Beatrix and Prasad

Beatrix froze. “Mister O’Neal is quite well dressed tonight, don’t you think?”

“O’Neal? What are you talking about?” She felt the heat of Samuel’s gaze on the side of her head. He’d never liked the man—they were just similar enough to irritate each other.

Mister O’Neal had turned to speak to someone, a tall woman with long brown hair and skin less pale than his. With an effortless smile, he passed a wine glass to her.

He did have such a wonderful smile, and his hair seemed as soft and full as feather-down. Beatrix felt something in her chest squeeze.

“Are you stuck?” Samuel said.

“A little, darling.” Her voice croaked. She hoped O’Neal hadn’t seen her yet. He’d never let her live this down.