if you would do me the honour of dining with me.” His eyes lock on mine as he reaffirms what he said. “Tonight. Will you, Poppy? Will you have dinner with me?”
Chapter Six
I Like Things Spicy
I stare at Xander in complete shock. His question reverberates in my head, echoing from one side to the other.
Will you have dinner with me?
This man—this sexy, thoughtful, witty man, who just happens to be the Prince of Wales—wants to have dinner with me.
Me.
Xander stares at me, waiting for an answer. “Poppy?” he asks.
My mind is once again like Benedict Cumberbatch’s puzzle-solving brain in Sherlock, but instead of clues, my head is filled with why, why, why, as I try to find any reason, any reason at all, he would ask me to stay for dinner.
As I’m unable to solve this riddle, my question bursts forward from my lips.
“But why?” I blurt out. “I’m not your type. I’ve seen your type. Your last girlfriend even had a title. I’m a baker from Cardiff. I grew up working in a chip shop that my family owns. I get up at four in the morning to get to work, and I’m in bed by nine if I’m pushing it. I don’t go to clubs in Mayfair or polo matches or participate in any activity of the Season. I’ve never been to the Chelsea Flower Show or races at the Epsom Derby. A wild night for me is watching the latest episode of EastEnders and hoping I can stay awake until it ends. I have been known to fall asleep upright on a Friday night, but of course, you don’t know that.
“And you like to go out to the pubs and private clubs, and you always have a different woman with you, except that last go with that India girl. Meanwhile, I haven’t dated in forever, and if I did, I don’t want to tumble into a man’s bed and tumble out as I’m not looking for that, and all of this comes back to why me?” I continue, the words coming out so fast, I can’t even monitor what I’m saying. “Now that you know all of this and how I am, you may rescind your invitation, because you didn’t know who you were asking to dinner, not really, and this is just a thumbnail sketch of who you asked, but there it is, so it’s probably best you give me my clothes so I can leave.”
I take a breath, as all of those words poured past my lips at such a clip, I need air.
I finally force myself to meet Xander’s gaze. I half-expect to find him thrusting my clothes into my arms and saying, “Right, forget that dinner thing, I was obviously in a state of delusion when I offered it. Off you go now, thank you for the cookies,” but he doesn’t.
His eyes are locked on mine, assessing. His lips twist up as if he’s digesting everything I said, and then he oh-so-slowly lifts his hand to the back of his neck, once again scratching it.
“Apparently, I’m going to have to ask you again, because you didn’t answer,” he says slowly. “Poppy, will you have dinner with me tonight?”
I gasp. “You can’t be serious!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“But why?” I plead. “Did I lose you with my monologue? Did you actually hear what I said?”
“I heard every word. Remember, I’m skilled at this. I can fight through any monologue if I have to, but this time, I wanted to hear every word you said.”
My heart begins pounding harder. I feel dizzy. This doesn’t make sense.
“You don’t really want to do this. I’m not going to end up in your bed at the end of the night, if that’s what you are hoping for. I’m not saying that to be rude. I’m saying that so you know your evening might not go as you normally have it go with women.”
Xander blinks. I bite my lip. The second I see his reaction, I think my words might have hurt him. I’m about to say more, but he speaks first.
“That’s a fair comment based on my past,” Xander says, his hand dropping from the back of his neck. “But that is not my end game tonight.”
I shake my head. “This is crazy.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask why. Why is this crazy?”
“How is it not?” I cry. “I verbally threw up all of the reasons why it is!”