Ani interrupted her. “Leave it to me.” Her eyes twinkled suddenly. “The queen’s beauty is beyond compare—but you are beautiful, too, miss.” Tahra couldn’t help but blush a little at the compliment. Ani nodded to herself and added with a touch of self-importance, “When I am done, you will see.”
* * *
Tahra followed the footman who’d been sent to fetch her through a maze of corridors, unsure if she’d be able to find her way back unaided. They passed priceless objets d’art displayed in glass cases as well as out in the open on massive mahogany side tables. And what were obviously masterpieces hung in splendor from the walls, rivaling a museum. She recognized two famous Rembrandts, a Botticelli, several Sheridans and dozens of paintings whose artists she couldn’t name for sure but which she guessed. She would have stopped to confirm the signatures...if she wasn’t being led to lunch with the queen.
Finally the footman stopped and rapped on a closed door, which was almost immediately opened by another impassive footman, who bowed, ushered Tahra into the relatively small but exquisitely appointed dining room, then...surprisingly...left with the first footman, closing the door behind them. A tiny, dark-haired woman she recognized as Queen Juliana rose impulsively from the table and hurried toward her.
“Don’t you do that, too,” she laughingly chided when Tahra attempted a curtsy. “It’s bad enough I have to accept it from every Zakharian around me,” she confided. “But I don’t expect it from my own countrywomen.” She took Tahra’s left hand in a friendly way and led her to the table already laid for two. “I thought it would be more comfortable for both of us if we dispensed with service and just helped ourselves from the buffet. Oh, I forgot,” she added as an afterthought. “I’m Juliana. We met last year, but you probably don’t remember me, Tahra.”
“I know who you are, Your Majesty,” Tahra said shyly. “You were one of my screen idols before you married the king.”
“Oh dear, such a lowering thought—being someone’s screen idol makes me feel quite old.” But the queen’s smile conveyed she wasn’t really bothered by it. “And please call me Juliana. We’re not that far apart in age, you know. I’m thirty-two and you’re...twenty-eight, right?” When Tahra nodded, the queen explained, “We’ve actually had this conversation before, when we first met. Your boss at the embassy and my husband are friends, and we were first introduced at a reception here in the palace.” She was serving herself from the tempting variety of dainty dishes on the sideboard as she spoke, and Tahra made haste to follow suit, albeit a little awkwardly with her left hand. “I’ve also met your older sister, Carly,” the queen continued.
“You have?”
Juliana nodded. “A couple of months ago. Another reception.” Her barely perceptible sigh informed Tahra the queen was not a fan of formal receptions, although they were a mandatory duty in her life now. “This one was at the Zakharian embassy in DC. She accompanied the man who’s now her fiancé, Senator Jones.”
“Carly told me about him...when she was here while I was in the hospital,” Tahra volunteered hesitantly. “And she said I flew home to meet him when they became engaged a couple of weeks ago. But I don’t remember him.” She rushed to add, “I know who he is, of course, the same way I know who you are.” She couldn’t help the bleakness in her voice when she added under her breath, “But I don’t remember him any more than I remember Marek.”
The queen set her plate down and took a seat at the table, then darted a quick glance at Tahra’s face and changed the subject. “You resemble her, you know.”
Tahra seated herself and shook her head. “Carly’s beautiful.”
“So are you.” She was as discomfited by the queen’s unexpected compliment as she had been by Ani’s. “Oh, I know you weren’t fishing.” Juliana laughed softly. “I know you well enough to know you don’t see yourself in the same league as your sister.”
“Carly is famous. Deservedly so.”
“Yes, and unlike me, she’s famous for much more than her beauty.”
“That’s not true!” Tahra said, putting her fork down and leaping to the queen’s defense. “You’re a wonderful actress.” Then she paused. “Or rather, you were before you retired. Two best actress Oscars and those Golden Globe awards,” she reminded Juliana, as if the queen needed reminding. “And you were fabulous in King’s Ransom.”
An expression Tahra couldn’t quite decipher flitted over the queen’s face. “We had this conversation before, too,” Juliana said softly, and Tahra realized what she was seeing was sadness on the queen’s part for her lost memory. “Almost verbatim.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to add to that, so she picked up her fork with her left hand and resumed eating.
“That brings me to one of the reasons I wanted to lunch with you today. Andre,” she said, referring to her husband, the king, “and I are awed by your courage in saving those children. He expressed his own gratitude and appreciation via an official letter sent to the president, the State Department and the ambassador at the embassy.” She picked up a long white envelope that had been sitting beside her plate, with the official seal of Zakhar embossed in one corner, and handed it to Tahra. “This is a copy for your records. And when you’re fully recovered, Andre plans to hold a reception in your honor.”
Tahra stared at the envelope without opening it, then raised her eyes to Juliana’s. “I...I don’t really remember doing it.”
“But you did—do you know how many witnesses came forward to say what they saw you do with that knapsack?—and we can never thank you enough. Every parent would feel the same—that could have been my child in that schoolyard.” She touched a hand to her abdomen in an unconscious gesture, and Tahra’s eyes widened.
“Are you...? That is...” She fumbled for words to a question she wasn’t sure she should ask, and the queen nodded.
“We haven’t announced it yet—we wanted to wait until after I pass my first trimester—so please keep the news to yourself. But yes, by this time next year your fiancé will be heading the security detail for two royal children, not just one.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Tahra gushed. Then shook her head. “I don’t mean for Marek, I mean for you and the king.” A smile curved her lips. “Another baby. That’s so exciting!”
“You love babies, I take it?”
Tahra glanced down at her plate, then back up at the queen. “I know it’s terribly old-fashioned. I know I should want a challenging career as my sister has in order to feel fulfilled,” she confided. “But all I ever wanted was to be a wife and mother.”
“There’s nothing more fulfilling than being a mother, Tahra,” the queen said gently. “Nothing.” Her unusual violet eyes glowed for a moment before turning mischievous. “And being a wife is pretty darn fantastic, too...with the right husband.” Her expression conveyed that her husband was the right husband for her...and Tahra immediately thought of Marek. She could so envision him as her husband. Not perfect. No man was perfect—no woman, either—but even though she couldn’t remember anything about him from before the explosion, his stellar qualities shone clear and bright. Not to mention the way he’d kissed her this morning. If that was the way he always kissed, she had no idea how it was remotely possible they’d never been lovers, because her body had