Princess's Game

A fire left my sister's mind frozen at seven years old. The whole family had to play along with her make-believe games. Mom was the gentle queen. My brother was the dashing knight. And me? I had to strap on thirty-pound leg weights and play the wicked cripple. Then I met my boyfriend. He gently unbuckled the weights from my legs, murmuring with ache in his voice. "Selina, from now on, I'll only be good to you." But when I brought him home, my sister insisted he play the neighboring prince and marry her. I told him to bear with it. He took the toy sword with visible impatience and acted out the scene with her, over and over again. The night before the wedding, I thought I was finally going to escape this family. But my sister grabbed my wedding dress and wouldn't let go, crying that she wanted to be the princess. Father handed me a fake nose. "You've played the witch all these years. What's one more time?" Mother held out the leg weights. "There'll be so many guests tomorrow. Do you want your sister to have an episode?" My brother had his arm around my sister, watching me coldly. "There can only be one princess in this family—Gianna. Just put up with it." I looked helplessly at my boyfriend, but he was already dressing me in the witch costume with his own hands, utterly nonchalant. "Selina, just bear with it a little longer. Otherwise Gianna will be upset." Looking into my boyfriend's tender eyes, in that moment, my heart turned completely to ash. I looked at my sister and slipped off my wedding ring. "How can a princess not have a gemstone ring? Here—I'll give you this too, okay?" Father's expression stiffened. He snapped impatiently, "What are you making a fuss about now?" Mother sighed. "Grown all these years and still less sensible than our Gianna." My boyfriend gently stroked my sister's head. "Be good, Gianna. Give me back the ring, okay?" Gianna shook her head hard. He smiled indulgently. He picked up a plastic ring from the dress-up games and slid it onto my finger. "Selina, just wear this one for now." "It's only a ceremony anyway. You're the only bride I'll ever have." Just then, a staff member brought over the menu they'd finalized. My sister didn't eat spicy food. I couldn't live without it. Every dish my family chose was bland. My brother's expression was unruffled. "Skipping spicy food won't kill you. What matters is that Gianna enjoys herself." I said, "This is my wedding." Mother pressed down on my arm. "Show some sense. Don't be petty." The officiant looked at me awkwardly. "So then... which young lady will be walking down the aisle?" My sister gazed expectantly at my boyfriend. He immediately let go of my hand. "Be good. Be mature about this. Gianna just wants to experience it." So I sat in the audience, clutching that ridiculous witch costume in my arms. Watching my sister in the wedding gown I'd spent six months having custom-made, holding my favorite white iris bouquet. Leaning blissfully against my boyfriend's arm. Mother filmed it through tears, posting to social media: "My daughter's all grown up. I'm so proud." Father took my sister's hand and pressed it firmly into my boyfriend's palm. "Marco, I'm entrusting her to you." When the ceremony ended, my sister excitedly kissed my boyfriend on the cheek. Everyone froze. The staff exchanged knowing glances in my direction. But my boyfriend didn't move. He just pinched her cheek with a helpless look. "Little princess, we're rehearsing this part too? Your sister's going to get upset." The whole family looked at me. I smiled. "It's fine. I wish them a long and happy life together. Since Marco apparently likes fools, it's none of my business." Tears instantly spilled down my sister's face. Father stepped in front of her, livid. "How could you say that about your sister! Your grandmother spoiled you rotten. The vile things that come out of your mouth." Mother rubbed my sister's back, soothing her. The next moment, the bouquet in my sister's hands came flying at me. The corner of my eye bloomed red with blood, and I staggered. My sister buried her face in my boyfriend's chest, sobbing. "Marco can only marry me!" Everyone rushed to comfort her. My boyfriend took one step toward me, but my sister grabbed his sleeve. The man who once promised I'd never be wronged again—he stopped. And turned to soothe my sister instead. "Don't be scared, Gianna. I'm here." In that instant, my heart went completely cold.

I was about to get up and leave when my brother seized my wrist and dragged me onto the stage. "Apologize to Gianna." Father stood up, righteous and commanding. "If you don't apologize, don't expect us at your wedding!" Mother nodded along. My brother let out a cold laugh. "When the De Luca family sees none of us there, you'll be the one humiliated." I was the one being wronged, yet my family was using my own wedding as leverage against me. They knew perfectly well that Marco and I had been together for seven years. That I wanted this wedding more than anyone. I used to ramble excitedly in the family group chat for ages. And all my family ever sent back was an ellipsis. I'd thought it meant "noted." Turns out it meant they simply didn't care. So I didn't even get a say in my own wedding menu. They didn't care about my wedding. And they didn't care about me. I had no fight left. I looked at my sister. "I'm sorry." Blood from my forehead dripped onto the floor. Mother said flatly, "Gianna didn't hear you." My boyfriend sighed. "Selina, what you said really was out of line. Apologize properly. Stop being difficult." I repeated it. I'm sorry. By the hundredth time, my throat was raw and tasted of iron. Only then did my sister smile. She grabbed a cup of yogurt and dumped it over my head, giggling. "Here, sis. Eat." The yogurt dripped down from my collar, cold and sticky. Mother sighed and wiped the blood from my temple. "You're both my flesh and blood. We're just trying to be fair." But I was hyperventilating, half-collapsed on the ground. My brother's voice was indifferent. "Gianna's still crying. Shouldn't she apologize again?" He kicked me. "Stop faking it. Get up and apologize." But my vision went black. When I came to, I was staring at a hospital ceiling. My boyfriend was beside me. When he saw me open my eyes, his face flooded with concern. "Selina, you're awake. Does anything hurt?" A trace of guilt crossed his face. "Gianna was crying so hard at the time, everyone forgot you're allergic to dairy." It turned out that when I collapsed, my family was convinced I was putting on an act. It was a server who cried out, "She—she's covered in hives!" Only then did Marco realize I couldn't breathe. "If you're allergic to dairy, why didn't you tell anyone?" My brother walked in with a bag of fruit, clearly annoyed. I'd told them so many times. When my sister was sick as a child, my parents dumped me with my grandmother in the countryside. She would chase them out with a broom whenever they played favorites. But when I was seven, Grandma passed. She held my hand and said, "After this, no one will protect you, child. Be good." I'd been good all these years. And still, no one in this family heard a word I said. I looked at my fiancé quietly. "Marco, let's call off the engagement." Marco blinked. "You're angry? Wasn't I doing all that for your sake—going along with your sister?" My brother frowned. "You'd break off an engagement over something this trivial? Who are you trying to scare?" Marco gently wiped the tears from my eyes, his voice softening. "Come on, you're just exhausted." "After the wedding, I'll take you to the Amalfi Coast for our honeymoon. Just us. No sister. Okay?" I glanced at Marco's phone. The screen showed a ticket-booking page. Something in my chest loosened. I was about to speak— Then my sister called, her voice a sweet, teary whine. "Marco, where are you?" His eyes—always so cool, so distant with everyone. I used to think that was just his nature. But now, speaking into the phone, his gaze overflowed with tenderness. "Be good, Gianna. I'll be right back." Marco looked at me, perfectly casual. "I'm heading out. Get some rest." "The wedding's postponed two weeks. You're in no shape to attend anyway." My brother nodded. "Right. Gianna can stand in for you on the remaining arrangements. You just rest up." A boundless bitterness filled my chest. I called my former supervisor. "That transfer you mentioned—to the Sicily branch. I'll take it." If the only role I could play in this family was the wicked supporting character, then I'd walk away and become the lead in my own life.

I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Every day, updates about the wedding found their way to me. The elegant, understated venue I'd chosen had been swapped for my sister's favorite princess-pink theme. Dreamy balloons everywhere. My parents, in their suit and gown, beaming as my sister toasted them. My brother posted ten videos a day, captioning them through tears. My little crybaby in a wedding dress. I'm so proud of you. Classmates messaged me, bewildered. Selina, is your sister getting married at the same time as you? I didn't reply. I took a cab home. Marco was peeling an apple for my sister. When he saw me, he instinctively blocked the doorway. "What are you doing back?" I looked at him evenly. "Getting a change of clothes." Marco exhaled with relief, whispering to me. "Gianna still hasn't forgiven you. Stay at the hospital a few more days—I've already covered the bills." I didn't answer. I went to my room, packed my bags, and took my passport and ID. I opened the jewelry box hidden at the back of my closet—and the necklace inside was gone. My head rang like a struck bell. It was the only thing my grandmother ever left me. I walked to the living room. Sure enough, it was around my sister's neck. The gold chain glinted warmly under the lights. Father didn't look up. "She found it the other day and insisted on wearing it. Don't fight her for it." My brother smiled, coaxing her. "So pretty! Who's my one and only little princess?" My sister raised her hand proudly. I walked over and held out my hand, my voice hoarse. "Give me the necklace." My sister recoiled as if I'd frightened her, burrowing into Mother's arms. "No no no, I won't! Mean sister!" She grabbed random objects and hurled them at me. Father shielded her, roaring. "It's just a necklace—are you going to die without it?" But I couldn't feel the physical pain anymore. Only something like a blade through my heart. I stared at him. "It's the only thing Grandma left me. It's mine." Father paused, then waved his hand impatiently. "Your grandmother is dead. Are you determined to tear this family apart?" "Besides, she's Gianna's grandmother too. There's a limit to how much attention you can demand!" I didn't listen. I reached for the clasp around my sister's neck. She screamed and thrashed, fell to the ground, and scraped her knee bloody. The necklace snapped. Pieces scattered across the floor. A metallic taste surged up my throat. I dropped to my knees, trying to gather the fragments. My fingertips came away red. Then my brother yanked me upright. A searing sting exploded across my face. The slap cracked so loud the room went silent. He grabbed me by the collar. "Have you lost your mind?" He kicked the broken pieces toward me, forcing me to kneel on the shards. "Today you're going to learn your lesson. Otherwise there'll be no controlling you." I was dragged there like a ragdoll. Marco glanced at me. A flicker of something—almost pity—crossed his eyes. His foot shifted. But my sister let fall a few tears in his direction. He looked away. Turned around. Draped a jacket over her shoulders.