Chapter 4 - The Insult That Silenced the Ballroom
Beatrice knew an ambush when she saw one.
She'd spent two years uncovering financial irregularities inside a company filled with men who considered themselves smarter than she was.
But this ambush came wrapped in champagne, roses, and five-hundred-dollar perfume.
Camila's mother, Isabella DeLuca, approached wearing silver silk and diamonds.
“Miss Gallagher,” she said sweetly. “How brave of you to attend.”
Beatrice smiled.
“It's a wedding, Mrs. DeLuca. Not a battlefield.”
Several nearby guests laughed.
Isabella didn't.
“I understand you work for Arthur.”
“I do.”
“How modern.”
“Very.”
“And how convenient that he found someone from the office to accompany him.”
Arthur moved beside Beatrice.
“Isabella.”
The older woman ignored him.
“Of course, these occasions can be overwhelming for a woman unaccustomed to our social circles.”
Beatrice could feel people watching.
She could have remained silent.
She could have walked away.
But silence had never been one of her strongest professional skills.
“You're absolutely right,” Beatrice replied. “I'm much more comfortable around people who understand the difference between inherited wealth and earned intelligence.”
Someone coughed into a champagne flute.
Leo turned away to hide a grin.
Isabella's face tightened.
Then Sophia appeared.
She wore a glittering gold gown and the expression of someone watching a personal investment collapse.
“Arthur,” she said, touching his arm, “surely this is some sort of joke.”
Arthur removed her hand.
“No.”
Sophia looked Beatrice up and down.
“She's your accountant.”
“Yes.”
“And you brought her here as your date?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Arthur glanced at Beatrice.
Then he said loudly enough for the surrounding guests to hear, “Because she's the most interesting woman in this room.”
The silence was immediate.
Beatrice felt heat climb her neck.
Sophia's eyes flashed.
“You cannot seriously expect everyone to believe—”
“What I expect,” Arthur interrupted, “is for everyone to treat my guest with respect.”
His voice never rose.
It didn't need to.
He turned toward the gathered guests.
“Beatrice Gallagher is here because I asked her to be. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to leave.”
Nobody moved.
Arthur offered Beatrice his hand.
“Dance with me?”
She looked at him.
“I thought you hated dancing.”
“I do.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I suspect you'll be excellent at making me uncomfortable.”
She laughed despite herself.
They stepped onto the dance floor.
His hand settled carefully at her waist.
For a few moments, the music softened everything.
“You didn't have to defend me,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you shouldn't have needed defending.”
She looked up at him.
For the first time, she saw the man beneath the reputation.
Then someone brushed against her shoulder.
A folded note slipped into her palm.
By the time she turned, the stranger had vanished.
Beatrice opened it beneath Arthur's arm.
Three sentences were written in blue ink.
YOUR FATHER KEPT THE ORIGINAL LEDGER.
THE BRIDE'S FAMILY HAS THE COPY.
ASK ARTHUR WHAT HAPPENED AT PIER NINETEEN.
She looked up.
May you like
Arthur had already seen the note.
And the expression on his face told her that Pier Nineteen was a name he'd hoped never to hear again.
