Chapter 7 - The Makeover That Wasn't About Hiding Anymore
Over the next ten days, Delaney entered a world she had only ever seen through Daphne’s curated social media feeds.
Except this wasn't cheap influencer swag.
This was old-world luxury.
Salvatore didn't send her to standard department stores.
He arranged for private ateliers from Paris and Milan to bring their collections directly to a private suite in the Vance Tower.
Delaney had dreaded the fitting.
Every shopping trip with Daphne had ended in tears, trying to squeeze into sample sizes that were never made for hips, a bust, or an hourglass frame.
When the head designer, Madame Genevieve, entered the room, Delaney instinctively apologized.
“I’m sorry, I know sample sizes won’t fit me—”
Madame Genevieve waved her hand with fierce indignation.
“Hush, child! Clothes are made to fit the woman, not the woman to fit the clothes! Monsieur Vance gave specific instructions: we do not hide the curves. We sculpt them. We celebrate them.”
For hours, fabrics flowed over Delaney’s skin.
Silk velvet. Heavy duchess satin. Shimmering metallic thread.
They didn't drape her in loose, shapeless dark cloth.
They chose deep jewel tones: midnight sapphire, royal amethyst, and finally, a custom gown created from liquid molten gold silk.
The dress hugged Delaney’s curves like a second skin, accentuating her waist, flowing gracefully over her hips, and plunging into an elegant, modest neckline that framed her collarbones with regal sophistication.
When Delaney looked in the full-length three-way mirror, she didn't see the "soft sister."
She saw a goddess.
Her chestnut hair had been styled into loose, glossy waves that tumbled over her shoulders.
Her hazel eyes popped with subtle gold shimmer.
A knock sounded at the suite door.
Salvatore stepped inside, wearing a tailored black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders with military precision.
He stopped in his tracks the moment he saw Delaney.
For three long seconds, the most powerful man in the city didn't say a single word.
His eyes traveled slowly from the crown of her head, down the curves of the gold gown, to the tips of her heels.
A quiet heat flared in his gray eyes.
“Delaney,” he whispered.
Delaney felt her cheeks warm, but for the first time in her life, she didn't look away.
“Does it work?” she asked, her voice steady.
Salvatore walked over, stopping just inches from her.
He reached into his pocket and opened a velvet case.
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Inside rested a vintage Cartier necklace featuring a 30-carat yellow diamond surrounded by a halo of flawless white stones.
“It doesn't just work,” Salvatore murmured, lifting the heavy necklace and fastening it around her neck. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her nape, sending sparks racing through her veins. “You are going to take their breath away.”
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