“No, I mean—I need you to understand some things.”s" Her eyes sharpened, searching mine. “It’s important that you present yourself in a certain way tomorrow.”
“A certain way?” I echoed, slowly losing the teasing lilt in my voice. “What are you talking about?”
Her fingers drummed lightly on the table. “You probably shouldn’t wear your uniform around certain guests.”
I blinked, processing her words. “Why? I’m a Commander in the Navy. It’s who I am.”
“Exactly,” she said, her voice dropping slightly as if we were in a crowded theater. “And it doesn’t really fit the image.”
“The image?” I repeated, my tone sharper than I meant. “You mean the royal image?”
“It’s just... there will be diplomats, royals—people who don’t understand.”
I felt the blood drain from my face, but I kept my voice steady. “Don’t understand what, exactly?”
She hesitated, and in that moment, I saw something flicker behind her eyes. Fear? Shame? “Emily, I just... I want everything to go perfectly.”
“So, you want to erase me?” I asked quietly, my heart pounding. I watched her square her shoulders, a wall going up.
“No, of course not! But I need you to help me make it less... complicated. Just this once.”
The café seemed to close in around me. Rachel had always wanted to be royalty, and now that she was on the verge of her dream, I suddenly felt like an unwelcome stain on her pristine image. The pain cut deeper than I expected. “So that’s it?” I said, voice trembling. “I’m supposed to just disappear?”
“No, Emily! Not disappear. Just... blend in. Please.”
In that moment, I realized her world had become a gallery, and I was just an uninvited guest—my uniform a smudge on her perfect canvas.
The Wedding Day
The day of the wedding dawned brighter than I had imagined, sunlight streaming through my apartment window, illuminating the crease of my Navy uniform hanging across the chair. With each passing hour, I fought a sense of disbelief. After last night’s conversation, I felt more like a ghost than her sister. I shoved the uniform into my duffel bag, stuffing my feelings deep into the folds of fabric, knowing I wouldn’t be wearing it today.
As I brewed coffee in the kitchen, I thought of Rachel, dressed in her designer gown, spinning in front of cameras, a vision of happiness. I watched the news reports flood in, talking heads breathlessly detailing every spectacular moment from her fairy tale wedding. “The American darling is marrying into royalty!” they exclaimed, as if she was more than my sister—she was a concept. I felt sick.
