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this,” one said.
    Bucky started down first. I let the visitors go next before following. As I stepped through the doorway, I gave Marcel one last glance. “Be okay,” I whispered.
    There were two more Secret Service agents waiting for us when we arrived in the Butler’s Pantry. They politely, yet firmly, ushered our Saardiscan guests to stand against the long countertop that lined the room. Even though I’d only known the men for a couple of hours, I could sense their agitation.
    Kilian whispered to Bucky. “What is happening?”
    Bucky held his hand out toward me, a deferential message that Kilian ignored.
    He pressed his case to Bucky. “Why are we made to wait here? Are we to be questioned?”
    Bucky and I exchanged a glance. We’d both heard stories of brutal interrogations that were rumored to occur regularly in Saardisca. The men watched us with a fear that was palpable.
    I took a step forward, which had the desired effect of garnering Kilian’s attention. “The doctor and Secret Service will update us on Marcel’s condition when they can.” My words were calm, but worry for my colleague’s health made my heart race in my chest and my breath come quickly.
    Bucky kept his gaze on me, forcing the other man’s attention. Kilian’s words were clipped when he said, “We are concerned.”
    “Of course you are,” I said. “We all are. I promise to keep you posted when we find out what happened.”
    I tried to project an air of control, but I was anxious. Marcel had fainted without any forewarning. And that arm . . .
    I couldn’t think about that now. The White House remained charged with collaborating with our Saardiscan guests and it was up to me and Bucky to shoulder that responsibility. “I’m certain that Marcel will recover and we’ll find out what’s ailing him. I’d rather not speculate.”
    Clapping my hands together the way our former chief usher, Paul Vasquez, used to when he required our cooperation, I took charge. “We planned for most of today to be an overview, an introduction to our kitchens, and orientation,” I began. “I know that the next stop on your tour was supposed to be the chocolate shop. Let’s hope that Marcel recovers soon, because I know he would prefer to show you that area himself. In the meantime, let’s return to our main kitchen.” I held out a hand toward the doorway, encouraging the others to enter ahead of me.
    Kilian took a deep breath. He nodded. As he proceeded into the kitchen, the others followed. I made eye contact with one of the two Secret Service agents. “I think we’re settled here,” I said. “Unless you feel the need to stay.”
    One of the two spoke into his microphone, waited for a reply, then turned to me. “Let us know if you need anything, Chef,” he said. Two seconds later they were gone.
    Bucky sidled up as we made our way into the kitchen. “You’ve got an uphill battle on your hands with these guys,” he said under his breath. “I don’t think they’re comfortable with a woman in charge.”
    “You think it’s that, or that they don’t like me?”
    Bucky shrugged. “Does it matter?”
    Kilian talked with his group in their mother language as Bucky and I decided on a plan of action.
    “It bugs me that we can’t understand what they’re saying,” Bucky said softly. “Yet you and I don’t have that advantage.”
    “I’m sure they’re unsettled by Marcel’s collapse. I know I am.” I bit my bottom lip. “One of the goals for this visit is to help Kilian and his team learn more about how we do things in this kitchen. Marcel was planning to handle a good chunk of that.”
    “It’s a good thing you came up with plans for our portion,” he said. “Looks like we’ll be getting started on those sooner than we expected.”
    “There’s not much choice, is there?”
    Bucky lowered his voice further. “Who’s brainy idea was it to host them here for two weeks, anyway?”
    I ignored that and called the group to