A Royal Proposal. Barbara Hannay

Rafe agreed. ‘It was one of my father’s favourite operas, actually.’

      ‘My father’s, too.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Crikey, Rafe, we do have something in common after all.’

      ‘So we do,’ he said quietly and his grey eyes gleamed as their gazes connected, making Charlie feel flushed and breathless. For a crazy moment, she thought he was going to do something reckless like haul her into his arms and her skin flashed with heat, as if she’d been scorched by a fireball.

      Then the moment was over.

      They walked on and the smell of cooking reached them from the many cafés, but they weren’t very hungry after their substantial lunch.

      Montaigne’s capital city was packed with charm. Charlie loved the cobblestoned alleys, the arched doorways with fringes of snow, the shop windows with beautifully crafted wares, including jewellery that Rafe told her was locally made from gemstones found right here in the Alps. She especially loved the glimpses into cosy cafés where laughing people gathered.

      ‘Can you ever go into places like that?’ she asked him, as they passed a group at a bar who were guffawing loudly, obviously sharing a huge joke.

      He shrugged. ‘I have a few favourite cafés where I like to meet with friends.’

      ‘Thank heavens for that.’

      ‘Are you worried about me, Charlie? You think I’m not happy?’

      ‘Well, no, of course not,’ she said, which wasn’t true. She wasn’t sure that anyone who believed life was a compromise could really be happy.

      His smile was complicated as he tucked her arm more snugly in his.

      They went on, past a tenth-century cathedral, which, according to Rafe, had beautiful frescoes in its cloisters, past a museum of culture and local history, a monastery where a choir was practising, sending beautiful music spilling into the night.

      Once again, Charlie imagined herself at some point in the distant future, when she was middle-aged and married to some respectable, ordinary Aussie man, telling others, perhaps her children, about this magical mountain kingdom that she’d once visited with a handsome prince.

      She didn’t suppose anyone would believe her.

      * * *

      Rafe’s phone rang twice during their walk, but the calls seemed to be business matters that he was able to deal with quite quickly. Just once, Charlie checked her phone. There wasn’t any news about Isla. She had known there wouldn’t be, but she’d had to check anyway.

      Always, throughout the walk, her fear about her baby sister sat like a heavy rock in her chest.

      They were almost back at the castle, passing a market stall that sold arts and crafts and local honey, when Charlie heard the ping of a text message.

      Her heart took off like an arrow fired from a bow. She came to a dead stop in a pool of yellow lamplight, felt sick, burning, and was almost too scared to look at her phone.

      Rafe stood watching her, his eyes brimming with gentle sympathy. He smiled, a small encouragement.

      Terrified, Charlie drew the phone out from the depths of her overcoat pocket. She was so scared she could hardly focus on the words.

      Isla out of surgery and Dr Yu is happy. She’ll be in Intensive Care for about four days, but so far all good. Love, Dad xxx

      ‘Oh!’ She wanted to laugh and cry at once.

      Unable to speak, she held up her phone for Rafe to read the message, but she was shaking so badly, he had to clasp her hand tightly to steady it before he had any chance of reading it.

      ‘She made it!’ His cry was as joyous as Charlie’s and he looked so relieved for her that she couldn’t help herself. Launching towards him, she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him hard, and then, impulsively, she kissed him. On the mouth.

      No doubt it was an unwise move for an Australian commoner to kiss a European crown prince in such a public place. Fortunately the Crown Prince didn’t seem to mind. In fact he gathered the commoner into his arms, almost crushing her as he held her tightly against him, and he returned her kiss with breath-robbing, fiery passion.

      * * *

      It seemed fitting to go into a café to celebrate the good news. Rafe took Charlie’s hand and showed her a place tucked away in a back street that seemed to be carved out of stone like a cave. As they went inside, another welcoming fire burned in a grate, rows of bottles and glasses reflected back the cheerful light, and although there were one or two excited glances and elbow nudges from curious customers, they didn’t hassle the newcomers as they perched on tall wooden stools at the bar.

      Charlie’s head was spinning.

      Calm down, girl, it was just a kiss.

      But it wasn’t just any old kiss. She knew she’d never been kissed with such intensity, such excitement, had never experienced such a soul-searing thrill.

      But he’s a prince, a jet-setter, a playboy. He’s had masses of practice. A kiss like that means nothing to him.

      Could she be sure? It had felt very genuine.

      Yes, that’s the problem.

      She had to stop thinking about it. Had to concentrate on Isla.

      None of this would have happened if Isla had been well.

      Rafe ordered vin chaud, which proved to be a delicious mulled wine laced with cinnamon, cloves and juniper berries.

      ‘Here’s to Isla,’ he said, clinking his glass against Charlie’s.

      ‘Yes. To Isla.’ Charlie lifted her glass. ‘Hang in there for another four days, kiddo.’ She took a sip. ‘Wow, this is amazing.’

      ‘It’s a favourite drink with the skiers,’ Rafe told her.

      ‘I can certainly understand why.’ Charlie drank a little more. ‘I’ve never been skiing.’

      He pretended to be shocked. ‘That’s something we’ll have to remedy.’

      The thought of skiing with Rafe was thrilling, but Charlie doubted they would have time. Apart from the hospital visit this morning, today had been unusually free of engagements. The private time alone with Rafe had been an unexpected bonus, but she knew he had commitments that were bound to keep him very busy. And tomorrow evening, there was to be the grand ball.

      Charlie had never been to a ball and the very thought of it made her nervous. She would have to wear that beautiful, and incredibly expensive, pale green gown, and her schedule tomorrow included appointments with a hairdresser and a beautician.

      It was best not to think about that tonight while they lingered over their vin chaud.

      Eventually, they continued on their way, stopping to buy hot roasted chestnuts from a stall on a street corner and eating them from a paper cone. When they reached the castle, Rafe ordered a light supper to be brought to Mademoiselle Olivia’s room.

      In the lift, Charlie gave herself a stern lecture.

      Forget about that kiss. You started it, remember?

      Yes, and Rafe was just being kind.

      Kind? Really?

      That’s probably how a playboy expresses kindness.

      It won’t happen again.

      * * *

      Delicious mini-pizzas arrived, topped with caramelised onions, black olives and Gruyère cheese. And there were cherries for dessert along with a pot of the most divine hot chocolate.

      As they enjoyed their supper, Rafe filled Charlie in about the important dignitaries who would attend the ball tomorrow evening.

      ‘You won’t be expected to know everyone,’ he assured her. ‘But I’ll ask Mathilde