Cassandra.
“Oh my goodness, Miss Cassandra!” The designer gasped in her French accent, “You look absolutely stunning!”
I turned around in front of the mirror, with a genuine smile playing on my lips. She was telling the absolute truth, because I could barely even recognize myself in the mirror. The dinner was tomorrow night, and “my” designer brought in my dress for fitting today.
It was so strange suddenly having a designer all to myself. It screamed of so much privilege.
Although I had never been able to style my hair, or focus so much on my appearance since I grew up an orphan who had to fend for herself, I still knew I was pretty.
However that was nothing compared to how I looked in this dress. It was a satin silver dress with wraps around one shoulder, and down one hip. There
