Then she crossed her legs, which looked rather long and sexy in the knee-high white boots. ‘Yes,’ she said airily. ‘I know who she is. I rang my mother and got the whole story from her.’
‘So you never knew about me either?’ Charlie couldn’t help asking. ‘Not till today?’
‘No.’ As she said this, Olivia finally lost some of her belligerence. ‘It was a terrible shock to see those photos of you at the hospital.’
Charlie could well believe this. She remembered her own shock and disbelief back in Sydney when Rafe had first shown her the photo of the girl on the beach in Saint-Tropez. It was astonishing to think that she and this girl had shared their mother’s womb, had been babies together until their parents’ divorce.
She wondered what had caused the bust up. Had the birth of twins been the final blow for an already shaky relationship between a woman who loved the high life and a dreamy, impoverished artist? She saw her puzzlement reflected in Olivia’s blue eyes. No doubt her sister was asking herself similar questions.
‘How on earth did you find her?’ Olivia asked Rafe.
‘My men were searching high and low for you, Olivia, but you were very good at keeping under the radar. And then we were sure we’d found you in Sydney.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. Why on earth would I go to Australia?’ Olivia said this as if Australia were still a penal colony.
‘We have beaches, too,’ Charlie couldn’t help snapping. ‘Beaches and snowfields and casinos. Sydney’s not Mars, you know?’
Rafe sighed, shifted his cuff to check the gold watch on his wrist. ‘Anyway, we don’t have much time to thrash this out now. There’s a grand ball due to start in less than thirty minutes.’
‘Yes, so I gathered from all the fuss downstairs. Obviously, that’s why you two are all dressed up.’ Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she studied Charlie in her finery. Then she smiled archly and gave another shrug. ‘Well, I’m back now.’
‘For how long?’ asked Rafe.
‘For as long as you need me, Rafey. I’ve sorted everything out with my boyfriend.’
This brought a further stiffening of Rafe’s shoulders, a deeper frown. ‘You never mentioned a boyfriend.’
Olivia gave yet another nonchalant shrug. ‘I know. Andre and I had a fight just before I met you. Well, a bit of a tiff. I’d gone home to Saint-Tropez in a huff.’
Rafe glared at her now and Charlie could imagine what he was thinking—that Olivia had agreed to the fiancée role in a fit of spite to get back at her boyfriend. How awful.
‘But surely this fellow’s not prepared to let you marry me?’ Rafe said.
Olivia’s jaw jutted stubbornly. ‘He is, actually. He’s prepared for me to complete the terms of our contract.’
So there was a contract. It was all signed and sealed. Charlie felt ice water pool in her stomach. For her, then, this was it. Her exit line. She was no longer needed.
As if to confirm this, Olivia shot another glance Charlie’s way. ‘It was good of you to fill in for me, Charlotte.’
‘It was indeed very good of Charlie,’ Rafe cut in coldly. ‘She dropped everything to help me out.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure you paid her very well.’
This brought another glare from Rafe as Olivia sat there in her fur coat and boots, with one crossed leg swinging, while she smiled at him shrewdly. He looked as if he would have liked to shake her, but instead he clasped his hands behind his back and stood with the stiff, unhappy dignity of a prince who had been schooled by his granny to put duty before personal desires.
* * *
Rafe should have known this would happen. It was no doubt typical of Olivia to turn up at the very worst possible moment, but he couldn’t believe he’d made such a serious error of judgement and recklessly chosen her in a moment of panic. He was a fool, the very worst version of a thoughtless idiot.
And now, what about Charlie? What the hell had he been thinking when he’d started kissing her? Damn it, he hadn’t merely kissed her, he’d been seducing the poor girl, when he’d known all too well that he had absolutely no right to toy with her emotions.
There was no point in trying to excuse himself now, by trying to pretend that Charlie was simply irresistible. Sure, he’d found himself daydreaming about her constantly and, yes, he was desperate to make love to her. Even though they’d only shared a kiss or two, he’d sensed an exciting wildness in Charlie that had only fired his own desire to greater heights. Their few, sweet kisses had been just enough to tease him, to give birth to a deep and painful longing, the whisper of a promise, a burning question without any answers.
It had been such a delightful surprise to discover that a girl who looked so much like Olivia could be so very different beneath the surface. Beyond the beauty, there’d been so much to love about Charlie—her openness, her sudden surprise questions, her selfless concern for her baby half-sister. But all these differences should have warned him to protect Charlie, not to expose her.
Olivia might have been out of sight, but, although Rafe had only known her for a painfully brief time, he’d been almost certain that she would turn up again, when she was good and ready. And he’d also been fully aware that he’d signed a contract with her, a contract which he now had no choice but to honour.
The terms of their contract were clear. Rafe was paying Olivia a sum of money that was enormous, even by his standards, to take on the role of his wife. At a future date, when Pontier and the Leroy Mining Company threats were satisfactorily resolved, Olivia would then be free to divorce him. No doubt, she would go back to this boyfriend, who would enjoy sharing her profits. By then, Rafe should supposedly have found a more suitable bride.
These plans had all been so clear and watertight.
Before he’d walked into a certain art gallery in Sydney.
And now... Rafe couldn’t bear to see the hurt and shock and disappointment in Charlie’s eyes. He knew full well that he’d caused her this pain. He’d played with her feelings unforgivably.
He’d gambled recklessly with his own feelings as well. In a moment of weakness he’d allowed himself to imagine—or to hope, at any rate—that life wasn’t the compromise he’d always believed it to be, and that Charlie’s happy endings were indeed possible.
Fool.
Now there was no way to resurrect this situation without making things worse for Charlie.
* * *
‘So.’ Olivia was smiling smugly as she finally rose from her perch on the arm of the sofa. ‘It’s obvious from the little scene I’ve so recently interrupted that you two have grown quite pally.’ The smile she sent Rafe and then Charlie was condescending in the extreme.
Charlie had no choice but to ignore the piercing pain in her heart. She tried to hide her distress with a defiant tilt of her chin. But she didn’t dare to catch Rafe’s eye.
‘But like it or not, it’s time for me to relieve you of your duties, Charlotte,’ Olivia said next. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that I should attend tonight’s ball with Prince Rafael.’
No-o-o! Just in time, Charlie jammed her lips tightly together to hold back her cry of protest.
It didn’t really help that Rafe looked angry, as if this new possibility hadn’t occurred to him.
‘That’s not very practical,’ he told Olivia. ‘As you can see, Charlie’s all ready to—’
But Olivia, having thrown Charlie a quick look that was probably meant to be pitying, stopped him with a raised hand. ‘If I’m to be your wife, Rafe, I’m the one who needs to meet all these important people tonight.’
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. ‘In theory, that’s true. But the ball’s about to begin,’ he said. ‘And Charlie has gone to a great deal of trouble.’
‘I’m sure she has, and, yes, she looks beautiful,’ Olivia admitted grudgingly. ‘And I suppose I
should apologise if my arrival has been a trifle inconvenient, but I want to go to the ball. I believe I should go. It doesn’t make sense for her to carry on as my double now that I’m here.’
Olivia didn’t quite stamp her foot, but she might as well have. The insistence in her voice was equally compelling.
Rafe, however, could match her stubbornness. ‘Olivia, be reasonable. It’s too late.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rafe, don’t tell me you’re taking her side.’
‘It’s not a matter of taking sides.’
Charlie couldn’t stand this debate. ‘It’s not too late,’ she shouted.
The other two turned and stared at her, both obviously surprised that she’d spoken up.
‘It’s not too late,’ Charlie said again, hoping desperately that her voice wasn’t shaking. ‘It won’t take me long to get changed.’ She knew there was no other choice, really.
Olivia was right. Rafe had made a legal and binding commitment, and, as his future wife, Olivia should be at the ball tonight, mixing with Montaigne’s VIPs.
Charlie knew that Rafe was aware of this. He’d only protested because he felt sorry for her.
And that was rubbish.
There was no point in feeling sorry for her. She’d completed her commitment and now she was free. Free to leave Montaigne. Why prolong the torture by attending a silly ball and dancing with a ridiculously handsome prince, spending an entire night at his side, pretending to be his chosen bride?
All those touches and smiles from the Prince would be sure to completely break her already shattered heart. She’d been stupid to allow herself to get so hung up on him. Now, there really was no valid reason for her to stay another moment in these clothes, living the lie.
‘I can be undressed in a jiffy,’ she told them. ‘At least we know Olivia and I are the same size.’
Rafe looked grim.
Olivia looked satisfied and ever so slightly triumphant.
Charlie lifted her head even higher. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’
With that, she retired to her adjoining bedroom, walking very deliberately with her shoulders back and her head bravely high, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her.
‘Would you like a hand?’ Olivia called after her.
‘No, thanks!’
* * *
Don’t cry, Charlie warned herself as she sank back against the closed door. Don’t you dare waste a moment on crying. You’ll only look ridiculous with make-up streaking down your cheeks and you’ll slow down this whole horrible, inevitable process.
Best to get it over with.
Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, she stepped away from the door and turned her back on the full-length mirror with its taunting reflection. Methodically, she began to undress.
First she unpinned the tiara and set it on the quilted bedspread. The pearl and diamond earrings and necklace came off next and Charlie placed them carefully back in their box, which she set on the bed beside the tiara. She kicked off her silver shoes, set them neatly on the floor at the end of the bed.
With the removal of each item, she could feel herself stepping further and further away from Rafe. She tried not to think about the exciting ballroom downstairs, the musicians on their special dais, the white-coated waiters with their silver trays of drinks, the enormous flower arrangements, the brilliant chandeliers, the enormous ballroom floor polished to a high sheen. Not to mention the long staircase where she and Rafe had planned to descend, her arm linked with his, as they went to receive his official guests.
Unlike Cinderella, she wouldn’t have to leave before midnight—she wouldn’t make it to the ball at all.
She knew she was foolish to feel so disappointed. She’d only ever been a stopgap, a fill-in. It was time to get out of the dress.
The zipper for the ball gown was discreetly hidden within a side seam beneath her left arm. Charlie carefully slid the zipper down, then gently, somewhat awkwardly, eased out of the gown.
The silk-lined satin whispered and rustled about her as she dragged it over her head, taking care not to smudge the shiny fabric with her make-up. She really could have done with help for this manoeuvre, but eventually she got the dress off without a lipstick smear, or a split seam.
She arranged the gown on a hanger on the wardrobe door. The pale sea-foam satin shimmered, making her think, rather foolishly, of mermaids. Hadn’t there been a poem she’d learned long ago about a forsaken merman?
One last look at the white-wall’d town...
For heaven’s sake! Her mind was spinning crazily, throwing up nonsense. Stop it!
She let out the breath she’d been holding, collected the white towelling bathrobe from a chair where she’d left it, pulled it on and tied the sash at her waist. She took the carefully chosen lipstick from her evening bag and set it on the bed, where Olivia could find it, beside the jewellery.
There. It was done. She was no longer a princess, not even a pretend one. She was Charlie Morisset once more.
Unfortunately, this thought brought no sweet rush of relief.
Resolutely, she returned to the bedroom door and opened it.
Rafe and Olivia were still there, more or less where she’d left them. They were standing rather stiffly and neither of them looked happy and Charlie wondered what they’d been saying to each other.
‘Over to you, Olivia,’ she said quietly.
‘Thank you, Charlotte.’
‘Would you like me to help you?’
‘I—’ Olivia hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll call out if I need you.’
‘OK.’
As the door closed on her sister, Charlie rounded on Rafe, needing to speak her piece before he could try to apologise, as she was sure he would.
‘It’s OK,’ she told him quickly. ‘I’m fine about this, Rafe. Honestly. If I’d gone to the ball, I probably would have made a hash of things, getting people’s names wrong, making mistakes with my French, standing on your toes when we were trying to waltz.’
His sad smile was almost her undoing. ‘You’ve been very gallant, Charlie, but I do owe you an apology.’
Why? For kissing me?
She would break down if he tried to apologise for that.
‘Save it for later,’ she said as toughly as she could. ‘I’ll be fine here in my room, if someone could send me a little supper.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m assuming I can keep this room for tonight?’
‘Most definitely. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave. There are other rooms that Olivia can use. And I’ll arrange for a special meal to be sent up for you.’
‘Your staff will be gobsmacked to realise there are two of us.’
‘Perhaps, but they’re trained to be very discreet. Just the same, I’ll have a word with them to smooth the waters.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at her bare feet beneath the white bathrobe. After the pedicure, her toes were looking especially neat and smooth with pretty, silvery green nail polish. She supposed it had been a whimsical choice to wear nail polish to match the sea-foam dress when her toes wouldn’t even be seen. Anyone would think she’d been planning to wear glass slippers.
Hastily, she lifted her gaze from her feet, only to realise that Rafe was staring at them, too. Feeling self-conscious, she rubbed one bare foot against the other as she tried to banish stupid thoughts about what might have happened tonight, after the ball, if she and Rafe had opted to pick up where their kiss had left off.
Before she could stop her reckless thoughts, they rushed away, and she was picturing the two of them in bed—her bed, his bed—it didn’t matter whose bed—and it wasn’t just her feet that were bare.
Stop it!
‘Have you had news about Isla this aft
ernoon?’ Rafe asked.
Desperately grateful for the change of subject, Charlie smiled. ‘I was able to speak to my dad,’ she told him. ‘Isla’s still doing well. Dad said the doctors were very happy with her progress and he sounded so relieved. It was lovely to hear the happiness in his voice.’
Rafe nodded. ‘That’s very good news.’
‘It is.’
She was wondering what they might talk about next, when a voice called from inside.
‘Charlotte, can you give me a hand with this tiara?’
‘Coming,’ Charlie called back, and she hurried to her sister’s assistance, without another glance in Rafe’s direction.
She’d thought she was prepared for the sight of Olivia in the ball gown, in her ball gown, but the reality was even more startling than anything she’d imagined.
Olivia was stop-and-stare gorgeous. The softly shimmering gown clung to her body in all the right places, the deep cowl back was divine, and the pale fabric rippled sensuously as she moved.
‘Wow!’ Charlie said. ‘I hope you like the gown.’
Olivia grinned. ‘It’s adorable, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ Charlie said flatly.
‘A good choice. Is it from Belle Robe?’
Charlie nodded.
‘Monique’s brilliant.’ Olivia grinned. ‘I’m looking forward to another shopping spree. But right now I need a couple of pins to anchor the ends of this tiara.’
‘Yes, I can do that.’ Charlie obliged, marvelling as she did so at the incredible similarity between her hair and her sister’s. It was amazing now, up close, to see that Olivia’s tresses were the exact same colour of wheat, had the same amount of curl, were the same texture. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of their connection.
They’d come from the same egg. For nine months they’d nestled together in the same womb. She wondered who had been born first. Had her father been present for their birth?
Olivia, however, was busily applying another layer of Charlie’s lipstick. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I think I’m ready.’
‘You look lovely,’ Charlie told her. ‘Like a proper princess.’
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