“The diamond lady yelled.”
Every eye in the ballroom shifted toward Beatrice’s necklace.
For the first time all evening, Beatrice seemed to wish she were wearing less jewelry.
“She was confused,” Beatrice said.
“Your mother accidentally threw wine on me.
I reacted.
Anyone would have reacted.”
Sophie felt Isabella’s hand tighten around hers.
Lorenzo noticed too.
He rose slowly.
“Anyone?”
Beatrice lifted her chin.
“It was a fifteen-thousand-dollar gown.”
Lorenzo stared at the red stain across the white silk.
“Then you should be grateful.”
Beatrice blinked.
“Grateful?”
“Now it looks more interesting.”
A man near the bar coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
Lorenzo’s gaze moved across the guests.
“My mother was frightened.
She stumbled.
She apologized.
Three hundred people saw it.”
Nobody moved.
“And somehow,” Lorenzo continued, “the only person who behaved like a human being was a young woman carrying a tray.”
Sophie’s supervisor finally found his voice.
“Mr.
Moretti, I assure you, Miss Clark acted without authorization.
Our staff are trained not to interfere with guests, and she will be disciplined appropriately.”
Lorenzo turned toward him.
“Disciplined for what?”
The supervisor faltered.
“For abandoning her assigned station.”
“She abandoned a tray.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lorenzo looked at Isabella, then at Sophie.
“To help my mother off the floor.”
“Our policy—”
“Is your policy to leave frightened elderly women on their knees?”
The supervisor went pale.
“No, sir.”
“Then I suggest you stop explaining it.”
Beatrice stepped forward before the humiliation could shift completely away from Sophie.
“Lorenzo, you’re making this theatrical.
I did not know she was your mother.”
There it was.
The sentence that changed the room.
Sophie saw Lorenzo’s expression become still.
Not angry.
Worse.
Interested.
“You didn’t know,” he repeated.
“Of course not.
Isabella and I haven’t been properly introduced.
Had I known—”
