A Royal Proposal. Barbara Hannay

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      ‘I’ve got the gallery to run and some important family business to sort out,’ Charlie said self-importantly. ‘But I’d like to know more about Olivia. Maybe we could grab a very quick coffee?’

      Was it worth the bother of wasting precious hours for a very quick coffee? The chances of persuading this girl to take off with him were microscopic.

      But what other options did he have? Olivia had well and truly gone to ground.

      Rafe heard himself saying, ‘I could come back here at six.’

      Charlie nodded. ‘Right, then. Let’s do that.’

      * * *

      By the end of the day, Charlie was feeling quite desperate. Her phone calls hadn’t produced promising results. Apart from launching a Save Isla charity fund, she didn’t have too many options. When she called her father she learned that he hadn’t fared any better.

      After her very quick meeting with Rafe, she and her father planned to meet to discuss strategies, and Charlie knew she would be up all night, setting up a website and a special Facebook page, and responding to the media outlets she’d contacted during the day.

      Unfortunately, there would be no time to challenge her father about Olivia. Charlie was deeply hurt that he’d never told her about her twin sister, but right now she had another sister to worry about, and she knew her dad was beside himself with worry. It was totally the wrong time to pester him about Olivia Belaire.

      * * *

      Promptly at six, Rafe was waiting at the gallery’s front door. To Charlie’s surprise, he’d changed into a black T-shirt and jeans, and the casual look, complete with a five o’clock shadow and windblown hair, made him look less like a corporate raider and more like—

      Gulp.

      The man of her dreams.

      She quickly knocked that thought on the head. She was already regretting her impulsive request to see him again. There was little she could learn about Olivia over a quick cup of coffee. But Charlie needed to understand why her sister might have agreed to marry such a compellingly attractive guy and then run away from him.

      It was bad enough having one sister to worry about. She needed Rafe to set her mind at rest, so she could channel all her attention to Isla’s cause.

      Suddenly having two sisters, both of them in trouble, was hard to wrap her head around. As for her emotions, she’d have to sort them out later. Right now, she was running on pure adrenaline.

      * * *

      In no time, Charlie and Rafe were seated in a booth in the café around the corner, which was now packed with the after-work crowd. The smell of coffee and Greek pastry filled the small but popular space and they had to lean close to be heard above the noisy chatter.

      ‘We should have gone back to my hotel,’ Rafe said, scowling at the crowded booths.

      ‘No,’ Charlie responded quite definitely.

      ‘It would have been quieter.’

      ‘But it would have taken time. Time I don’t have.’

      His eyes narrowed as he watched her, but he’d lost the hawk-eyed detective look. Now he just looked extraordinarily hot, and she found herself fighting the tingles and flashes his proximity caused.

      Their coffees arrived. A tiny cup of espresso for Rafe and a mug of frothy cappuccino for Charlie, as well as a serving of baklava. Charlie’s tummy rumbled at the sight of the flaky filo pastry layered with cinnamon-spiced nut filling. Rafe had declared that he wasn’t hungry, but she wasn’t prepared to hold back. This would probably be the only meal she’d have time for this evening.

      She scooped a creamy dollop of froth from the top of her mug. ‘So, the thing I need to know, Rafe, is why my sister ran away from you.’

      He smiled. It was only a faint smile, but enough to light up his grey eyes in ways that made Charlie feel slightly breathless. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that,’ he said. ‘She didn’t leave an explanation.’

      ‘But something must have happened. Did you have a row?’

      ‘Not at all. Our relationship was very—’ He paused as if he was searching for the right word. ‘Very civilised.’

      Charlie thought this was a strange word to describe a romantic liaison. Where was the soppiness? The passion? She imagined that getting engaged to a man like Rafe would involve a truckload of passion.

      Even so, she found herself believing him when he said he hadn’t hurt Olivia. ‘So you’ve heard nothing,’ she said. ‘You must be terribly worried.’

      ‘I have received a postcard,’ said Rafe. ‘There were no postage marks. The card was hand delivered, but unfortunately no one realised the significance until it was too late. It simply said that Olivia was fine and she was sorry.’

      ‘Oh.’ Charlie offered him an awkward smile of sympathy. No matter what reasons Olivia had for wanting to get out of the engagement, she’d been flaky to just take off, without facing up to Rafe with a proper explanation.

      ‘My mother ran away,’ she told him, overlooking the hurt this admission made.

      Rafe lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘Do you think Olivia might have inherited an escapee gene?’

      Charlie was sure he hadn’t meant this seriously, but the mere mention of inheritance and genes reminded her of Isla. She had to make this conversation quick, so she could get on with more important matters. ‘Look,’ she said, frowning, to let him know she was serious. ‘I’d really like to know a little more about my sister. Where did you meet her?’

      ‘In Saint-Tropez. At a party.’

      ‘So, she’s—well off?’

      ‘Her father—her mother’s husband,’ Rafe corrected, ‘is an extremely wealthy businessman. They have a house in the French Riviera and another in Switzerland, and I think there might also be a holiday house in America.’

      ‘Wow.’ And my father can’t even afford to buy one house. Charlie tried to imagine her sister’s life. ‘Does she have a job?’

      ‘None that I know of.’

      ‘So, how does she spend her days?’

      ‘Her 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.’

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