Barbara Hannay - A Royal Proposal

Or for an aspiring princess, she added silently.

Rafe passed this off with a shrug. ‘You can always buy new warm clothes when you get there.’

Yes, she could do that if she hadn’t already reallocated his generous payment. She felt a tad guilty as she snapped the locks on her suitcase shut.

Rafe picked it up. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’

‘Right.’ Charlie stifled a nervous ripple. This was going to work out. And it wasn’t a completely foolish thing to do. It was worthwhile. Really, it was. She would provide a front for Rafe while he got things sorted with Olivia and saved his country from some kind of economic ruin. And little Isla was getting a very important chance to have a healthy life.

Straightening her shoulders, she pinned on a brave smile. ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she told Rafe.

To her surprise, he didn’t immediately turn to head for the door. He took a step forward, leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave, felt the warm brush of his lips on her skin.

‘Thank you for doing this, Charlie.’ His eyes blazed with surprising emotion and warmth. ‘It means a lot to me.’

Charlie wasn’t sure what to say. When people did unexpectedly nice things she had a bad habit of crying. But she couldn’t allow herself to cry now, so she nodded brusquely. Then she followed him out, shut the door, and slipped the key under the mat outside Edna’s door, as they’d arranged.

As she did so, Edna’s door opened to reveal the old lady with Dolly in her arms.

‘We thought we’d wave you off,’ Edna said, beaming a jolly smile as she lifted one of Dolly’s white paws and waggled it. But then Edna saw Rafe and she forgot to wave or to smile. Instead she stood there, like a statue, eyes agog.

Great.

Charlie suppressed a groan. When she’d told her neighbour about her hastily arranged flight, she hadn’t mentioned a male companion. Now everyone in their block of flats would know that Charlie Morisset had taken off on reckless impulse with a tall, dark and extremely handsome stranger.

* * *

Conversation was limited as the taxi whizzed across Sydney, although Rafe did comment on the beauty of the harbour and the magnificent Opera House. In no time, they arrived at a private airport terminal that Charlie hadn’t even known existed.

There was no queue, no waiting, no taking her shoes off for Security, not even tickets to be checked. Her passport was carefully examined though, by a round little Customs man with a moustache, who did a lot of bowing and scraping and calling Rafe ‘Your Highness’. Then their luggage was trundled away and there was no more to do.

Rafe’s plane was ready and waiting.

Oh, boy. Charlie had been expecting a smallish aircraft that would probably need to make many stops between Australia and Europe. This plane was enormous.

‘Do you own this?’ she couldn’t help asking Rafe.

He chuckled. ‘I don’t need to own a jet. They’re very easy to charter, and I have a priority listing.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ she muttered under her breath.

At that point, she might have felt very nervous about flying off into the unknown with a man she’d only just met, but Rafe took her arm as they crossed the tarmac, tucking it companionably under his, and somehow everything felt a little better and safer. And he kept a firm steadying hand at her elbow as they mounted the steps and entered the plane.

Then Charlie forgot to be nervous. She was too busy being impressed. And overawed.

The interior of Rafe’s chartered jet was like no other plane she’d ever seen or imagined. It was more like a hotel suite—with padded armchairs and sofas, and a beautiful dining table.

Everything was exquisite, glamorous and tasteful, decorated in restful blues and golds. As they went deeper into the plane, there were wonderful double beds—two of them, Charlie was relieved to see—complete with banks of pillows, soft wall lamps, and beautiful gold quilts.

The only things to remind her that this was a jet were the narrowness of the space and the lines of porthole windows down each side.

‘OK,’ she said, sending Rafe a bright grin. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘I hope you have a comfortable flight.’

‘There’d have to be something wrong with me if I didn’t.’

He looked amused as he smiled. ‘Come and take a seat ready for take-off.’

Rafe’s bodyguards had boarded the plane as well, but they disappeared into a section behind closed doors, leaving Rafe and Charlie in total privacy as they strapped themselves into stupendously luxurious white leather chairs. An excessively polite, young female flight attendant appeared, dressed demurely in powder blue and carrying a tray with glasses of champagne, complete with strawberries and a platter with cheese and grapes and nuts.

Oh, my. Until now, Charlie had been too busy and preoccupied to give much thought to what being a prince’s fiancée involved, but it seemed this gig might be a ton of fun. Despite her worries about Isla and about all the unknowns that lay ahead of her, she should try to relax and enjoy it.

* * *

The flight was a breeze. First there was a scrumptious meal of roasted leek soup, followed by slow-cooked lamb and a tiny mousse made from white chocolate and cherries, and to drink there was wonderful French champagne.

Charlie gave Rafe a blissful smile as she patted her lips with the napkin. ‘This is so delicious,’ she said, for perhaps the third or fourth time.

He looked slightly bemused and she wondered if she’d gone a bit too far with her praise.

Of course, she’d been out with guys who’d fed her beautiful meals before this, but it was still an experience she could never get tired of. At home, she’d done most of the cooking before her father’s marriage, and she now cooked for herself in the flat, but she’d never seemed to have time to learn more than the basics. Fancy gourmet food was a treat.

After dinner, Rafe said he had business to attend to and was soon busy frowning at his laptop. Charlie, yawning and replete, changed into pyjamas and climbed into an incredibly comfortable bed.

She expected to lie awake for ages mulling over the amazing and slightly scary turn her life had taken in one short day, but with a full tummy, an awesomely comfy bed, and the pleasant, deep, throbbing drone of the plane’s engines, she fell asleep quickly.

* * *

Rafe suppressed a sigh as he watched Charlie fall asleep with almost childlike speed. Was that the sleep of innocence? He hadn’t slept well for weeks—since the night of his father’s death. There always seemed to be too much to worry about. First his guilt and despair that he’d been so caught up in his good-time life that he’d missed any chance to bid his father farewell. And then the weighty realities of assuming his sudden new responsibilities.

Now he scanned the emails he’d downloaded before boarding the plane, but there was still no good news about Olivia, or about the intelligence surveillance on Claude Pontier.

Rafe was confident that it wouldn’t be long now, before they caught Pontier out. Montaigne’s Head of Police, Chief Dameron, was a wise, grey-haired fellow, approaching retirement, so he had a wealth of experience. He’d come up through the ranks, earning his promotions through hard work and diligence, but he’d also been trained by the FBI.

Consequently, his combination of old-school police procedures with the latest technical surveillance savvy was invaluable. Rafe had every faith in him.

Now Rafe looked again towards the bed where Charlie slept, curled on her side with golden curls tumbling on the pillow, and he was surprised by the tenderness he felt towards this girl who’d so readily stepped into her sister’s shoes. He wondered if their similarities were more than skin deep.