Hospital stays were usually boring events. But for the only child of a movie star, a stay in the hospital provided many amenities not even the four-star hotels his father frequented offered. He had a nurse almost constantly, all young giggly ones who asked for his autograph and snapped pictures while he smiled the classic grin already termed a Dalton smile. He was no stranger to photographs, and his father had even shown him the best ways to make sure pictures didn't come out wrong. For the son of a movie star, image was everything. A charming personality and charisma aided by the expectations of others helped, but it was never amiss to make all perfect.

His eyes had healed quickly. Before the bandages were removed, he flirted with the nurses he couldn't see and listened to music. Comedy television left little to subtle body motion, so he had something to listen to. Occasionally, he just used the small MP3 player that he had received straight from Japan, a prototype with contoured controls that could literally be operated blindly. His father had used his wealth to an advantage, buying into up-and-coming technology before others knew it existed, and Jesse enjoyed the advantages.

The reason he was in the hospital was never officially mentioned. The doctors knew that no tabloid was to pick up on the story, or someone would be fired to compensate for lawsuits. Candy had agreed to not breathe a word to her editors at the magazine she worked for, settling with an exclusive interview about his father's next movie. Both benefited from such interviews. Derek's movie had a free promotion, and Candy could prove that she would report on anything, not just the serious news and preferred assignments. There were questions about bias, but Derek Dalton was popular enough that there were very few derogatory letters.

The week went by quickly. The sores healed, after several careful washes. The doctors were amazed at how much saltwater was inside them. Without the help of his mystery girl, they told him again and again, he would undoubtedly be dead. Even with her help, it was near a miracle that she had been able to tow him through so much water without causing further harm to the strange wounds.

The only problem with departure from the hospital was its strict protection against as many lawsuits as possible. Jesse did not want to exit in a wheelchair. The doctors cajoled weakly. Professional physicians, many decades out of internship, were afraid of the power that a seventeen-year-old could hold over them. Finally, Dr. Grey entered the room. Quite pointedly, she explained to Jesse that he would either remain in the hospital, or exit while in a wheelchair. His housekeeper had a car waiting, which a nurse would assist him into. The hospital wasn't about to have its reputation ruined because he was clumsy enough to fall on his face.

The trip out to the car was difficult. Nurses, patients judged ambulatory, and some who were, by all official paperwork, bedridden, crowded around, clamoring for an autograph, a kiss, a smile, or even a wave. The harried doctors, used to celebrities, but not charming young ones who had actually needed a trip to the hospital, forced their way through the hall. The parking area was cleared except for a concept car that ran purely on solar and electrical power. Such a thing was unheard of, to most, but Derek had received it as a gift after his last movie involving that model of car.

Madeline Watson had once been a famous cook. Maddie had lost her fame in the years she had taken to recover after her husband's death. Cooking for programs was now dominated by the young, or at least those with a catch-phrase or new concept. She was a traditional cook, one who believed that good instincts towards measurement and attention to detail was what created a good meal, not fancy combinations of pre-laid out bowls. She had not gone back to television, finding only pre-made trays where unseen drudges did the work. Instead, she went to work for the Daltons. She had her own suite of rooms, a car with all maintenance taken care of, very little of her day taken by the small work, and even could hire a maid at her own discretion to take care of housekeeping duties.

"I'll be fine," Jesse Dalton promised for what sounded like the thirty-seventh time. "It was just a bit of a surfing accident, a fluke that won't happen again. My father will be back from Tokyo in a few days with Aisling Morgan for the premiere of his new film." He slipped into the car while evading doctors shouting final orders, closing the door firmly without a slam. Slammed doors made miffed reporters, and miffed reporters wrote scathing stories or searched for new material with which to write such stories.

"Are you really fine?" Maddie asked, glancing at her passenger for an instant as she carefully maneuvered her way through the crowd that plastered itself to the car. He always had been popular, but the attention had always seemed superfluous to Maddie. It was no wonder the boy was spoiled beyond repair, with people treating him like they would an idol.

"Yes, Madeline," he said shortly. He had never asked her nickname, and she had never offered it. The ride back was silent, the closed silence that would only come from people uncomfortable with each other. Maddie wished he would treat people better, and Jesse wished that the housekeeper wouldn't give him such disapproving looks.

He walked inside on his own. He didn't bother to hold the door open behind himself. She could get it. She was saying something, but he ignored her. He knew the schedule. Dinner was at six o'clock P.M., and not a moment before or after. If that was a problem, he could always heat leftovers which were never as good as her cooking, though he would never admit such a fact in her hearing.

His room was near the entrance of the mansion. It really was more a large suite than a room, as he had his own study, bathroom, walk-in closet, and small library connected to his room. He had been withdrawn from public school years ago, and did all studying alone or with Candy. She was his only real friend, but that didn't bother him. He never saw why it should, as he had models and actresses ten years his senior, and sometimes older, twining around him at any given moment. He did not at all mind his father's fame.

There was someone in his room. He stopped, narrowing his eyes at the girl fool enough to come into his rooms. He was notorious for firing maids, as Maddie was quick to report to any new arrivals. His space was to be left alone. Yet this girl stood in the middle of his spotless room, putting the last of neatly folded jeans in a drawer.

The room was immaculate. He hardly recognized it as his own. The collection of vintage comic books, worth thousands in the least, was tucked onto a bookshelf, arranged by title and date, every last issue inside one of the protective covers he had ordered years ago. The pile of discarded clothing, all from the most prominent designers, was gone, replaced by folded and hung shirts and pants. There was no dust on his computer, and his books had been stacked carefully by subject. It would have taken a week, at least. He knew what had been going on while he was in the hospital over an injury he already had forgotten to the past. This new maid had cleaned his room.

She turned, basket empty. She paused when she saw him, not even bothering to look him over in the speculative way of a new person. She acted as if she had seen him before. She had nerve, then, or she had seen one of the many portraits that had been done without charge by various artists hoping to increase their reputation and prestige among colleagues. He didn't spare her more than a glance. Her hair was some bland color, blonde or brown, and her eyes were a shade of grayish blue that wasn't at all eye-catching. She had a nice enough figure, he noted without embarrassment. She looked the type that would offer anything without hesitation.

"Are you the new maid?" he asked, a pointless question. She wore a normal enough outfit, jeans and a casual blouse, but there was no mistaking the look of a maid. Maddie insisted on casual attire except for in the most formal occasions. If she was going to have people in skirts, the cook often said, it would be for good reason.

The maid nodded. The expression on her face could be labeled wondering, if one were truly searching. She did not look nervous about speaking directly to Jesse Dalton, who intimidated most reporters. He was quite good at such a hostile but charming front, a reason the press would not report a story about him without very good proof. He had the perfect poker face and expressive features for a press conference, winning people over without even needing words.

"What's your name, then?" Most introduced themselves right away, giving either a personal history he wouldn't listen to or making an offer that might make them less dispensable around the house that he may or may not refuse. He was no stranger to such proposals, and his father was only proud to hear of them. That was how Derek had made his own start, after all.

Here the girl frowned. She shifted the basket to leave a hand free. Tapping her throat with a finger, she shook her head. It was universal body language for "I don't speak." He didn't listen to body language. He spoke in it.

"Tell me your name." This was an order. No one had ever refused to do such a simple thing before. Jesse had a quick temper, honed after years of no one giving him anything but his way. This girl was deliberately withholding something from him, as simple as a name. He felt the beginnings of white-hot rage stir within him.

She shook her head, hopelessly. It could be defiance, but she knew not what else to do. She couldn't speak, and her writing was not something he could read. Maddie had tried, on her first day of work, and could only make out two words.

"Get out," he yelled, following with an angry rant that used copious amounts of words certainly not polite in the presence of anyone. He was the son of a movie star. No one withheld information from him, especially not overly confident little maids who had messed with his stuff. He would tell Maddie to fire her, even if she did get out.

She did. Turning the basket to fit through the doorway without bumping him, she fled the room. He watched her retreat, noticing that she wore dark red socks with a pale pink shirt. It made sense that she knew nothing of the usual fashion do's and don'ts. He wasn't about to teach her, and she would be gone by tomorrow morning.

Jesse did not leave his room until just before six. Maddie would not have changed the time for dinner. In his opinion, the woman would never change, but would always remain a boring old woman waiting for history to repeat as it was rumored to do. He had heard her many times as she cooked, muttering about the horrors of the present age as she pounded the heels of her hands into a defenseless lump of dough that would benefit from the treatment.

Maddie had set three places. Belatedly, Jesse remembered the maid. She would be at dinner. That would be of no matter. He would just tell Maddie, before the meal was over, that the girl was to be fired. No employee had lasted more than three months, as Jesse had some control over dismissing them. He was not known for being understanding towards those who made mistakes.

"I believe you two have met?" Maddie set the food on the table. For the night, it was grilled steaks, cooked just the way Jesse liked them. Maddie had always loved medium-rare, so making the meat pink was no trouble for her. She looked from one to the other, not afraid of her employer's son. She was the one person safe from the whims of the spoiled (she would never say this aloud) brat.

"Yes. She won't tell me her name." This was enough of an accusation that Maddie knew what was on his mind.

"I should think not!" Maddie said sharply. She rarely used that tone, but matters were serious when she did. "She is mute. Her name is Lille Havfrue, but she usually goes by Lily." The cook said nothing of how the girl had been sitting in the room assigned to her, angry tears flowing down her face as she glared at her closet door.

"A mute?" he repeated. Maddie had never hired anyone with such a difficulty before. "Can she at least write?" He ignored Lille, speaking directly to Maddie.

"Yes. Take a look." Maddie gave him a sheet of lined paper used for grocery list. A few sentences had been written carefully. The handwriting was neat and precise, but the symbols were slightly different than the alphabet of the language they spoke, and the only identifiable words were Lille Havfrue.

"It's gibberish." He returned the paper dismissively. "She's just about useless, Maddie."

"No, she is not." Maddie had no idea why, but she defended this girl she had known for just a week more than any of her other new hires. "She's staying, and I'll tell you why. She has nowhere to go, as no one else would give her a real chance."

"Since when do you decide such things?" Jesse was astonished. Maddie had never said such a thing. She always just gave one of many disappointed looks and slipped a disgruntled or relieved maid a bonus for their work, the amount of extra pay depending on how hard they had been willing to work.

"Since my resignation tenders over her staying," Maddie replied, unruffled. She had quite enough money to live comfortably most anywhere, as long as she stayed in a moderate neighborhood. She had worked here for fourteen years, after all, and Derek was known for his theory of happy employees working happily.

"What?"

"Give her three months, and then we'll see. If she isn't the fine young girl I see, then she can leave. I will, too, if you raise a fuss." Maddie looked to Lily for the first time since the start of the conversation. "Would you pass the potatoes, Lille?"


Derek and Aisling returned a few days later. Aisling peered at the mute girl, trying to place her. She fired questions about previous residences at the girl until even Jesse was almost inclined to take the maid's side. Derek cut in smoothly, stopping his female companion's rampage of questions. At his age, girlfriend was a nearly ridiculous term. He asked a few questions that could be answered with gestures, getting her name from Maddie. He knew a few mute actresses, one of whom mouthed words onscreen. Only her closest friends were even aware of the difficulty she faced.

Derek was charmed by the polite girl, who did not look at all threatened by the famous people around her. She was curious, but had not once asked for an autograph. From what Maddie had said, she had not even really known how famous the people here were. Lille had needed a job, and that was the only motive she had needed. Derek told his son that he wasn't to torment the poor girl, and left with Aisling before he would listen to his son's indignant sputterings.

Lille was cleaning one of the older rooms when Jesse found her. She had been whistling quietly, low notes that sounded like a bird calling. Ornithologists would recognize her imitation down to a species, but to the normal ear, she whistled a tune in an odd tone. He tapped her on the shoulder, glaring as he spoke. He had something to say, and she wouldn't repeat it. She couldn't if she wanted to, unless she was hiding something.

"Listen, Lille, if that's even your real name. I don't want you anywhere near me. Do you understand that, mutie?" His words were cruel, undoubtedly, but were blunt and to the point. He never spoke this way to reporters, unless the situation called for it, but to a maid who couldn't speak back, it was easy.

Lille nodded once, trying to keep her chin high in the air, hoping he would hear her body language. You can't hurt me. I mean to leave you alone. You are nothing to me. Inside, she felt as though her heart was breaking. No one had told her that people regarded as princes in this age could be cruel instead of kind. She wouldn't have believed them, even if they had known. She wiped freshwater tears from her eyes with the clean part of her dusting rag, cleaning the room with a vengeance. He would be nicer, once he knew her a little better. He perhaps just had once experienced something negative involving a mute person. That had to be all. It had to.