Becoming Mrs DeLuca
I say, remembering it’s the gang colour.
“Dominic must really like red on you, uh, and it fits you perfectly, a match made in heaven,” she yearns, pushing the door open for us to enter.
Quickly she pulls out four red dresses, placing them in a box and handing them over to my guard.
I sneakily swipe my card on the machine, and she sends me a pouch.
“Those are one of the kind dresses designed specially with you in mind as your mother and designer; you don't have to pay for them, Bella,” she pouts.
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