shop to the Epsom Derby to you falling asleep upright. And I’m still asking you to dinner.”
My hands fly to my temples. “I don’t understand this. You can’t possibly mean it.”
“What else do I have to do to prove it to you?” Xander asks in exasperation. “I’ve never had to work this hard in my life to get a woman to have dinner with me.”
I can’t help but smile at that. I bet he hasn’t. Usually, being royal and gorgeous would make any invitation Xander extends an automatic yes to most women.
Except for me.
“You have to explain to me why,” I push.
“The why is simple,” he says. “When I met you, you were soaking wet. Standing in a rainstorm and about to make a huge presentation and everything was ruined. But you didn’t explode in anger. You didn’t cry. You didn’t panic. You didn’t flail about and blame everyone around you. You were steel. In a moment of chaos, you chose to be calm. You didn’t give up and cancel the appointment. And I don’t know if you will believe me or not, given my tabloid name of Xander the Philanderer, but I’m not telling you a story to seduce you. I’m telling you the truth. And that is that I admire what I saw in you this morning.”
I have no words. None. Nobody in my life has ever described me in the way Xander has, based on a brief, shared moment in time.
“But now there’s more to my interest. In these few minutes, with what you have shared, I want to know more. You’re direct. I’m not used to that. I have people who say what they think I want to hear, not people who challenge me or ask the hard questions. But not you. You asked me a question just like you’d ask anyone else.”
I feel as though words are about to come rushing past his lips as they did mine, so I remain quiet.
“You told me things about yourself you thought I’d find unattractive,” Xander continues. “But you’re wrong. Those details make you more attractive because you weren’t giving me a presentation to sell yourself. God knows how many of those I have received. You didn’t think about it. You started telling me about yourself with no thought about it. It was honest. Real. And it’s something that has been missing in my life with the path I’ve taken so far. But here you are, challenging me and pushing me, and it’s only been what, fifteen minutes? But I like it. I want more of it. That’s the truth. It’s up to you if you believe me or not.”
The air has been sucked out of the room with his speech. I try to take a breath, but I find I can’t. His eyes lock on mine, imploring me to believe him.
And I do.
Xander doesn’t have to work this hard for any woman. If he weren’t speaking from his heart, he would have shown me the door long before now. But his eyes, his words, all of them tell me one thing.
I’m not speaking to Xander the Philanderer.
I’m not speaking to Prince Alexander of Wales.
I’m speaking to a real man who happens to be interested in having dinner with me.
I’m speaking to Xander.
“What is your last name?” I ask.
He blinks. “What?”
“Like when you were in the army. They didn’t call you Prince Alexander, did they?”
Now, he’s staring at me like I’m insane. “No. I was Alexander Wales. Captain Wales.”
Captain Wales.
Now that I know Alexander Wales truly is interested in me—plain old Poppy Davies—I have a decision to make.
I could have a lovely dinner with Xander, and that could be all, and it would be a grand story to tell one day to Isla and my family. There would be “oh my God!” and “no way!” and “tell us everything!” and it would be a part of Davies family lore for hundreds of years to come.
This dinner could be the start of a friendship, perhaps.
Or it could be something more.
Which would be insane and ridiculous and terrifying. If I step down that hallway into his kitchen, my life could change dramatically. To what is yet to be seen, but it could become something life-altering.
For both of us.
The decision is huge. I can’t go back once I make it. I know what I should do. I don’t date. I keep elderly hours due to my dedication to my career. I keep my life neat and tidy and independent of others.