The champagne flute was cold in her fingers, but not as icy as the smile she wore. Regina took a sip and swept her gaze across the venue. Wall-to-wall fashion royalty. Flashes of camera lights bounced off high cheekbones and glittered gowns.
And then she saw her.
Talia Mendez.
Of all the ghosts she had to meet.
Regina didn't move immediately. She let the moment breathe. Talia stood near the edge of the room, laughing softly, head tilted toward a man Regina didn't recognize. Probably the husband. The "Silicon Prince" or whatever Forbes called him last year. He looked stiff in that overpriced Tom Ford, handsomely dull in the way old money always seemed to prefer.
They used to be acquaintances when Regina watched her fashion shows before she retired.
Regina took another sip, braced herself, and walked over.
"Talia Mendez," she said smoothly, "You haven't aged a day. Or maybe money really is the best foundation."
