That weight that is Xander’s will be mine. I could be … I could be the queen. Would the world that watched a crown placed on my head be accepting of me as a modern woman? As a biscuit artist? As a normal girl from Cardiff?
If Xander chose me, would I be an asset to him in his role? Show the world a new kind of duchess, then queen? Would I change the monarchy for the better?
Or would I change it for the worse?
I attempt to quell the anxiety that is trying to overwhelm me. I stare up at the towers, wondering if I will be a part of the history that is woven into the cracks and crevices of that building. Can I do this? If Xander and I fall in love, and our path leads to a wedding at Westminster Abbey, can I be the queen he needs to keep the monarchy relevant?
Before, my fears were of losing myself.
Now, new fears take root.
What if I can’t be the woman he needs? What if I embarrass him? What if I can’t get all the royal standards and protocols right?
What if I fail him?
Much like the seeds of love are budding within me, so are these fears. I can feel them anchoring in my soul.
And in my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cocktails and Dinner
“What’s the matter, Poppy?” Xander asks, not even looking up from his iPad. “You’re quiet this evening.”
I blink. Xander is sitting on the sofa, editing a speech he has to read tomorrow at a luncheon for Heroes Source UK, a foundation that provides support for veterans who need medical assistance after leaving the military. He’s tapping his stylus against his lips, thinking of his speech, but noticing my silence at the same time.
For a moment, my mind shifts to the fact that I’m here. I only left yesterday after spending the weekend here. I thought for sure Xander would want a break from me, but to my delight, he texted me this morning and asked how I felt about coming over and perhaps heading to The Biscuit Cutter from his cottage in the morning.
He already wanted me back in his home.
Of course, I happily agreed. Then again, I received that invitation before I saw my potential future at Westminster Abbey. I know I’m not the best company tonight, and I should have called Xander and cancelled. I’m wrestling with thoughts in my head. I know I’m distracted.
And worried.
I’ve been quiet ever since I stood outside of Westminster Abbey earlier today, the future now draped around my happiness like a heavy, thick fog. I keep thinking I can shove the thought aside, but I can’t. Then, even though I know I shouldn’t have, I found myself looking for current articles on Clementine. I wanted to see more headlines, other than the ones I’ve scrolled past before, about how the press and public were receiving the commoner who stole the heart of a prince.
There were plenty of awful, horrible things to read along with all the positive, gushing, “she’s a breath of fresh air!” ones. Articles that said her re-writing of protocol was the beginning of the end, that this free-spirited American with her unroyal ideas would ruin the mystique that the monarchy thrives on, how the courtiers at Buckingham Palace hated her. The courtiers—the suits, as Xander refers to them—apparently loathe that this unscripted heroine has inserted herself in the royal fairy tale that they were writing.
And she’s not the heroine they envisioned for their prince.
But if Clementine is being attacked for marrying the spare, what would they do to the woman who married the heir to the crown?
I swallow hard, my throat growing thick again, as it has on and off all day as I battled these thoughts in my head. But if Xander and I fall in love, if we fall madly in love and decide to spend our lives together, my path will lead me to the throne as well.
And if people are upset about Clementine not being good enough to be a duchess, what would they think of me being queen?
I could bring shame and embarrassment upon Xander.
And that I couldn’t bear.
“Hey,” Xander says, studying me from across the room. “Why are you so far away? Come here. I miss you.”
I bite down on my lip to keep from crying. I’m sitting in the chair next to the fire, as it’s grown chilly tonight. The