Novel & Cerita Alessandra Gucci

A young girl wearing designer lawn shalwar suit with her friends was sitting at the other end of the restaurant. “Man! She is so pretty.....wait I am going to ask her out.” He said as he was still eye raping the girl with his foolish grin plastered on his face. “Are you sure?” Alessandro asked as he eyed the girl again. She looked like she belongs to a noble family. “Very sure.” He said as he passed him a smirk and straightened his coat and ran a hand through his hair. Alessandro curiously looked at him as he advanced to the girl.

she said dreamily. Alessa stared at her from head to toe, noticing that her friend was more stylish. She was now wearing a more elegant outfit, a goddess-cut dress with no neckline, new sneakers and her hair was done up, even the frame of her glasses she had changed for a frame that fit her face better. "He celebrated with Marco's card "I made good use of it, my friend, if you don't use it, I will. "Look, I'm not going to tell you anything, I just foresee the day when you'll have to pay back everything you're spending

Photos of a chapel in Tuscany. Photos of a custom wedding dress worth two million dollars. All with the same caption:For you. But at the same time, Francesca was posting on her private Instagram. She and Alessandro drinking champagne on a yacht in Miami. Her in a borrowed Hermès gown at a casino. Her sitting on his lap in his private jet, showing off a new Cartier watch. Every post was a message to the world: she was the woman Alessandro wanted. The day before Alessandro’s promised wedding, Carlo came to me in a panic.

This time, I came in through the service entrance. The backstage area was chaos—designers making final adjustments to their displays, assistants running cables, someone's model having an existential crisis near the fire exit. I moved through it like I belonged there, head down, clipboard in hand. No one questioned a woman with a clipboard. It was one of the first things I'd learned, back when I was still young enough to believe the family's business was entirely legitimate. Alessia's dressing room was at the end of the hall. Her name was printed on a placard beside the door. Alessia Lucchese. Not Competitor. Not Contestant. Her name, as if she'd already won.

“If I wanted to torture you, printsesa, you’d know.” Her nostrils flared, and for a moment, I thought she might throw something at me. Before she could, the consultant returned with an armful of gowns. “Miss Moretti, we have a few selections for you to try. This first one is a classic A-line with lace detailing—” “Whatever. Just give me one,” Alessia interrupted, grabbing the nearest dress and disappearing behind the dressing room curtain. Stassie sighed. “She’s a ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

That's how good and how much she earned. Being best friends with Alessia had helped her so much, she barely spent her money. Alessia and Lisa barely met in the years that Alessia was married, Roman never met Lisa either; he was either busy or not interested. Roman didn't want anything to do with Alessia's friend; he knew her mother and that was enough, anything else was a bother, it was a disease. Just then Lisa stood up, she had on a two piece gym wear. She planned on going to the gym when she received an email from Gucci, stating their new release.

He bowed his head slightly, the perfect picture of European deference. “My wife, Alessa, is the true connoisseur,” Alessandro continued, his hand tightening ever so slightly on my waist. “I am merely the man who finances her passions.” Bianchi’s kind eyes turned to me, and I felt a chill despite the warmth in his gaze. It was like being appraised by a master jeweler. “A woman of taste, I see,” he said, his eyes flicking to my necklace. “Your collection is said to be magnificent, Countess. You have a particular interest in the Renaissance, I hear?”