They’d both been conned.
* * *
Charlie was nervous as she picked up the phone. As she’d hoped, it was a message from her father.
Arrived safely. Dr Yu has assessed Isla and it’s all systems go. Surgery scheduled for nine a.m. tomorrow EDT. Thank you, darling!! Love you loads, Dad & Skye xx
It was such a relief to hear from him. Almost immediately, Charlie could feel her shoulders relax and her breathing ease. Isla was in the best possible place, under the care of the brilliant doctors in Boston.
But her relief brought a welling of tears and she had to close her eyes to stop them from spilling. She drew in a deep breath, and then another.
She wasn’t ready to share this news with Rafe. It was too private, too desperately scary to talk about. And it wasn’t over yet. Poor little Isla still faced surgery and that was probably the most dangerous time of all.
Opening her eyes again, she caught a glimpse of Rafe’s cautious, frowning expression. She supposed he’d been watching her, but as she returned to the sofa he paid studious attention to his own phone, which he slipped back into his pocket as she sat down.
For a tense moment, neither of them spoke. And then they both spoke together.
‘That was a message from my father,’ Charlie said.
‘I was just checking the weather forecast,’ said Rafe.
They stopped, eyed each other awkwardly.
‘All’s well with my family,’ offered Charlie.
‘There’s more snow predicted,’ said Rafe.
Charlie managed a tiny smile. ‘At least I have a warm coat now.’
‘Yes.’
She swallowed, wondering what on earth they could talk about when the mood was so strained. Rafe’s smiles had vanished. There was no chance of regaining the warmth of last evening’s conversation.
She touched the sapphires, lying cool and solid against her throat. ‘Do these need to be returned to a vault, or something?’
Rafe nodded. ‘I’ll see to it.’
He sat, watching her with a hard-to-read, brooding gaze as she removed the necklace and the earrings and placed them back in their velvet-covered box. This time, he made no attempt to help her. Without the jewellery, she felt strangely naked.
‘So, tomorrow you go to the children’s hospital,’ Rafe said.
Charlie nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I hope that’s not too much of an imposition.’
‘No, I think I’ll enjoy it.’ She would feel closer to her family. The connection was important.
Another awkward silence fell and Rafe stared at her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t have any pressing appointments in the morning. I’ll accompany you.’
This was a surprise—and not a pleasant one either. Under normal circumstances, Charlie wouldn’t have minded. She enjoyed Rafe’s company very much, probably too much. But now she was sure he was only going to the hospital to keep an eye on her, which meant he didn’t trust her, and that possibility disturbed her.
‘I’ll look forward to your company,’ she said quietly, knowing she had little choice.
Rafe nodded, then stood. ‘The breakfast room is on the ground floor, in the south wing. I’ll see you there at eight tomorrow?’
‘Yes—sir.’ Charlie couldn’t help adding the cheeky ‘sir’. Rafe was being so stodgy and formal.
He didn’t smile, but one dark eyebrow lifted and a flicker of something that might have been amusement showed briefly in his eyes. He left quickly, though, with a curt ‘bonne nuit’. No kisses on the cheek tonight.
* * *
Visiting a children’s hospital with a prince in tow was a very different experience from any previous hospital visit that Charlie had made.
After a polite and rather formal exchange at breakfast, she and Rafe left the castle in a sleek black, chauffeur-driven car that sported the blue and gold flags of Montaigne fluttering from its bonnet. And as they passed through the snowy streets, people turned to stare, to point and to wave excitedly. Finally, when the car pulled up outside the hospital, there was a group of reporters hovering on the footpath.
From the moment the chauffeur opened the door for Charlie, cameras were flashing and popping and she felt so flustered she almost stumbled and landed in the newly snow-ploughed gutter. The possibility of such an ignominious christening for her long red coat and knee high boots ensured that she navigated the footpath super carefully. Rafe’s hand at her elbow helped.
A team of doctors, nurses and administrators from the hospital greeted them on the front steps. Charlie remembered to smile while Rafe introduced her as his fiancée, Olivia Belaire, and she did her level best to remember names as she shook everyone’s hand.
Then the hospital team, plus Rafe and Charlie and the reporters, all processed inside.
Charlie leaned in to speak in a whisper to Rafe. ‘Surely, all these flashing cameras will frighten the sick children?’
‘They won’t all be allowed into the wards,’ Rafe assured her.
Indeed, as Charlie’s and Rafe’s coats were taken and they continued to the wards, only one television cameraman and one newspaper journalist were allowed to continue, along with the entourage of hospital staff. Charlie decided to ignore the other adults as best she could. The children were her focus and they were delightful.
Over the next hour or so, she and Rafe met such a touching array of children. Some were very sick and confined to bed, while others were more mobile and were busy with various craft activities. They talked to a little boy in a wheelchair who was playing a game on a tablet and another boy presented Rafe with a colourful portrait of himself and Olivia, both wearing golden crowns.
A little girl wearing a white crocheted cap to cover her bald head performed a beautiful curtsy for them.
‘Oh, how clever you are!’ Charlie told her, clapping madly. Prince Rafael, however, went one better. Responding with a deep bow, he took the little girl’s hand and gallantly kissed her fingers.
The smile on the child’s face was almost as huge as the lump in Charlie’s throat and she knew this was a moment she would remember forever.
Of course, the cameras were flashing and whirring throughout these exchanges, but by now Charlie, glad of her jaunty polka-dot dress, had learned to ignore them. They moved on to a room that looked like a kindergarten where children were sitting at tables and busy with crêpe paper and scissors and wire.
‘So what are you doing?’ Charlie asked, kneeling down to the children’s level.
‘We’re making roses,’ she was told by a little girl with a bandage over one eye. ‘And we made one for you!’
