Zara knew that Cleo was thinking about her past, about her early years when she’d grown up on the street or in shelters.
“None of that matters.”
“It does to me,” Cleo told her. “I can take care of myself. I have a good job. I’ve worked my way up to manager, and that matters to me. So let me go back to my life and be where I’m supposed to be. You stay here and learn the etiquette of wearing a tiara.”
Zara nodded. She couldn’t speak because of the tears filling her eyes. She felt as if she was about to lose something precious, and there was nothing she could do to change Cleo’s mind.
Cleo gave her a soft smile, then hugged her. “Hey, the phones still work. You can call me every couple of days and keep me up-to-date on the royal set.”
“I promise,” Zara said, holding on tight and wanting to never let go.
Zara found herself barely able to stay awake. The combination of sleeplessness and boring conversation threatened to cause her to doze off in her salad. She blinked several times and took a sip of ice water. Fortunately, Jean-Paul didn’t seem to notice her inattention.
“The small flowers are so beautiful,” he was saying.
She was pretty sure he was still going on about his vineyard. Except for the family chateau, that had been his favorite topic ever since he’d arrived to pick her up at the palace.
“Sounds lovely,” she murmured when he paused expectantly.
Just then the waiter arrived with their desserts. Zara took a bite of the chocolate mousse and hoped the sugar would give her a little short-term energy.
She was sure that Jean-Paul couldn’t possibly be as boring as she imagined. It must be her exhaustion. For the past two nights she’d paced through the large suite, listening to the silence and wishing Cleo hadn’t left. Zara had never felt so alone or out-of-place.
She tried to clear her head. This wasn’t the time to think about Cleo’s sudden departure. She was out with a good-looking French guy who was obviously rich and into wine and vineyards. She should try to enjoy the evening. At least it was more private than her date with Byron. This time there weren’t any Hummers or Jeeps. Instead Rafe sat at a nearby table, no doubt trying not to listen.
“You must come to France,” Jean-Paul told her. “In the fall, I think. When the tourists have left, yes?”
“You’ve made it all sound very magical,” Zara said, annoyed on behalf of tourists everywhere. Jean-Paul might not like them around, but she would bet they bought a lot of his wine and generally contributed to the economy.
“I remember fall when I was a small boy,” he said, sipping the brandy the waiter had brought along with the crème brûlée Jean-Paul had ordered. “I would run barefoot through the leaves. The scent of those days is with me even today. I would take my little dog down to the stream behind the house.”
He was off on another tale of his exploits. Zara surreptitiously glanced at her watch. They’d been at dinner more than two hours, and Jean-Paul had spent the entire time talking about himself. The only questions he’d asked had been those inquiring as to whether or not she agreed that his home sounded beautiful. She wondered if he even saw her as a person. Was she simply a single female possibly related to a king? Maybe she could have sent one of Hassan’s precious cats in her place. She wasn’t sure Jean-Paul would have noticed.
The endless dinner came to a close when the waiter cleared their plates and placed the bill on a small leather tray. Relief coursed through Zara. Rafe was on his third cup of coffee. No doubt he’d needed the caffeine to stay alert, what with being in earshot of Jean-Paul’s voice.
She was trying to decide if it would be all right to simply wait outside while Jean-Paul paid, when he startled her by reaching across the table and taking her hand in his.
“Zara, you are an exceptional woman.”
She really wanted to ask how he knew. After all, she’d barely said more than a couple of sentences. Instead of creating trouble, she smiled.
He stared at her, his dark eyes alive with promise. “I would very much like to make you mine. I think we would do well together.”
She felt her jaw drop. Make her his? Was he offering marriage or simply an affair—and did it matter which?