IZABELLA
Nicole tugged the zipper of my dress up, her face scrunched in concentration from what I could see of her reflection in the mirror.
She’d been helping me get dressed for the past hour and a half in preparation for Ignazio’s event, all the while listening to my long-winded rant about my art studio dream.
I huffed out a breath and played with the fabric of my sleeves. “And the pool house is exactly what I envisioned, but it’s just not viable because it’s so frequently used and I won’t have any privacy.”
Nicole took a step back from me, and I took my time to survey the dress on me. It was one of the ones Ignazio got—simple and black, long-sleeved, tight-fitting, and flared at my wrists and legs. It was beautiful, to say the least, and coupled with the hairdo and makeup, I looked
