Regina's face had gone completely pale, her earlier fury entirely replaced by dawning, overwhelming disbelief. She stared at Ivy — really looked at her, perhaps for the first time all evening — taking in details she'd been too irritated to notice moments before: the particular shape of her jaw, the same distinctive color of her eyes, features that suddenly seemed unmistakably, devastatingly familiar.
Nearby, at the head table, an elegant older woman in pearls had gone entirely still, her champagne glass slipping slowly from her fingers before shattering against the marble floor, the sound cutting sharply through the ballroom's stunned silence.
"It can't be," the older woman whispered, her voice trembling, tears already gathering in her eyes as she stared at Ivy with an expression of complete, devastated recognition.