“I am sorry for your loss,” Andre said gently, laying his hand on the man’s other shoulder and squeezing firmly.
The man shuddered once, but kept his emotions in check. “Thank you, Sire,” he said gruffly. He glanced down at his wife. “And thank you for...”
Andre shook his head. “It was nothing. Do not think of that. Just comfort your wife. Stay with her. Be strong for her.” He squeezed the shoulder one more time then removed his hand. “I will pray for your son,” he said sincerely. “And for your wife. And for you.”
The other man blinked back sudden tears. “Thank you, Sire.”
Andre turned away to give the man some privacy in his grief and almost ran into his bodyguard. “Get their names, Damon,” he stated quietly for his bodyguard’s ears alone. There was little enough he could do for the couple. Money to rebuild their house, yes. Money to replace the possessions they’d lost. But that will not bring back their son, he thought sadly. He breathed deeply several times, preparing himself mentally for more bad news. Then he headed back to the ongoing rescue effort.
* * *
The fresh-faced palace maid assigned to look after Juliana and who went by the name of Daphne had been and gone, tidying the room, drawing Juliana’s bath over her protests, asking her what clothes she wanted to wear for the evening and then laying them out, again just ignoring Juliana’s protests with a patient smile. Juliana wasn’t used to being waited on this way.
Yes, she had her personal assistant, Maddie. Maddie was a necessity to deal with fan mail, to run interference, to perform little errands such as taking clothes to and from the dry cleaner’s and to do the hundred and one other things Juliana didn’t have time to do for herself as a general rule. But not to wait on her hand and foot. Not to do things Juliana was perfectly capable of doing for herself, like laying out her own clothes and drawing her own bath.
But all Juliana’s protests were ignored, and Daphne continued doing whatever she felt it necessary to do on Juliana’s behalf, and eventually Juliana had given in with as good grace as she could muster. She had just finished luxuriating in the perfumed bath Daphne had drawn for her after a long day of filming when there was a sudden loud rapping on her door. Juliana pulled on clean underwear and quickly wrapped her robe securely about her, knotting the belt firmly. The rapping continued, more forcefully than before.
“Okay, okay,” she called, but she wasn’t sure if the person on the other side of the door could hear her or not, so she hurried to answer it. Dirk stood there, his face a study in worry.
“Got a minute, babe?” he asked Juliana, not waiting for her assent, just moving into her sitting room.
“Sure. What’s up?” She turned around to face him as he paced.
“I talked to the director and the producer about changing the filming schedule, and they’re willing as long as you agree contractually. In other words, as long as it doesn’t cost the film more money. But it means extending your stay in Zakhar.”
She started to shake her head. No way did she want to stay a minute longer in Zakhar than she absolutely had to. But then she realized Dirk, the ultimate professional, wouldn’t ask her to do this unless he had a really good reason. And the only reason that came to mind was Sabrina. “It’s about Bree, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I want to take her back to the States for treatment. I’ve been talking to her doctors back there, and we’ve just about convinced Bree chemo will be safe for her and the babies now that she’s closer to six months along. She’s wavering on the surgery, but I’m working on that. I’ve got scenes to film that don’t involve you—you know I was supposed to stay on after you leave. But if I can accelerate all my scenes into the next two weeks, my part on the movie will be wrapped up and I’ll be free to take Bree back earlier rather than later. But that means the rest of your scenes without me will have to be postponed. Will you do it?”
“You know I will,” Juliana responded without hesitation. “I don’t have another picture lined up—I was going to take a vacation after King’s Ransom, go visit my father. But he’ll understand if I can’t make it when I said I would.”
“Thanks, babe,” he told her, giving her a quick hug and kiss. “I’ll tell the producer. He’ll probably want you to sign something—you know how that goes. I’ll call Marty and give him a heads-up,” he added, referring to their lawyer agent. “I owe you big-time.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she chided him. “I love Bree like a sister. I’d do this in a heartbeat for her, you know that. But even if that wasn’t the case, I owe you far more than a little thing like this.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. “Think positive, okay? Bree’s going to be fine.” They walked arm in arm toward the door.