I trust him. I know how determined and stubborn he is, and how he won’t take no for an answer if it’s important to him. I believe him.
I have to.
I cough to clear my head. Then I look back at Priya. Unless she suddenly throws off red flags in this interview, or we check her references and she’s fabricated her CV, I have a feeling we’ll be working side-by-side next month to bake biscuits worthy of a royal wedding reception.
As Matilda and Shane approach the table and introductions begin, I can’t help but think this is one success today if they extend an offer, and Priya accepts.
Hopefully, things will go just as well when I meet Princess Helene this evening. I won’t mess up too terribly. The great-aunt Xander is so fond of will be fond of me, too. I’ll make a good impression.
I’ll belong.
And this evening, I’ll find out exactly that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Your Royal Highness
I stand outside of Apartment 1A at Kensington Palace, trying to gather my courage to ring the doorbell.
I anxiously wring my hands. Ew, they’re clammy. I do the completely unsophisticated move of rubbing them on my dress to try and dry them.
I bite my lip, questioning everything about my presence here. I’m going to have cocktails with Her Royal Highness, Princess Helene. One of the stalwart pins in the Chadwick family. A fixture linking the past and the present, as she has spent her entire life in service to the crown.
What am I doing here? I think, my mind whirling. I might fit in with the squad because they are young and modern, but how can I fit into the next level? I know nothing about proper etiquette. Xander, as much as I adore him, was exasperating when I asked for help, simply telling me to be myself, because that’s all they want from me.
I second-guess everything, from my black tuxedo-style blazer dress and heels to the silver hoop earrings that dangle from my ears. Should I have worn my hair down instead of pulled back in a chignon? Is my dress too short? My red lipstick too loud? Is this dress too formal for cocktails with the squad? Or not formal enough for Princess Helene?
I tap my black satin clutch to my forehead. Damn it. This is such a minefield to navigate.
I just don’t want to embarrass Xander, I think as my stomach tightens. I don’t want to mess up and have his great-aunt dislike me.
Or tell Xander I’m not a fit for this life.
I gulp. Okay. This isn’t helping. I need to live in this moment and own it. Walk into Kensington 1A as if this is entirely normal. I’ll curtsy upon greeting Princess Helene, call her Your Royal Highness, and then follow everything Liz does to make sure I don’t botch anything up too badly.
And I’ll make sure only to take a few sips of my cocktail so I can have my wits about me.
Lord knows I need every single one of them.
I square my shoulders, draw a breath of air for courage, and exhale. And before I change my mind, claim I have a mystery virus, and walk home, I force myself to press the doorbell.
As soon as I do, my nerves return with fury, attacking every inch of me. By the time the door is opened, I feel sweat prickle the back of my neck.
I swallow hard as a member of Princess Helene’s staff opens the door. “Good evening,” the man with salt-and-pepper hair says.
“Um, yes, hello, I’m Poppy Davies,” I say, the words tumbling out at a rapid clip. “I’m here for the cocktail party. Or cocktail hour,” I correct, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “I’m a friend of Liz’s. I mean, Her Royal Highness, Princess Elizabeth of York. She invited me to come over this evening. Her Royal Highness, Princess Helene, knows I’m coming. But I assure you, I was invited. I would never show up unannounced.”
Shit. Xander would be rolling at this narrative, but I want to jump into a hole and disappear and only resurface when I’m somewhere far away.
Like Tasmania.
The butler remains expressionless.
I cringe. He must think I’m a bumbling fool. And if he thinks I’m a fool, what will Princess Helene think?
“Yes, Ms. Davies, you are expected. Please come in,” he says, opening the door for me.
“Thank you,” I reply, stepping inside.
“I’ll show you to the living room,” he says swiftly.
I follow him across the massive foyer, my heels clicking across the black-and-white marble checked