Come to me, Juliana, his heart pleaded as sleep finally claimed him. Come to me.
* * *
“Cut! And that’s a wrap, everybody. Especially you, Dirk. I think that’s it for you.” The director looked at his assistant, who nodded, confirming this was Dirk’s last scene on-site. There might be a few scenes back at the studio, and some voice work, but Dirk was free to leave Zakhar.
Juliana collapsed into a chair, for once not worrying about her costume. She wouldn’t be wearing this one again, so it didn’t matter. She watched as Dirk made the rounds of cameramen, lighting technicians, grips, makeup crew, wardrobe, supporting cast, extras, gofers, assistants and everyone else, shaking hands and sincerely thanking them all for doing such an excellent job on this movie. This wasn’t new for Dirk—he’d been doing it on every movie Juliana had made with him, another lesson he’d taught her about professionalism. I might be the star, he seemed to be saying, but this is a team effort and I couldn’t do it without you.
Dirk came back to Juliana last, holding out his arms to her. She stood and walked into his embrace, clinging to him tightly, little pinpricks at the back of her eyes. She didn’t know when she would see him again, but she knew without a doubt they would never do another movie together. And that’s the only thing I’ll miss about acting, she realized with a shock. In Jetsam and King’s Ransom—the start of her film career and the end—she’d starred opposite Dirk.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything. For believing in me, for believing I could play Tessa better than anyone else.”
Dirk loosened his embrace and stepped back from Juliana. They’d always been very careful not to give rise to any gossip about their relationship, knowing their on-screen chemistry would always make people wonder. “You would have become a star without me, babe,” he told her with a smile. “It might have taken a little longer, but the writing was on the wall.”
“Thanks. But it’s not just that you gave me my first break—you also taught me about being a professional. And that’s not a little thing.” She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So when are you and Bree heading out? When’s your flight?”
Dirk made a face. “We leave just after seven tomorrow morning. Come by and say goodbye to Bree tonight, okay? But not too late. I want her to have an early night and be rested before the flight.” He gave her a considering look. “You’re not coming back to Hollywood, are you? Not permanently. You’re staying here with him.”
“You know me too well,” Juliana murmured.
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “It won’t be easy, you know, not for either of you. But I will say this. He seems like a decent man, even if he is a king.” He hesitated, then asked enigmatically, “Does he know the truth?”
She shook her head, her smile sad. “I told him, but he doesn’t believe me.”
Dirk whistled tunelessly. “And he still loves you?” He reached over and flicked her cheek. “Babe, that’s a powerful love. Don’t let him get away.”
* * *
A week later Juliana toweled herself off after a long, luxurious bath. I needed that, she told herself. Another long day of filming had left her exhausted, but the bath had revived her. Rejuvenated her. Not to mention it had left her smelling sweet and clean the way a woman wanted to smell when she intended to entice a man. And not just any man, the man she loved.
She was careful not to rub her hip where she’d applied the patch five days ago, and instead just patted it dry. She turned so she could see her hip in the mirror, checking anxiously to make sure the patch was still adhering securely to her skin. It was, and she was protected.
Tonight. She smiled to herself. It had been a long, long week, made even longer by the fact that Andre hadn’t even been in residence in the palace for most of that time—she’d found out by chance he’d left the country, something Zax had confirmed when she ran into him on the set. So even if she’d gone to Andre without waiting for her birth control to be effective, it wouldn’t have mattered, since he wasn’t there.
But he hadn’t told her he was leaving. He’d sent her a formal thank-you card for filming the Red Cross appeal for donations—handwritten by one of his secretaries on thick cream-colored stationery with the royal seal of Zakhar on the cover and personally signed by Andre—but that was all.
That lack of communication would have to change. Not just about relatively minor things like schedules, obligations and commitments, but about important things. About what they were thinking. Feeling. About their long-term goals. Dreams. Desires.