His Docile Mafia Princess
I say, thrusting her into my closet.
“What?”
“Anything, don't ruin this bonding moment.”
As expected, she grabs the first thing she sees, a seamless mini dress. “This,” she says, tugging at the fabric.
“No, this looks better.” I argue, grabbing a different mini dress, denim and strapless. “I also have it in a different shade so we can match.”
“You want to match? You hate matching.”
“Duh but you're my twin,” I shake her. “We already have matching faces, parents, siblings, shoe size, literally everything.” I stop myself there, instantly correcting myself. “Well, most things.”
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