“Get dressed,” I muttered to myself, pacing in front of the small wardrobe in my room. “Get dressed for what? Where am I even going? A secret mafia meeting? A black-tie assassination?”
I sighed, staring at the array of outfits Sofia had sent over earlier. Everything was stunning, but nothing screamed normal. It was all extravagant—silks, satins, sequins.
My hand brushed over the emerald gown Sofia had been gushing about, the one with the plunging neckline. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I need right now,” I mumbled sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
The knock on the door startled me. I turned, expecting maybe Sofia again, but instead, two women walked in carrying garment bags. They were followed by a man with a tape measure slung over his shoulders like some sort of high-fashion soldie
