Chapter 4

As Dorothy opened up her house to her unexpected visitors, she noticed that Quatre didn't have much to say, although his daughter commented on everything from the ornate ironwork of her security fence to the designs etched into the leaded glass of her front door. The house was larger than the average house on the block where she lived, but not anywhere near the size of the magnificent Dermail Mansion on the outskirts of the city. She allowed the army of bodyguards to inspect every nook and cranny of the house, and when they were satisfied that their master would be safe, Dorothy took Jamila upstairs to her private bathroom.

At first the little girl seemed reluctant to remove her soiled clothing and Dorothy thought she might have to solicit Quatre's help, but Jamila finally parted with her pants and shirt as Dorothy turned her attention to filling the large bathtub with water. When she turned to pick up a bottle of rose scented bubble bath, she caught a glimpse of Jamila standing naked nearby waiting to enter the bathtub and almost dropped the bottle. Her heart seemed to stop beating as she looked at the little girl, her gaze drawn to the bruises marring her pale flesh.

Jamila smiled at her. "I am ready."

"So you are," said Dorothy, then turned back to pour the bath oil into the water. The last thing she wanted to do was alarm the child by demanding answers from her. The fact that she didn't try to hide them told Dorothy that Jamila had come to accept her abuse as a way of life.

"I smell roses." Jamila came to Dorothy and reached into the water to create bubbles by swirling the water around vigorously.

She was so close that Dorothy could see that she had past bruises that were turning yellow as well as newer ones on her arms, back and legs that were various shades of purple. On her upper arms, the little girl had the dark imprint of fingers, as if she had been held in a vise-like grip. Dorothy felt anger surge up inside her as she imagined an adult treating a child in such a manner. She had memories of her own of a mother who often lost her patience with Dorothy and who informed her nanny that she need not spare the rod. Dorothy couldn't believe that Quatre would do such a thing to his child, so she was left with the suspicion that either the girl's mother hurt her or more likely, a nanny who used brute force to make her job easier. She wondered if Quatre even knew that someone was abusing his daughter.

To take her mind off the anger she felt, Dorothy concentrated on helping Jamila into the bathtub, and as the little girl splashed about, Dorothy managed to wash the dirt and sand from her hair, then scrub any evidence of her morning spent rubbing shoulders with the common folk. After adding more bubbles to the water, Dorothy left her to splash around with the Jacuzzi jets running while she headed to the laundry room with the soiled clothing.

Quatre rose and followed her through the kitchen, but she ignored him as she tossed the clothing in the washer with a little soap. When she turned to leave, she found him leaning against the doorframe watching her with a half-smile. "I can hardly believe what I am seeing. Do you not have a maid?"

Dorothy raised a brow. "Don't you think I am capable of taking care of myself."

"You're every bit as capable as I am."

Despite her annoyance at his intrusion in her life this morning, his comment made her smile. "The maid has the day off," she confessed.

Quatre laughed softly. "You seem to be able to take care of yourself." He paused, then added, "Probably more than I."

Dorothy wondered if there was some hidden meaning to his words. She wasn't going to think about it now. He moved aside when she reached the door, and she paused in the kitchen to find the promised milk and cookies for his men, then left Quatre in charge of distributing them. She returned to her room carrying a towel and helped Jamila from the tub although the girl wanted to stay in the water a little longer. After wrapping her in a large, fluffy towel, she led Jamila to her room where she toweled her off thoroughly. She picked up her hairbrush, and warning Jamila that she might feel a little pain, she set about brushing out the tangles of her long, thick hair.

Jamila didn't seem to notice her tugging at her hair, and Dorothy imagined that she had probably already been conditioned by the backside of the brush not to notice the pain to her scalp. Jamila chattered away about anything her eyes fell on in Dorothy's room, the curtains, her matching coverlet, and the design in the plush carpet. She made no secret that she adored the elegant statue that made up her bedside lamp. Dorothy suspected she would be getting a closer look at it when she finished brushing her hair as well as the small collection of porcelain figurines of angels and cherubs that Dorothy had been collecting the last few years.

When she finally finished with the last snarl, Jamila jumped from her lap, and Dorothy cringed as she imagined the girl banging against the table and upsetting the delicate figures. But she made a detour to stop at Dorothy's dressing table where she reached out to run her fingers over the slender black velvet case containing the diamonds she had worn the previous evening.

Remembering the earring in her pocket, Dorothy dug into her jeans as she crossed the room to where Jamila was still rubbing the surface of the box. "What is in here?" Jamila asked her curiously.

Dorothy snapped open the case and Jamila exclaimed over the sparkling gems before reaching out to touch the necklace. A memory of her own mother snapping the case shut on her fingers made Dorothy cringe, then she lifted the diamond necklace after tossing the earring on its resting place in the case.

"Would you like to try it on?" asked Dorothy although she already saw the delight in Jamila's blue eyes even before she nodded vigorously.

She had just barely clasped it shut around her neck before Jamila spotted her discarded evening gown and sandals and dashed across the room to rescue it from the trash. "Oh! This is so beautiful! May I put it on?"

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Dorothy nodded and watched Jamila pull on the garment, then holding it up with one hand, she found the sandals and slipped them on. She strutted around the room, pretending to be a lady of high society, and Dorothy could not help but burst into laughter. This is how she imagined life would be with the daughter she never had and probably never would have. Dorothy envied Sadirah Barak.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Dorothy went to open it. Quatre stood with a small plate of cookies and a cup of milk, his brows raised. "It sounded like you were having fun."

"Look at me, papa!" cried Jamila as she stumbled across the room to him.

Quatre glanced at Dorothy as if he expected her to be angry, then turned his attention back to Jamila. "You are not bothering Miss Dorothy, are you?"

"Of course not," denied Dorothy, shooting Quatre a glare when she saw a worried frown crease Jamila's brow. "Jamila and I were having some fun. No boys allowed." She grabbed the milk and cookies from him, then shut the door, feeling much more comfortable not having Quatre Winner stepping into her bedroom.

She put the snack on the table by the bed, and then told Jamila she could stay dressed up if she promised to eat properly. Jamila hopped on the bed and proceeded to eat her cookies with great care not to drop any crumbs, and seeing that she was tired, Dorothy told her to lie down.

As Jamila put her head on the pillow, she asked Dorothy to tell her a story. Dorothy knew the standard fare, so she chose to tell her the story of the beauty and the beast. Jamila listened attentively, and when she finished, Jamila said, "The beast was really beautiful inside?"

Dorothy nodded and reached out to stroke Jamila's blond hair. "The moral of the story is that you cannot judge one by his or her looks."

"Do beautiful princesses ever turn into beasts?" asked Jamila, her eyes wide and serious.

Dorothy didn't know how to respond. She suspected she knew the reason for Jamila's question, but she wouldn't put her on the spot by asking her pointed questions about her mother. Dorothy did not know Sadirah Barak, nor had she read anything about her behavior in the tabloids that might give her any reason to suspect the beautiful socialite of having anything to do with Jamila's bruises. However, seeing the seriousness of Jamila's expression, Dorothy decided that no matter how repugnant the situation might be, she would have a discussion with Quatre's wife.

Jamila let out a long sigh followed by a yawn, then she reached out to touch Dorothy's long braid. "Can you make my hair like yours?" She grabbed a handful of her own long hair, and holding up to Dorothy's, a smile curved her lips as she observed, "Your hair is the same color as mine."

Dorothy smiled as she sifted her fingers through the little girl's hair. "Your hair is much more beautiful than mine."

Her eyes closed and her hands dropped away as she fell asleep.

Carefully so as not to disturb her, Dorothy left the bed then went downstairs. Quatre wasn't in the living room or the kitchen, but when Dorothy went into the laundry room to put Jamila's clothing into the clothes dryer, she detected the faint aroma of his cigar smoke.

He was standing in the middle of her rose garden, casually smoking a cigar as he examined a particularly large white rose. When he heard her footsteps on the flagstone path, he turned to her.

"Must you smoke?" she asked in annoyance as she took the cigar form his hands and dropped it on the flagstone where she crushed it under her heel.

"I find it relaxing," he said as he reached into his jacket to withdraw a gold case from which he took another cigar. She made a sound of disgust as he lit it from a matching gold lighter. After blowing out smoke, he told her, "I'm not quite relaxed yet."

She clenched her teeth but didn't say anything.

Quatre seemed content to enjoy his cigar in silence so she went to the gloves and pruning sheers she had discarded earlier to return to the work of trimming her roses. There was a chill in the air, so Dorothy knew she would have to prepare her garden for winter soon if she expected them to survive.

As she snipped at dead or damaged sections of the bushes, she wondered if she should question Quatre about Jamila's care or if he knew about her bruises. She ran the risk of offending him or worse, alerting him to a problem that might infuriate him and cause some dissension in his household. Jamila obviously loved her mother, and losing her would not help her situation any. No, Dorothy would have to try to take care of this problem discreetly. She certainly knew how torn Jamila felt, how confused she was that someone who should be protecting her was hurting her.

"Your roses are very lovely," remarked Quatre.

"Working with them relaxes me," she told him without turning around. "At least they don't pollute the air."

He chuckled. "I will try to curb my repulsive habit when I am around you."

Dorothy turned around, setting aside her gardening tools and withdrawing her gloves. "After today, I don't really see that as a problem."

Quatre watched her with an intense blue gaze. "I want to see you again, Dorothy."

She curled her fingers inward so that her nails bit into her palms. The pain made it easier to ignore the wild beating of her heart. "You can't see me again. I have a life here that I don't want disturbed."

"With Randolph Morrison? Don't kid yourself, Dorothy. He's stringing you along so that you will keep your trust fund invested with him. What you don't realize is that he has already embezzled at least a fourth of it and stashed it away in a bank account on L3."

Dorothy stared at him incredulously. That Randolph was cheating her was bad enough, but to hear that Quatre had gone to the trouble of discovering his clandestine activities made anger bubble up. "How dare you meddle in my life!"

"You need someone to watch out for you," he remarked nonchalantly, flicking ashes from his cigar before breathing in more smoke.

"I certainly don't need you to be that person!"

"Who else is going to do it?" He raised a brow, challenging her to come up with an answer.

"You already have a wife and a daughter to look after," she pointed out bitterly. "I wouldn't presume to take any of your time or attention away from them. I hope you realize just how much that little girl needs you, and as for your wife, if you can stand here and try to seduce me, then she deserves better for a husband."

Quatre frowned. "You don't know what you are talking about."

"I don't want to know!" Dorothy glared straight at him. "I may have lost all sense of reason in Barbados, but I am in full control now, Quatre Winner. I know that you deliberately set out to seduce me, and I am ashamed to admit that I fell for all your smooth lines."

He shook his head. "You don't understand..."

"You don't understand! I don't want to have anything more to do with you! You made me lose any self-respect I had and it has taken a long time to get it back. I have plans for lunch with Randolph, so if you will excuse me, I will be getting ready to go. You may stay as long as Jamila is sleeping, but I will expect you to be gone when I return later."

Dorothy marched past him, and she was relieved that he hadn't reached out to her or said anything more, because she thought she might burst into tears. Her mother would call her a weak fool, her grandfather would mock her, but where Quatre Winner was concerned, she would always have a nagging wound in her heart.

A warm, salty breeze ruffled her hair, waking Dorothy from her peaceful slumber. Her eyes snapped open when she realized that she was no longer in the car, that she was lying on a bed. Sitting up, she was at least glad that her headache was gone, but she was a little concerned that she didn't know where she was. Looking in the direction from which the breeze blew, she saw that a beach was only a few hundred feet away and the sun had become a huge red and orange ball melting into the ocean. During the time she had been on Barbados, Dorothy hadn't noticed how beautiful the sunset was. So she walked to the open window which actually opened up to a terrace that gave way to the beach. Stepping out onto the terrace, she ran a hand through her hair and let the ocean breeze lift it for a moment, closing her eyes and enjoying the pleasure she felt.

So she missed her flight and Quatre Winner had spirited her away to parts unknown, for what purpose she still didn't fully comprehend. Dorothy had always been warned to watch out for men who might take advantage of her so that they could get their hands on her fortune. But that hardly fit the description of Quatre Winner. He had enough money to buy her entire inheritance a hundred times over, so he presumably had no interest in her fortune. He couldn't possibly be interested in her as a woman. Dorothy didn't allow herself the luxury of such a fantasy.

After the sun had set, she returned to the room from which she had come and looked around for her suitcases. Apparently they hadn't been delivered to her room because she did not see either, so she went to the closet, hoping that an efficient maid had hung up her clothing. Instead of her own clothing, however, she found several outfits with loud prints and bright colors, much like the clothing the women of the island wore. The price tags were still hanging on them, and taking one from the closet, she checked the size and noted they would fit her. No doubt Quatre had bought the clothing along with the swimsuit she also saw hanging in the closet. Two piece. Dorothy cringed as she imagined what her mother would say about that. At least it wasn't as revealing as she had seen some women wear, but Dorothy still felt uncomfortable just thinking about the goodly amount of her that would be showing if she put it on.

Dorothy wanted her own clothing, so she left the room to search for a servant to request that they be brought to her room. But after going through several rooms and not finding anyone, she wondered if she were alone until she heard Quatre's voice coming from a room at the end of the hall.

Stepping into the room, she found herself in what appeared to be an office. Quatre was standing with his back to her facing the open window overlooking the sea, some papers in his hand which he seemed to be studying. "The proposal as it is written is not acceptable to me, Hassan. I don't see any provision for the people whose homes are displaced by the resort." Dorothy realized that he was wearing a headset to hear and speak to the man at the other end of the conversation. "I know I should have been at the meeting today, but something came up."

Quatre missed an important meeting while he had been driving her to this place? "I understand, Hassan, but I told you on the outset that I was coming to Barbados to relax, and now you have me tied up in meetings. I'm going to have to trust you to take care of business for me for a few days."

Turning, he noticed Dorothy standing inside the room. "I'll get back to you later. I'll need a different proposal before I will consider this project." He removed the headset and tossed it on his desk. "I see that you are finally awake."

Dorothy crossed her arms as she looked at him. "You are obviously very busy, Mr. Winner. You need not concern yourself with driving me to the airport tomorrow as I can surely hire a car."

He smiled at her as he came around the desk. "You're not going anywhere tomorrow." She felt her anger building until he continued. "There isn't another flight to Europe for a couple of days so you might as well resign yourself to enjoying my hospitality."

Since she had little choice in the matter she said, "I would prefer that you have my things placed in the room where I am staying. Although I am sure you meant well, I really cannot accept the clothing you purchased for me."

Quatre half-smiled as he now crossed his arms. "You may change your mind. I doubt you brought anything suitable to wear in Barbados."

"What makes you think that?" she asked with a frown. She didn't like the fact that he had guessed how uncomfortable her clothing was. Dorothy had decided on the spur of the moment, upon seeing an advertisement for the island in a magazine she had picked up to page through while waiting to discuss financial matters with the Dermail estate lawyers. She hadn't made any preliminary plans, but threw some clothing in her suitcases, then took the first flight out. Had she done any planning whatsoever, she might not even have done something so foolish as to fly away to a tropical island.

"I doubt you even have any sunscreen to protect that lovely pale skin of yours."

Dorothy felt herself blushing, both from the compliment he had given her and the fact that he was right. "I...I would still rather have my things returned."

"Returned?" Quatre chuckled softly as he leaned against his desk. "Do you think I am some kind of ogre holding your clothing hostage?"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Quatre met her gaze. "I bought everything you might need, Miss Dorothy."

Dorothy parted her lips and was about to inform him that he had forgotten some rather personal items, and she noticed that he had arched one of his blond brows as if challenging her to mention them.

"Why don't you freshen up a bit and I'll meet you on the terrace in about an hour for a late supper." Quatre reached for the report he had been looking at when she came into the room, so Dorothy knew he was anxious to get back to work. She was hungry, so she had no reason to refuse.

After taking a long shower, Dorothy stood before the closet trying to decide what might be suitable to wear. She chose an elegant pale peach sleeveless voile dress that was lined with silk. Dorothy had hoped to feel even remotely comfortable in the dress because of the lining, having nothing to wear beneath it. But the garment clung to her in a rather revealing manner. As she slipped on matching sandals she told herself that if she had any sense, she wouldn't leave her room wearing the shameless outfit.

Quatre was waiting by a table that had been placed on the terrace, and when she stepped through the French door from her room, he came to meet her. He was wearing a loose white shirt and linen dress pants. Having been in the sun more than she on his vacation, he already had a tan that made him too disturbingly attractive for Dorothy's peace of mind.

When he reached her, he took her hand and raised it, and Dorothy caught her breath when his lips brushed her knuckles. "Quite lovely, Miss Dorothy, as I knew you would be when I picked this dress."

Reluctantly she drew her hand away from his warm grasp. "I wish you had consulted me on my island wardrobe."

"But I couldn't bring myself to wake you when I found the shop." Quatre led her to the table, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back. Dorothy found his touch both intrusive and welcome at the same time, and it gave her disquieting visions of his hand sliding over the sensuous fabric of her dress.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked when they reached the table.

"Planning to get me drunk?" she asked with a raised brow as he splashed some rum in a glass, added a juice, and tossing in a cherry, he handed it to her.

Quatre poured himself only the juice. "If I had wanted to do what you are implying, Miss Dorothy, I had plenty of opportunity last night when I took you back to your hotel." As he took a sip of his non-alcoholic cocktail he looked at her over the rim of the glass. "Who do you think tucked you in your bed so nice and cozy?"

Dorothy's stomach did a flip and she quickly drank from her glass hoping the smooth drink he had prepared would calm her nerves. She didn't have a response for him so she changed the subject. "You seemed to be busy earlier. Last night you mentioned business."

He pulled out a chair for her. "I don't want to talk about business with you, Miss Dorothy. I was hoping that you could keep me from thinking about it for awhile."

She was helplessly perplexed. "When did you get the idea that I am some sort of escort who can be paid off with a wardrobe and a week-end in a beach house?"

"I'm sorry you've given yourself that impression." He signaled, and Dorothy realized that a waiter was standing by in the shadows. The terrace was lit with several citronella lamps that served to ward off mosquitoes as well as give of a subtle musky lemon scent. The waiter moved forward with a cart of covered dishes.

"I hope you like crab," said Quatre as the waiter put a plate of food before her. Dorothy realized that she hadn't eaten all day, having spent most of it sleeping, and the appetizing meal took her mind off his puzzling behavior.

After several moments of silence as they both concentrated on their meals, Quatre finally spoke. "You are probably wondering why I brought you here."

Dorothy paused in eating, and after taking a drink of her cocktail she said with a shrug, "I'm quite used to being swept away to secluded locations by wealthy young men."

Quatre threw back his blond head in laughter, and his eyes were twinkling with merriment when he looked at her. "I think I am going to enjoy getting to know you a little better, Dorothy Catalonia."

She was afraid that she was going to enjoy getting to know him a little better, too.

When Quatre returned to his hotel room with Jamila, he found Sadirah waiting impatiently, the beleaguered nanny wringing her hands fretfully, then crying out and hurrying to hug his daughter when she realized that her charge was safe.

Sadirah stood with her hands on her hips watching the touching reunion, and when Jamila had stopped clinging to the women, she announced, "Atifah, you have been negligent in your duties, the primary one being to protect my daughter. I no longer have need of your services. You will be escorted back to your family on L4."

The other woman looked completely heartbroken, and she turned to look at Quatre for confirmation. He could not undermine Sadirah's authority with her own staff so he said nothing although he thought Sadirah was rather harsh. But Sadirah wasn't firing Atifah because she had been negligent. Rather she had watched the affection between Atifah and Jamila and disapproved.

Seeing that she wasn't going to get any help from Quatre, Atifah bowed her head and walked out of the room. Jamila looked at him, her eyes watery with tears, then she dashed after the middle-aged nanny.

"Are you satisfied with what you have caused?" asked Sadirah with a lift to her perfectly arched brows.

"I am satisfied that I was able to give Jamila a pleasant day, but not pleased that Atifah has had to suffer for it." He crossed the room to the telecom where he reviewed messages received while he had been out. There were several from his father-in-law, all concerning a meeting he was supposed to have attended earlier in the afternoon. Glancing at his watch, he knew the meeting was long over. Barak would have handled his end with his usual efficiency; he always did.

"You could have avoided the necessity of dismissing Atifah by simply informing us of your plans," Sadirah stated. "Now I will have to find another nanny."

Quatre thought of Dorothy and how relaxed and friendly she had been with his daughter. He had been pleasantly surprised that Dorothy could be so nice to a child she had every reason to resent. Had it not been for what happened with Sadirah, Quatre would not have given up on Dorothy. Five years ago, his obligations had called him back to L4, and his invitations for her to join him had been ignored. Apparently what had happened between them on Barbados hadn't touched her the same way it had him. At least she hadn't taken out any of the enmity she felt toward him on his daughter. She had even dressed Jamila before leaving for her afternoon with Randolph Morrison.

"I have plans for the evening," Sadirah informed him. "My father and I have been invited to a dinner party given by some investment brokers."

"Was I included in those plans?" asked Quatre with a raised brow.

"This is a project of my father's," she said. "We didn't think you would be interested."

She was probably right. Hassan Barak didn't think twice about entering into deals that might be potentially harmful to some segment of society. His backing of the current regime on L4 was one of those projects although he claimed not to know that the new president was going to impose taxes that were crippling on the poorer classes. The man behaved like a despot and had an army to back him. If Quatre could move his business interests away from L4, he would do so, but he would have to do it at the cost of lost jobs of people who needed them. Many underprivileged people of the colony already viewed him as a supporter of Mahmad al-Jazar because he had not opposed his rise to power, but Quatre didn't want to become involved in political problems. That left him with uneasy neutrality between the dictator and the people he oppressed with neither side trusting him and both sides coveting his fortune.

A knock at her door drew his attention and Quatre watched as a maid opened it, spoke to someone, then crossed the room to Sadirah to hand her an envelope. Her brows were raised as she carefully opened it and Quatre could see that she had received some type of invitation.

"I have been invited to a luncheon at the home of the Deputy Foreign Minister," she told Quatre. He could see that Sadirah was proud to be included in such a function. "I will have to shop for something suitable to wear. Will you send a message to Rashid to accompany me?"

Without waiting for his answer, Sadirah ordered the maid to find her things and the young woman hurried to bring her coat and handbag. Quatre thought she was going to leave without acknowledging him, but she paused at the door to look at him. "I won't be returning until later. I will be with my father."

"I hope you enjoy yourself," he remarked without really meaning it.

She grimaced, then walked out.

Quatre sent a text message to Rashid to accompany Sadirah. Although she was a potential target for kidnappers and terrorists, reporters and photographers usually followed her so it was highly unlikely that anyone would be desperate enough to attempt an attack on her.

He was still scanning through the many messages he had received almost an hour later with Atifah emerged from her room down the hall carrying her suitcase. Quatre stood as she entered the room, and for a moment he thought she might say something, but she looked away from him and headed to the door. When she had gone, Quatre left his computer and went to find Jamila.

He found her sitting in the middle of her large bed, engrossed in looking at something in her lap, but when she realized he was in the room, she quickly hid whatever had her attention behind her back.

Although Quatre had come to discuss Atifah's dismissal, he was more interested in what she was hiding from him, but he concentrated on the purpose for his visit. "I know that you have come to like Atifah very much..."

"I am not supposed to like anyone but Mama," Jamila told him.

"Does that include me?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.

She shook her head vigorously.

"I know why Nanny Atifah had to leave." Jamila seemed distracted by whatever she was hiding behind her back.

Quatre didn't want to invade her privacy, but she had never tried to keep a secret from him before. "I am sure that your mother will find another nanny soon."

Jamila was fidgeting, her eyes downcast.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked her.

For a moment she didn't say anything, then she drew out her hands from behind her back and and brought them together, he saw cupped in them a small, porcelain figure of an angel with flowing blond hair.

Quatre frowned. "Where did you get that?" He could not imagine Sadirah being thoughtful enough to give her daughter such a gift and Atifah certainly could not afford something that appeared to be very expensive.

"I...I took it from Miss Dorothy's room," she confessed, her bottom lip quivering. "I wanted to remember her because I have never had so much fun. She was so very nice, papa."

As Quatre stared at the angel, he ground his teeth together and silently cursed himself for the stupid mistake that had made Sadirah the mother of his daughter and not Dorothy. If he had one iota less of integrity, he would allow Rashid to dispose of his wife.

"Are you angry, papa?" she asked, her voice small and fearful.

He drew Jamila onto his lap and closed her fingers over the angel. "I am not angry, Jamila. We can take the angel back to Miss Dorothy and you may apologize to her."

She seemed to be relieved. "I very much like Miss Dorothy." Then her eyes widened and she became tense in his embrace. "I...I hope Mama does not send her away."

Quatre smiled as he imagined Sadirah trying to take on Dorothy Catalonia. "You don't have to worry about Miss Dorothy."