A Royal Proposal. Barbara Hannay

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      ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she told him. ‘But now is not a good time to talk about it.’

      ‘When will be a good time?’ Rafe persisted.

      ‘By the end of the day.’ She had no idea how she would fill in the rest of the day. ‘I just wish this day would go faster,’ she said, thinking aloud.

      ‘So, why don’t you allow me to divert you for an hour or so with lunch in one of our finest restaurants?’

      Charlie was momentarily dumbstruck. ‘Aren’t you too busy?’

      ‘Not today. I’ve kept my schedule clear.’ A smile shimmered in his eyes as he waited for her answer.

      ‘Will there be lots of people staring at us?’

      ‘Not at this place. Most of Cosme’s clientèle are famous in their own right. Come on, Charlie. I’ll drive you there myself. Let me show you a little more of my country and one of my favourite places.’

      The smile he gave her now would have done Prince Charming proud, and Charlie had to admit that the thought of a pleasant lunch in a lovely restaurant was way more appealing than pacing alone in her room and uselessly worrying.

      Really, when the man invited her so nicely, she’d be churlish to refuse, wouldn’t she?

      * * *

      Rafe drove to Cosme’s in a flashy silver sports car, with the hood up against the biting cold. As far as Charlie could tell, most of the city’s roads seemed to be narrow and winding, which must have made life difficult for the guys with the snowploughs. Many streets were ancient and cobbled and crowded in by tall buildings made from centuries-old stone. She was sure she would have been nervous if she’d been behind the wheel, but Rafe drove his car skilfully and with obvious enjoyment.

      She wondered how often he got to taste this kind of freedom, although she supposed he wasn’t ever completely free. His minders were still following at a discreet distance.

      The restaurant, simply called Cosme’s, was in an old building that might have once been a castle. Two pine trees stood like sentries in huge pots on either side of a bright red door, making a bright splash of welcome colour.

      Inside, Charlie and Rafe, with their coats and scarves taken care of, were led up a winding stone staircase to a spacious dining area made completely of stone and warmed by a blazing, crackling fire, a proper open fire with logs. The other diners scarcely paid them any attention as they were shown to their table set in an alcove.

      It was all wonderfully simple, but perfect—a starched white tablecloth, gleaming, heavy silver, a small candle in a pottery holder and another spectacular view.

      Charlie was rapt as she looked out through their alcove’s arched window to the pale winter sky and a steep, snow-covered mountainside. ‘This is absolutely gorgeous, Rafe. Thank you for bringing me here.’

      He grinned. ‘The pleasure’s all mine. But wait till you try the food.’

      The menu was large and of course everything was in French.

      ‘You know the menu well,’ Charlie said. ‘I think I’d like you to choose. What do you suggest I should try?’

      ‘Well, you can’t beat the traditional French favourites,’ Rafe suggested. ‘Cosme has perfected them. I’m sure you’d enjoy his soupe à l’oignon.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ A proper French onion soup on a cold winter’s day sounded perfect.

      ‘But perhaps, first, you would like to try an entrée? How about something local, like goat’s cheese baked with Alpine honey?’

      Charlie grinned. ‘Yes, please. It sounds amazing.’

      And, of course, it was totally delicious. For Charlie, who was used to cramming in a hasty sandwich at her desk in the gallery, this leisurely, gourmet lunch was the ultimate luxury.

      As she tasted her first sip of a divine vintage Chablis, she couldn’t help asking, ‘Has Olivia been here?’

      Amusement flickered in Rafe’s eyes and at the corners of his mouth. ‘Actually, no, she hasn’t.’

      She knew it was small-minded of her to be pleased about this. Surely it was shameful to have feelings of sibling rivalry for a sister you’d never even met.

      Charlie’s soup arrived, along with a veal dish for Rafe. The soup was wonderfully rich and savoury with a to-die-for golden, cheesy bread crust. It was so good she couldn’t talk at first, apart from raving, but after a bit she encouraged Rafe to tell her more about Montaigne.

      She was keen to learn more about its history and its traditions, about the mining threat and his plans for his country’s future. So he told her succinctly and entertainingly about the country’s history and the jewellery-making craftspeople and the famous Alpine skiers. As he talked she could feel how genuinely he loved this small principality and its people.

      Charlie decided there was something very attractive about a man whose vision extended beyond his own personal ambitions. Not that she should dwell on Prince Rafael of Montaigne’s attractions.

      She was halfway through the soup, when she asked, in a burst of curiosity, ‘What’s it like to be you, Rafe? To be a prince? Does it do your head in sometimes?’

      He frowned. ‘My head in?’

      ‘Does it ever feel unreal?’

      He seemed to find this rather amusing. ‘Mostly, it feels all too real.’

      ‘But you must have met a lot of famous people. I guess you must have an awesome Christmas card list.’

      This time Rafe laughed out loud, a burst of genuine mirth. ‘Yes, I suppose it is an awesome list,’ he said eventually.

      ‘Will you add me?’ Charlie couldn’t resist asking. ‘After all this is over?’

      Any amusement in his face died. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’d like a Christmas card, I’d be happy to add you to my list, Charlie.’

      The thought of being back in Australia and finding Prince Rafael’s card in the mail wasn’t as cheering as it should have been.

      Charlie promptly changed the subject. ‘Do you ever wish you could just be plain old Rafe St Romain?’

      He wasn’t smiling now. ‘Many, many times. But hardly anyone can have exactly what they want, can they?’

      ‘I—I guess not.’

      ‘That’s why life’s a compromise.’

      ‘Yeah,’ said Charlie softly. But today she really needed a fairy tale for Isla. ‘I suppose your parents drummed that into you?’

      He gave this a little thought before he answered. ‘It was my granny, actually. She was a crusty old thing, prone to giving lectures. Her favourite lesson was about the need to put duty before personal happiness. I must admit, I ignored her advice for as long as I could.’

      ‘How СКАЧАТЬ