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The Last Choice のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 9

9 チャプター

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 rin

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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 a

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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 n

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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 ma

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Chapter 5

Dante searched the venue, corner to corner. The dressing room. Empty. He called my number. It rang once, then died. He called again. Off. For the first time, his face shifted from confusion to something hollow.His own father, Don Moretti, arrived with his capos. The old man's voice was ice. "You let the bride walk out on our family's name. I gave you one week to bring her back quietly, or I send my own men. You have six days left."Dante's jaw tightened. "I'll find her."He didn't use the family's network right away—he tried private investigators first. But after three days of nothing, he caved. He tapped the informants, the airport logs, the credit card trail. In less than a week, they traced me to a small pottery town in the South.My parents showed up behind him at the hotel. "No luck?"His voice cracked. "She never came. She left days ago."He walked out with shaking hands. Grace caught him at the door. She looked stunning, trophy in hand. She hesitated. "Dante. I wasn't going to

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Chapter 6

The South. Damp air. Clay and moss. I set up my wheel in Vera's courtyard. Clay spun under my hands, taking shape, taking weight. I found the rhythm I'd never found in spreadsheets.Vera appeared with tea. "You're better than I am now. After two weeks."I smiled, kept working. Pottery makes sense. It's not like people.I was always good at art. I'd forced myself into a "smart" child's mold-read, crammed, cried-while my hands ached for clay. People started noticing my work. A local collector bought a teacup. Posted it online. Then came orders. Before I left, I was the assistant who couldn't read spreadsheets. The girl everyone called dumb. Dante said I couldn't do anything. My parents said I'd never be Grace.But people were paying for my work now. Someone wanted my hands. Maybe I wasn't so worthless.Then a quiet man showed up at the studio with a little boy. The boy was seven, maybe eight. Silent, distant. But his hands went straight for the clay. The man-tall, soft-spoken-asked, "Is

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Chapter 7

Dante stood first. Thinner than I remembered. Behind him, two of his father's men flanked the entrance. My parents stood beside them, my mother's lips bloodless, my father's face carved from stone.His gaze hit the roses. Moved to Damien. Settled on me. Silence.My mother broke it first. "Eleanor. You disappeared on your wedding day. Do you know what you did to the Moretti name? Don Moretti himself has given Dante one week to bring you back—and that week is almost up."Dante's voice was low. "And who is this?"Before I could answer, my mother cut in. "Is this why you ran? You found someone else? You're not smart, Eleanor, but I didn't think you were this cheap."I stood still. Roses in my hands. Damien glanced at the group, then at me. "I'll be in the back if you need me," he said quietly, and walked away. One of Dante's men moved to follow, but Dante held up a hand. "Leave him."Dante's eyes stayed locked on me. "Eleanor. Come home. My father is willing to overlook this if you return

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Chapter 8

I looked up. "What are you talking about?""Dante." She leaned against the frame. "The night of the wedding, at the hotel. I told him I regretted rejecting him. I even spoke to Don Moretti—he was interested. But Dante said no."She paused. "Then he spent a month looking for you. Using family resources. Every lead. Every informant. Until he found this place."She straightened up, something unreadable in her eyes. "So. You finally beat me. Happy?"The wheel slowed. I stepped on the pedal and it spun again. "No."She tilted her head. "Why not?"I looked at the clay. "Twenty-six years, Grace. I was always second. He chose me once, and I'm supposed to feel like I've won?"She didn't answer."Go home, Grace. I know I'll never be you. I don't want to be. You shine your way. I'll shine mine. It's small. But I can see it."Grace's mouth twisted. "You're still just second-rate, Eleanor. Don't pretend you're some philosopher."Her heels clicked away.The door stayed open. Dante was standing in th

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Chapter 9

A few weeks later, Dante's father sent a message through Augustus Voss: "The girl is no longer our concern—for now." Damien's father had negotiated a quiet truce, offering shipping rights to Moretti's ports in exchange for dropping the matter. But the old man's final words were, "We do not forget."I learned all this from Damien, who told me calmly over tea. "My father handled it. We're neutral, but we're not weak." He squeezed my hand. "They won't touch you while I'm here."One year later, we had a small wedding in the South. I didn't invite my parents. I didn't know if they knew. I didn't care. Damien's father attended, gave a toast. Vera officiated. We kept it private, far from the coast.An hour before the ceremony, my phone buzzed. A number I didn't recognize. One line. "Heard you're getting married. Be happy."I didn't reply.Across the city, Dante sat alone in his apartment. The screen lit his face. He stared at the sent message. Read it. No reply. He smiled bitterly. Tears in h

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