The Last Choice

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?"