3
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
“Absolutely not!” Juliana Richardson told her lawyer agent with fierce determination.
Marty Devens stared at her in surprise. “But Juliana, you’re already under contract—” he began before she cut him off.
“Break it.” Her voice was implacable.
“I can’t do that, and you know it. Not unless you have a damned good reason.” His voice ended the sentence on an up note, turning the statement into a question.
Juliana had a damned good reason, but she couldn’t tell Marty. Couldn’t tell anyone.
“Besides,” Marty coaxed, “you’re the actress who always wants to film on location. You’re the one who says nothing lends realism to historical movies like filming where the actual events occurred. I thought you’d be thrilled they received permission to film King’s Ransom on location in Zakhar, and even within the royal palace itself.”
Juliana walked to Marty’s office window and gazed out at the sprawling city of Los Angeles below her. But she wasn’t really seeing the city through the haze that hung over it like a sepia tint even on good days. She was seeing a lush green valley nestled between towering mountains, air fresh and clean, and Drago, the capital city of Zakhar, looking like a fairy-tale city from the sixteenth century dropped Brigadoon-like into the twenty-first century. She was seeing the royal palace there and the castle walls surrounding it as she’d seen it when she was fourteen, excited and thrilled to be attending her first reception in a real palace with her ambassador father.
I can’t go back to Zakhar, she told herself, feeling suddenly eighteen again and oh so vulnerable. So defenseless. I can’t. I can’t see Andre again. I’d rather die.
Then she laughed bitterly as the mature twenty-nine-year-old she was now took over. Don’t be melodramatic, you baby. You’ve had eleven years to get over him. You’re not eighteen anymore, and he can’t break your heart again. Been there, done that. Where’s your pride? You’re an actress, damn it! A good one. Three months on location—how tough can it be to play a role for three months?
“Juliana?” Marty’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“What?” Her voice was husky with repressed emotion.
“Is it really that important to you? Not doing this movie?” He cleared his throat. “I’m your lawyer. Your agent. And your friend. The agent and the lawyer say hell no, we already signed the contract, but the friend says—”
“It’s okay, Marty.” Juliana swung around and pasted a smile on her face she knew didn’t fool him one bit. She was going to have to work on that. If she couldn’t fool Marty, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance she could fool him into thinking she no longer cared. “It’s just that...well, never mind. It’s a great part—almost as if it were written for me. And working with Dirk again on something with strong Oscar potential—how lucky can I be? Most actresses would kill for this opportunity.”
Most actresses, she told herself as she turned away and stared out the window again. But not me. She blinked hard to hold back the real tears she hadn’t shed for eleven years. Tears she’d sworn she’d never shed again over a man who wasn’t worth a single tear.
King Andre Alexei IV of Zakhar, heir to a long line of imperious kings, absolute monarch in a world where absolute monarchs were extremely few, was royally pissed. He fixed his steely gaze on the master of the household and said in a soft voice that didn’t fool anyone who heard it, “I thought I made myself perfectly clear with regard to the arrangements.”
“Yes, Sire, you did,” the man acknowledged stiffly. “But—”
“But what?”
“But the state apartments have always been reserved for immediate family or for visiting royalty.” There was just a hint of outrage in his voice. “Since your mother’s death, Your Majesty, no one has occupied the Queen’s Suite except the Queen of England when she was here for your coronation three years ago. I had the maids prepare the suite formerly occupied by Princess Mara for Miss Richardson instead. It will be familiar to her, and I am sure she will be very happy th—”
“If the Queen’s Suite is not ready to be occupied when Miss Richardson arrives, I will know the reason why.” Andre’s voice was even softer, and the elderly man in front of him quaked at the veiled threat in face and voice. The king was a gentleman as a general rule—kind, courteous and a wonderful employer to work for. Reasonable, too. But there was no doubt who ruled Zakhar—or this household. When he gave a direct order he expected it to be obeyed. Instantly. Not even forty years of faithful service would count when he looked and sounded this way.
Suddenly the king smiled. “Vladimir, old friend,” he coaxed. “You have known me all my life. I learned court protocol at your knee. And many times you shielded Mara from my father’s wrath—do you think I could forget that?” His smile faded. “But this is important to me. You cannot know how important. I realize it is a breach of state protocol, but do not fail me in this, old friend. Miss Richardson will be portraying Queen Eleonora in the film. I wish her to be treated as such, and not just in this way. In every way. She will be housed in the Queen’s Suite.”
Andre turned sharply and strode away before he betrayed himself any further. He’d worked tirelessly for this day for almost three years, ever since he ascended the throne. Now he would risk his future on one roll of the dice. But he wanted everything perfect beforehand. Everything that could be done to set the stage would be done. Then...if he lost...if he failed...he would have no one to blame except himself.
He’d been
