A Royal Proposal. Barbara Hannay
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days?’ Rafe’s lip curled in a slightly bitter smile. ‘Olivia’s not exactly a daytime sort of person. She’s more of a night owl.’
Charlie blinked at this. She only had the vaguest notions of life on the French Riviera. She supposed Olivia was part of the jet-set who spent their time partying and shopping for clothes. If she emerged in the daylight, it was probably to lie in the sun, working hard on her suntan. Just the same, it bothered her that Rafe wasn’t speaking about her sister with any sense of deep fondness. ‘And what sort of work do you do?’ she asked.
‘That’s a complicated question.’
She felt a burst of impatience. ‘I don’t have much time.’
‘Then I’ll cut to the chase. I’m my country’s ruler.’
Charlie stared at him, mouth gaping, as she struggled to take this in. ‘A ruler? Like—like a king?’
‘Montaigne’s only a small principality, but yes.’ His voice dropped as if he didn’t wish to be overheard. ‘I’m the Prince of Montaigne. Prince Rafael the Third, to be exact.’
‘Holy—’ Just in time, Charlie cut off a swear word. She couldn’t believe she’d met a real live prince and was sitting in her local café with him. Couldn’t believe that her sister had actually scored a prince as a fiancé. ‘You mean I should be calling you Sir, or Your Highness, or something?’
Rafe smiled. ‘Please, no. Rafe’s fine.’
Almost immediately, another thought struck Charlie. ‘Olivia might have been abducted, mightn’t she? That postcard might have been a—a hoax.’
Rafe shook his head. ‘Security footage in the castle shows her leaving of her own volition. We know she drove her car towards Grenoble. After that—?’ He frowned. ‘She disappeared.’
‘She might have been kidnapped.’
‘There’s been no request for a ransom.’
‘Right.’ Charlie gave a helpless shrug. ‘And you’ve had your people searching everywhere? Even down here in Australia?’
‘Yes.’
As Charlie sipped her coffee, she tried to put herself in Olivia Belaire’s shoes. What would it be like to be engaged to this good-looking Prince? To be marrying into royalty? Would Olivia have been expected to undertake a host of public duties? Would she be required to chair meetings? Run charities? Visit the children’s hospital?
At the very thought of a children’s hospital, she shivered. Poor little Isla.
Fascinating though this conversation was, she’d have to cut it short.
But, as she speared a piece of baklava with her fork, she couldn’t help asking, ‘Do you think Olivia might have got cold feet? Could she have been worried about the whole royalty thing? All the responsibilities?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘That’s hard on you, Rafe. I—I’m sorry.’ Lowering the enticing pastry to her plate, Charlie picked up her phone instead. She needed to check the time. She had to meet her father. She really should leave.
As if he sensed this, Rafe said, ‘Before you go, I have a proposition.’
‘No way,’ Charlie said quickly, suddenly nervous. Prince or not, she’d only just met the man and she wasn’t about to become embroiled in his troubles. She had enough of her own.
‘You could earn a great deal of money,’ he said.
Now he had her attention.
CHARLIE CERTAINLY BRIGHTENED at the mention of money, and Rafe was surprised by his stab of disappointment. After all, her reaction was exactly what he’d expected.
Now, however, caution also showed in Charlie’s expressive face, and that was also to be expected.
‘Why would you offer me money?’ she asked.
‘To entice you to stand in as your sister.’
She stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘I’m perfectly serious.’
Leaning back, she continued to watch him with obvious distrust. ‘You want me to pretend to be your fiancée?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s ridiculous. Why?’
At least, she listened without interrupting while he explained. She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, chin resting in one hand, blue eyes intent, listening as if transfixed. Rafe told her about the inconvenient clause in Montaigne’s constitution, about the country’s mineral wealth and the very real threat of a takeover, and the possibility of ruin for the people who meant so much to him.
Charlie didn’t speak when he finished. She sat for a minute or two, staring first at him and then into space with a small furrow between her neatly arched brows. Then she picked up her phone.
‘Excuse me,’ she said without looking up from the small screen. ‘I’m just researching you.’
Rafe smiled. ‘Of course.’ He drained his coffee and sat back, waiting with barely restrained patience. But despite his tension, he thought how pleasant it was to be in a country where almost nobody knew him. Of course, his bodyguards were positioned just outside the café, but in every other way he was just an ordinary customer in a small Sydney coffee shop, chatting with a very pretty girl. The anonymity was a luxury he rarely enjoyed.
‘Wow,’ Charlie said, looking up from her phone. ‘You’re the real deal.’
Rafe’s moment of fantasy was over. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Would you consider my proposal?’
She grimaced. ‘I hate to sound mercenary, but how much money are we talking about?’
‘Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars US.’
Charlie’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Her first instinct was to say no, she couldn’t possibly consider accepting such a sum. But then she remembered Isla.
Fanning her face with her hand, she took several deep breaths before she answered. ‘Crikey, Rafe, you sure know how to tempt a girl.’
Wow—not only would she be able to help Isla, she would be a step closer to finding out about Olivia as well. How could she pass up such an opportunity to meet her long-lost sister and maybe get some answers?
But even as she played with these beguiling possibilities Charlie gave Rafe a rueful smile. ‘It wouldn’t work, though, would it? I’d give the game away as soon as I arrived in Montaigne and opened my mouth.’
Yes, her Aussie accent was a problem. ‘Do you speak French?’
‘Oui.’
‘You learnt French here in Australia?’ Rafe asked in French.
‘I went to school in New Caledonia,’ Charlie replied with quite a passable French accent. ‘I lived there for a few years with my father. Our teacher was a proper Frenchwoman. Mademoiselle Picard.’
Rafe smiled with relief. Charlie’s French might be limited, but she could probably get by. ‘I think you would manage well enough. Olivia isn’t a native French speaker.’
‘As long as I dropped the crikeys?’
His smile deepened. ‘That would certainly help, but we would try to limit the amount of time you needed to speak in public. It’s all about appearances, really. And when it comes to how you look, you certainly had me and my detectives fooled.’
‘But