Barbara Hannay - A Royal Proposal

He suspected that the two girls’ personalities were quite different, found himself hoping for this, in fact. And that made no sense at all.

* * *

When Charlie woke, the flight attendant was offering her a tray with orange juice and a pot of coffee.

‘We’ll be landing in Dubai in less than an hour,’ she was told.

Really?

A glance through the doorway showed Rafe, already up and dressed and sitting on one of the lounges, working on his computer again. Or perhaps he’d been working all night? Charlie downed her orange juice and hurried to her private bathroom to change out of her pyjamas and wash her face.

She took her tray with the coffee through to the lounge.

‘Good morning.’ Once again, Rafe’s smile held a hint of amusement. ‘You slept well?’

‘Unbelievably well,’ Charlie agreed.

She settled into a lounge and took a sip of coffee. ‘I didn’t realise we’d be landing in Dubai. I guess we need to refuel?’

‘It’s not a long stop,’ he said. ‘But yes, we need to refuel and my good friend, Sheikh Faysal Daood Taariq, wants to give us breakfast.’

‘Did you say a—a sheikh?’

‘That’s right.’

Charlie stared at Rafe in dismay. The thought of breakfast with a sheikh was even more confronting than stepping onto a private jet with a prince. She took a deeper sip of her coffee, as if it might somehow clear her head. ‘Are you sure I should come to this breakfast?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ said Rafe. ‘You’re my fiancée.’

‘Oh, yes.’ This demanded more coffee. ‘Yes, of course.’ Charlie’s hand shook ever so slightly as she refilled her cup from the silver pot. The deeper ramifications of becoming her sister Olivia were only just sinking in.

This, now, was her reality check. When she stepped off this plane, she would no longer be Charlie Morisset.

‘You’ll like Faysal,’ Rafe told her with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve known him for years. We met when we were both at Oxford.’

‘I—I see. And he’s a proper sheikh, but you just call him Faysal?’

‘Yes, and you can call him Faysal, too. He’s very relaxed and used to westerners.’

‘But will I need to wear a headscarf, or curtsy or anything?’

Rafe grinned. ‘Not today. Not in his home.’

‘What about shaking hands? Is that OK?’

‘Offering your hand would be perfectly acceptable. You’ll find Faysal is a charming gentleman.’

‘Right.’ Charlie looked down at her hands and realised she should probably have painted her nails. She looked at her simple T-shirt and trousers. ‘I should probably change into something a bit dressier.’

‘Not at all. You’ll be fine, Charlie. Relax.’ Rafe closed his laptop and slipped it into an overhead locker. ‘It’s time to strap ourselves back into the seat belts for landing.’

The flight attendant collected their coffee trays, and, once they were belted, she disappeared as the plane began its descent.

In her seat beside Rafe, Charlie couldn’t resist asking more questions. ‘So, this Faysal—how many wives does he have?’

This brought another chuckle. ‘None at all so far. He’s still enjoying the life of a bachelor.’

‘Right. So he’s a playboy?’

‘Of course,’ Rafe said with a knowing smile.

And I suppose you were a playboy, too, before your father died.

This sudden realisation bothered Charlie more than it should have. Why should she care about Rafe’s sex life? It was none of her business—although it did make her wonder again about why Olivia had run away from him.

‘And for your information, Faysal’s father only has four wives,’ Rafe said.

‘Oh?’ she replied airily. ‘Only four?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘It’s a sign of the times. His grandfather had forty.’

Good grief.

* * *

After only a very short time in Dubai, Charlie realised how truly ignorant she was about this part of the world. Of course, she’d expected to see regal and haughty, dark-bearded men in flowing white robes, and she knew these men were extraordinarily wealthy and heavily into horse-racing and speed-cars and living the high life. But she hadn’t been prepared for the over-the-top opulence.

On the short journey from the airport to Sheikh Faysal Daood Taariq’s home, she saw a car painted in gold—and yes, Rafe assured her, it was real gold—and another studded with diamonds. And good grief, there was even, in one bright red sports car, a leopard!

A proper live, wild creature. Massive, with a glorious coat of spots and a silver lead around its neck. The leopard was sitting in a front passenger seat beside a handsome young man in white robes and dark sunglasses.

Gobsmacked, Charlie turned to Rafe. ‘That wasn’t really a leopard, was it?’

He grinned. ‘It was indeed.’

‘But it couldn’t be. How can they?’

Rafe shrugged. ‘Welcome to Dubai. Extravagance abounds here and dreadfully expensive exotic pets are all the rage.’

‘But surely—’ Charlie wanted to protest about the dangers. About animal rights, but she stopped herself just in time.

‘Listen, Charlie.’ They were in the back seat of a huge limousine and Rafe leaned a little closer, speaking quietly. ‘Try not to be too surprised by anything you see here.’ He waved his hand to the view beyond the car’s window, as they passed a grand palace at the end of an avenue lined on both sides with fountains and palm trees.

‘I can’t help being amazed,’ she said somewhat meekly. But she knew she had to try harder. ‘I guess Olivia’s used to all this,’ she said. ‘Her jaw wouldn’t be dropping every five minutes.’

Rafe nodded. ‘Exactly.’

In that moment, Charlie realised something else. ‘You’ve brought me here to your friend’s house as a test, haven’t you? It’s a kind of trial run for me?’

Rafe’s only answer was a smile, but Charlie knew she was right. Visiting his good friend, Faysal, was a kind of fast-track apprenticeship for her in her new role as Rafe’s fiancée. If she made any gross mistakes here, the errors would remain ‘in house’ so to speak.

But she wasn’t going to make mistakes. She could do this. In Sheikh Faysal’s home, she would ensure that she had perfect posture and perfect manners. She would remember to stand straight, sit with her knees together, and never cross her legs, always be polite and eat neatly, and—

And it would be exhausting to be a full-time princess.

But Charlie was determined to pass any test Rafe St Romain presented. Of course, she could hold her tongue and play the role she’d been assigned. After all, he was paying her very handsomely.

Now, with her thoughts sorted, she realised that their car was turning. Huge iron gates were rolling open to allow them entry to a gravelled drive and a tall, white, three-storeyed house decorated with arches.

The car stopped at a heavily embossed front door, which opened immediately to reveal a dark-haired, olive-skinned man almost as handsome as Rafe.

‘Rafe and Olivia!’ he cried, throwing wide his arms. ‘How lovely to see you both again. Welcome!’

* * *

Breakfast at Faysal’s was wonderful, as always, and to Rafe’s relief Charlie behaved admirably.

They dined on the terrace beside the swimming pool, where they were served Arabic coffee made from coffee beans ground with cardamom and saffron, as well as spicy chick peas and balabet, a dish of sweetened vermicelli mixed with eggs and spices. There were also delicious pancakes flavoured with cardamom and coloured with saffron and served with date syrup.

Charlie was on her best behaviour, and Rafe knew she was trying hard not to be too overly impressed by everything she saw and tasted. But he could also tell that she was enjoying the meal immensely, possibly even more than she’d enjoyed last evening’s meal on the plane.