you want the box back, you’ll have to come with me.”
What?
To my utter shock, he takes off with the box.
I stare at him, my mouth hinging again, as I watch Prince Alexander run off with my biscuits.
He’s holding my biscuits hostage.
The Prince of Wales is running away with my box.
In order to get me inside a house to get out of the rain.
I don’t know whether to be touched or furious.
But I don’t have time to sort out how I feel. I have to get those biscuits back.
I run after him, my heels sloshing in the rain, my feet cold and soaked as I follow him through a gate he has left open for me. Damn, he’s fast. Must be his army background. Before I can practically blink, he’s at the door to what must be Princess Elizabeth’s home, and I pray I can talk sense into him before he rings that doorbell.
“No, please don’t!” I shout as I run up the path.
He looks at me. And his eyes never leave mine as he presses the doorbell.
Gah!
I reach the doorstep just as it opens. I’m gasping for breath as I find myself face-to-face with Princess Elizabeth.
“What on earth?” she asks, her beautiful face full of confusion. “What happened to you two? Poppy?”
Prince Alexander quickly turns to me, an expression of surprise etched on his face. “You know Liz?”
I gulp. “I’ve helped her with cakes at the shop where I work.”
“Good God, then why were you so panicked out about going inside her house?”
Liz furrows her brow. “Panicked?”
“Poppy has a meeting with Curry Takeaway or Clementine this morning,” Prince Alexander says, obviously using some nickname for Prince Christian. “I said she couldn’t go in soaking wet and said she could come over here to dry off. And she panicked.”
“It’s inappropriate for me to come into Princess Elizabeth’s home,” I insist.
“Don’t be silly.” Princess Elizabeth swings open the door. “Come on in. I’ll retrieve some towels.”
Prince Alexander motions for me to go first. I step inside, and the first thing I see is my reflection in a mirror in the hallway.
A horrified gasp escapes my lips. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!
I look awful.
Mud is splattered across the whole right side of me, from my hair to my face to across my ivory blouse. What’s a side of mud when doing a presentation? My hair is matted to my head. My mascara is smeared underneath my eyes.
I whirl around to find Prince Alexander holding the box of biscuits towards me.
“I trust you’ll accept Liz’s offer of a towel now?” he asks.
I nod and take the box from him. The cardboard is soggy and ready to fall apart. I peer down through the PVC window. The biscuits have jumbled together, and I can see some of the icings are chipped or smudged.
A lump swells in my throat.
Everything is ruined.
“I’m going to text Christian and tell him you’re drying off,” Prince Alexander says, retrieving his phone from his coat pocket.
“No, no, I can do that,” I say, moving to stick my hand in my tote.
As I fumble around for my phone in a panic, Prince Alexander has already beaten me to it.
“Allow me,” he says, unlocking his phone and swiping something.
I know he’s not going to take no for an answer, so I decide to concede defeat.
“Thank you so much, Prince Alexander.”
He stops mid-text and stares directly at me.
Oh, crap. He’s a prince. I’m supposed to curtsy to him first! I set my soggy box on the table underneath the mirror and spring into action.
“Oh, Your Royal Highness, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, dipping into a curtsy. My shoe makes a horrific squeak across the hardwood floor because it’s sopping wet, and I feel my cheeks warm with heat, as it sounds like a fart.
“Oh, gross, don’t do that,” Prince Alexander says.
I lift my head from my low curtsy on the floor. “No, that wasn’t a fart! That was my shoe.”
His eyes widen. “I didn’t mean the fart. I meant the curtsy.”
“I didn’t fart!” I declare from my position on the floor.
Now his eyes are sparkling at me. And a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“You don’t have to blame the fart on the shoes. I can pretend it never happened.”
“Oh, my God, I did not fart, will you stop with that?” I say, standing up.
He laughs. I scowl.
“Come on now, you know I’m joking. You can fart all you want, just don’t curtsy to me.”