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.’
‘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.
