Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XXXVII | Cinderella

This chapter is dedicated to Kit-Kat_Gal
Thank you so much for showing Chasing Her love and support. You're incredible and a huge part of what keeps the story going!

I DO FEEL LIKE A PRINCESS.

All I'm missing is the crown.

One of Angel's tailors speaks in Italian, firing out rapid commands as she surveys my body. This is likely the eighth dress I've tried on and it's a pale lilac that hugs my body and drips to the floor. It's beautiful, but the tailor―Berina―doesn't seem to approve.

Another dress is brought over, this one a deep, rich blue, and I try it on. I learned about seven dresses ago that I don't have privacy. Berina watches me, unabashed, as the lilac dress drops to the floor and pools at my feet. I tug on the blue dress and admire the way it froths around me, like a tidal wave rising from the ground.

Another series of rapid-fire commands from Berina, and the other tailors go scurrying off.

I twirl in the mirror, the dress sifting around me like an ocean. I love it.

But it seems like it's not the right one. I'm half ready to just throw myself onto the floor and insist on wearing pyjamas, but then I think of Angel's worshipping look. It's been a while since I've dressed up, since I've even been clean, and honestly? I want to look beautiful. I want to feel beautiful―even if it's only for tonight.

So I unzip out of the blue dress, because Berina must be seeing some flaw that I'm not.

As an attendant takes it away, I see Berina give me a sympathetic look. Her dark eyes are soft like chocolate as she says in broken English, "It's beautiful. You are beautiful. But is not you, this dress. Is not your look."

Finally, what must be an eternity later, I slip into this soft black thing of a dress. I am already sighing, ready to take it off, until I actually catch myself in the mirror.

And gasp.

And stare.

And stare, and stare, and stare.

Holy . . .

Yes, this is the dress. This is definitely the dress.

Berina barks out more orders, but she doesn't tell me to take off the dress. Instead, she gives me an approving look. This time, makeup and hair specialists come in and demand that I close my eyes and straighten my posture.

By the time they're done with me, it's almost time to leave.

I know Angel and the others are waiting downstairs. I've taken the longest, and it isn't even my fault. Every time I insisted we'd be late, Berina would pat my back and say that, "Beauty takes time."

So as I'm hurrying through the corridors, trying not to stumble as my heels click against the marble tile, I realize I haven't even seen myself in the mirror yet. I don't know what I look like.

I pause at the top of the stairs. I can see Angel down below, and my breath catches. She is dressed in a red suit. The blazer is casually open, and covering her torso is a black translucent lace top. Her heels are high and thick, and her black hair is up for once, twisted into an elegantly messy bun. God, does she look gorgeous. And fuckable. And beautiful. Her red mouth curves into a dark grin when she sees me, and I descend the stairs.