two dogs wagging their tails in greeting. Actually, with the help of Google, I already know the Airedale is Bear, and the spaniel is Lucy.
“Please, call me Christian,” he says easily, bending down and ruffling Bear’s head. “This is Bear, and circling around me is Lucy.” He rises and looks at me. “Xander informed me you were splattered by an arse of a lorry driver as you arrived.”
The fluttering returns. Lord, what is wrong with me?
“Oh?” I ask, curious as to what Xander said about this morning.
“Please, come in,” Christian says. “But yes, Xander said the driver purposely splashed you when he could have moved. He was agitated someone would deliberately do that to you.”
I step inside the cottage, pausing to take in this bit of information. Was Xander agitated on my behalf?
This time, my heart beats erratically. I furrow my brow, as I don’t know why I’m having these crazy physical responses whenever I think of him. Wait. I can’t be thinking of him, other than that he was a true gentleman today, and I owe him for his help.
That’s it.
I clear my throat and tuck away all thoughts of Prince Alexander of Wales.
“I’ll slip off my shoes here, if that is okay?” I ask, feeling absurd to be taking this meeting in borrowed fuzzy socks. Liz thought the fuzzy ones might fill up more of the shoes, and now I get to show off socks that are way too big to Christian and Clementine.
Ugh.
“Yes, it’s quite wet. We walked the dogs and had to wipe off all of our paws when we were done, so to speak,” he says, raking a hand through his golden curls.
I pause for a moment as I take him in. Christian is a very handsome man with blond curls and a clean-shaven face. So different to Xander, with his jet-black hair and facial stubble.
I slip out of my coat next, and Christian immediately takes it from me and hangs it on a coatrack next to the door.
Hmm. These really are modern royals. I was shocked Liz didn’t have a staff running around her cottage, but I thought that might have been because she was so far removed from the throne. But Christian is second in line behind Xander to be king, so I assumed he would definitely have people.
I bite back a smile. I can’t wait to one day report back to Ian at the bakery about this. He’s always moaning about how much the monarchy costs us, and he resents paying for their “people.” Ha! This will burst his bubble, knowing Prince Christian answers his own door, hangs his guests’ coats, and walks his own dogs.
“Come on through,” Christian says warmly. “Sorry you’ve had such a rough start to the morning. You’ll see that’s Clementine staring at you from the kitchen. She’s a bit star-struck to have a star baker in our home.”
What? My eyes shift straight back, and to my surprise, the cottage has an open floorplan, with the kitchen visible to the living room. It’s not decorated in the style of old furniture like I saw when I took a tour of Buckingham Palace. There’s no gilded furniture or red fabric. Instead, the rooms are done in shades of white and grey. The sofas are deep and cushy, centred around a fireplace with a large flat-screen mounted above it. Fresh flowers in shades of pink fill vases. My eyes scan back to the kitchen, which beckons to me with a large island with a marble worktop, and then a long, wood table that looks very old. Rattan bistro chairs surround the table, and antique drop lighting provides a cosy glow.
And there stands Clementine Jones, holding a mug in her hands and smiling excitedly at me. “Hello!” she calls out cheerfully. “Thank you for coming on such a horrible day!”
Dear God, she does seem excited to see me. This future member of the royal family is thrilled that I’m here. Me. A girl from Wales who bakes biscuits and decorates cakes for a living.
Just when I think the morning can’t get any more surreal, it does.
I follow Christian through to the kitchen, with the dogs leading the way.
“Welcome,” Clementine says as I enter the kitchen. “I have been so excited about this meeting, Poppy. I can’t believe you are here. I’ve watched your decorating videos thousands of times on YouTube!”
“She’s giving you a low-ball estimate on that account,” Christian quips.
Clementine shoots him a mock glare. I smile. No, these are definitely