time I can repay her for all the indelible sacrifices she had done for me.” I had assured my mother and she had appreciated me with a warm hug.

Staring at Imelda right now, sucked tears from my eyes because this wasn’t the way we planned it. We had planned her wedding to be more impressive than any wedding in the history of Wales.

In my hands was the list of the trends we had planned to do on her wedding day and I didn’t see anything that sounded like substitute wife.

“I wish you would just wake up now, twiny,” I wailed, I often called her twiny just as she often did the same too. I sniffed hard as I held her cold palms and prayed for her prompt recovery. “Tomorrow is your wedding with Prince Reuben, but you are not fit to do it,” I sobbed and swallowed hard, my gaze feeding into her face to see if she would click an eye lash, just to remind me that she was back from coma.

But she kept still, helpless lonely and abandoned by destiny.

“I have been chosen to be the substitute wife so that when you wake up, you can take your place as the legal wife of Prince Reuben. I hope you permit this,” I wailed deeply, feeling uncontrollably loosed within my will power.

I wanted to speak yet further but I couldn’t. My trembling lips shivered like the strings of a guitar. I was broken and deep down my conscience I really didn’t want to be the substitute wife. This was not the way I wanted to repay her in the actual sense.

The wedding drew near and became more realistic to me. The royal fanfare was huge throughout the kingdom of Wales. Most fans and dignitaries mistook me for Imelda, the identical looks were indeed skin deep.

The only trait that differentiated me from Imelda was the curves and bust. I was a bit more curvaceous and busty while she wasn’t, owing to her commitment to hockey and regular strenuous workout.

I was decorated royally; the pride and elegance of a princess hung over me and grazed my path. A few minutes to the exchange of vows between me and Prince Reuben, the palace did hanging of the guard, and horse guard parade.

Indeed it was a royal wedding and a beauty to behold.

Mom and uncle Charles held me on both hands as we matched out to meet Prince Reuben  at the altar. Shortly after the priest joined us, the marriage jury stepped out for the registry. We exchanged vows but didn’t commit to kissing to crown our conjugal bliss.

I was moody and all frown; my nerves were pumped and pulse was racing; the ground underneath trembled and I felt my knees going path ways as soon as they smashed.

Most of the fans thought I was Imelda but as soon as they noticed the striking differences they sighed and coiled into their shell of hopelessness.

Prince Reuben managed to hold my hands; at least it was a wedding, though it was one in paper and not intimacy. Mom and Uncle Charles flashed a contagious smile at me just to initiate me to return th compliment, but I didn’t respond.

The picture of Imelda under the oxygen mask had beclouded my thought all through the wedding session. But in all I often encouraged myself with the words, “I am just a substitute wife and it will last just for a week since Imelda will wake up soon.”

Did it actually happen as I thought?