I’m not a model or a lady.
I’m a biscuit artist from Wales.
I’m not the kind of woman he would flirt with.
Hell, I’m not the kind of woman he would even glance at.
I’m the kind of woman he would order a cake from.
Well, now that I have that sorted, I wait for him to say something.
“No payback is necessary,” he says simply. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
His phone buzzes in his hand. Xander flips it over and reads the screen, then glances at me.
“Christian says to take your time. They don’t have another meeting until eleven.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to keep them waiting. I’m mortified over how this meeting is going to go as it is.”
“Don’t overthink it. You’ll be fine.”
I feel a scowl forming on my face, and I can’t help it. Right. Hi, here I am in your cousin’s sweats with a box of smeared biscuits, but hey, I’d love to be in charge of all your biscuits for the wedding of the decade!
My thoughts are jarred by the sound of Xander laughing. I blink, and a huge smile is lighting up his face.
I feel my breath hitch in my throat at the sight of it. God, he’s beautiful.
“You wear how you feel on your face,” he says. “Remind me to challenge you to a game of poker.”
He turns, takes a few steps towards the door, and opens it. The sound of rain pouring against the pavement echoes through Liz’s home.
“Xander! Take an umbrella,” Liz says. “Why on earth were you walking over here without one, anyway?”
Xander turns, and to my surprise, his eyes land directly on me.
“I had one. I dropped it to help Poppy.”
Then he turns, steps into the pouring rain, and shuts the door behind him.
Chapter Three
That’s Xander for You
If this were an ordinary client, I’d cancel this meeting.
I’m standing at the doorstep of Ivy Cottage, and everything about me is an unprofessional disaster. I’m wearing an oatmeal-coloured hoodie and joggers, provided by none other than Princess Elizabeth of York, and flopping like a clown in her Puma trainers, which drown my ultra-small feet. I’m holding a soggy box of smeared biscuits, and if I had a brain in my head, I’d call off the meeting and reschedule.
Except one does not reschedule on a prince.
I can only imagine how booked the days are for Prince Christian and Clementine Jones. Public appearances across the United Kingdom and planning a royal wedding must make their lives impossibly scheduled.
I sigh. This leaves me to make a presentation looking like I rolled out of bed, threw biscuits in a box, left it out in the rain, and showed up for a meeting like I don’t care.
Twenty minutes earlier, I was on a trajectory of closing the deal of my life.
Now? I’ll have to do everything in my power to get them to look past my appearance—and that of my biscuits—to convince them I’m capable of delivering for a royal wedding.
And assure them that even if a monsoon were to happen on their big day at the end of April, I would guarantee them they would have pristine biscuits served for their reception at Frogmore House.
Of course, I wouldn’t even have clean clothes or a box of biscuits for this appointment if it weren’t for Xander.
Xander.
The Prince of Wales.
That weird fluttering appears in my stomach as his image pops into my head. God, I owe him so much. Xander got himself soaked in order to save my box. He took it upon himself to make sure I was dry. Not the behaviour I’d expect from a prince known for partying.
Unless there is more to him than the media likes to present.
I close my eyes, trying to shake his image from my mind. I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and ring the doorbell.
Project confidence, I will myself. Visualise yourself in your blouse and skirt. You know what you are capable of. Now is the time to make them see through all this mess.
Dogs are soon barking at the door. I hear muffled voices, assuming it’s the housekeeping staff, and then the sound of a lock being turned. The door is pulled open, and just like at Princess Elizabeth’s cottage, I’m not greeted by a member of household staff.
I’m greeted by Prince Christian himself.
I immediately dip into a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness. Please forgive my appearance. I had a bit of an accident this morning.”
I rise to find Christian smiling at me. I also see