Juliana had been excited by the script for King’s Ransom when the part of Eleonora had been offered to her, and eager to work with Dirk again. Costume dramas in this day and age were always a risk for a movie studio. But the King’s Ransom script contained thrilling battle scenes, not to mention incredibly romantic love scenes, and—as far as Juliana could tell—was almost religiously accurate in all the major details.
Great script, great director, a supporting cast she respected and Dirk DeWinter to star opposite her. Not to mention a studio willing to give the film the financial backing it needed. What more could an actress ask for? She had been excited about the role of Eleonora, as excited as Dirk still was about playing the first king of Zakhar...until she’d learned the movie was being shot on location. In Zakhar. In Drago. In and around the royal palace. Where—inevitably—she would encounter Andre again.
Juliana shut down that train of thought ruthlessly. You will not remember, she ordered herself forcefully, but she knew it was in vain. The memories already haunted her. They’d haunted her for eleven years. It was long past time for her to put those memories to rest where they belonged—in the graveyard of might-have-beens.
She wouldn’t allow herself to care. Not anymore. If you don’t care, why did you bring that dress with you to wear to the reception tonight? she asked herself derisively. What are you trying to prove? And to whom? It was a daring gown, designed to be worn with absolutely nothing beneath it. Designed to be worn by a woman who knew herself irresistible. Well, that’s true, isn’t it? she asked herself even more cynically. Millions of men lusted after her on the silver screen, the way women lusted after Dirk.
Millions of men...but not one in real life. Not one man who saw the plain girl she’d once been inside the beautiful woman she was now. Not one man who saw her need to be loved for who she was—her inner character—not the way she looked. Not one man who could ignite the fires of passion in a body that was ice-cold. Frigid. Doomed.
That’s another thing to blame Andre for, she realized. He killed that part of me. He ruined me for other men. How he would laugh to know that!
* * *
The man presented his card of invitation to get into the reception—hiding behind a facile smile his resentment that he had to prove his right to be in attendance at this royal function. Then was forced to walk through the portable metal detector set up at the entrance to the Great Hall with all the other guests—again inducing resentment he refused to display to the king’s men on duty there, even though their deferential attitude should have mollified him. No one would know from his expression that inside he was fuming. My blood is as royal as the king’s—I should be exempt, just as he is. I should not have to submit to this insult.
The metal detector had been installed in the palace years ago by the current king’s father. When the king had ascended the throne three years earlier he’d wanted it removed, but his objections had been overridden at the insistence of the Privy Council and the king’s own bodyguards—the metal detector had stayed in place. Not that a metal detector could detect any and all weapons, but it had definitely thinned the potential dangers the king’s bodyguards had to be on the lookout for during public occasions like this.
He glanced around the vast room, already filling up even though it was early in the evening. He saw one of the stars of the movie—Dirk DeWinter—standing head and shoulders above the circle of adoring female fans surrounding him. But Juliana Richardson—the other star—was nowhere in sight. He didn’t place much reliance on his being able to distract Juliana’s attention from Andre—she’d never had eyes for anyone except Andre when he’d known her eleven years ago. But he would try. If he wasn’t successful...there was always the alternative.
Knowing Juliana—and it was unlikely she’d changed that much in the past eleven years despite her international fame—there would be opportunities to silence her forever should it become necessary...and make it appear an accident.
* * *
Juliana hadn’t intended to make a dramatic entrance at the reception. But she hadn’t been able to resist the oversize marble tub in the lavishly appointed bathroom in her suite, and she’d indulged herself for almost an hour. She’d washed her hair and let it air dry, thankful she’d never had to do much with it—just brush it out and let her natural wave do its thing.
Then she’d lain down on the large, incredibly comfortable bed, intending to just rest her eyes before the reception. But the lack of sleep on the plane had done her in. Not just on the plane, she’d sleepily acknowledged as she dozed off. She hadn’t slept well ever since she’d known she would be returning to Zakhar.