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."