Page 9 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

“Thanks.” I smile easily at Jax, happy to have an ally. Having at least an acquaintance on the show will hopefully let me give Thomas Golden a wide berth.

Together, we finish our tea as Colin manifests theatrically at the doorway, with the film and production crew starting to make motions of getting things moving today.

“Good morning, my Renaissance gentleman,” he calls out. “Let’s have the cast assemble in the entry, please, and we can begin the day’s affairs—which means our first challenge. How exciting!”

We dutifully assemble.

Thomas Golden is at the opposite end of the gathering from me.

I stand at one end on my own, hands deep in my pockets.

He stands with the confidence that he owns the place.

I take a breath and stand straight too, channeling my official engagement sort of energy, not to be outdone.

I fix my attention on Colin. The lingering scent of the fry-up breakfast leaves me queasy.

Colin claps his hands together. “Good morning to you all. And to Thomas, who joined us very early today. We’re pleased to have you here, Mr. Golden. Thank you for rearranging your schedule.”

I didn’t get any thanks for clearing my schedule, but never mind that. Then again, my father enthusiastically cleared my schedule for me. Clearly, they’re shaping Thomas up to be the prime star on the program. And to be fair, he has star quality written all over him.

Thomas Golden runs a hand through his dark hair and gives a disarming smile worthy of Hollywood. “My pleasure, of course. It’s an honor to participate.”

In the meantime, I’m getting icy looks from a couple of the contestants who stand by Thomas Golden, murmuring to each other while the rest of us wait for Colin to get on with things. I smile at them, and they look away quickly. Another strikeout.

“Today is an auspicious day, as we begin our first day of filming. We typically film four days a week on this show so as not to have overly long days as per the agreement. No sixteen-hour days here.” He chuckles.

“You’ll make your dinner reservations if you have them in London.

And of course, we have catering around the clock and the grounds for you to explore on summer evenings.

There are also amenities in the nearby villages and hillwalking if you fancy an escape for a couple of hours.

But never mind all of that.” Colin waves his hands like he’s bewitching us. “On to today’s challenge.”

I draw a deep, calming breath. Whatever it is, I can face it.

“Drumroll, please… Week one’s challenge is Culinary Skills.

” He gestures back at the kitchen. I suppress a groan.

Of course, more food. “The crew is setting up stations as we speak. As you know from the information pack, the culinary arts are important to every modern man to function in today’s world. And so, we will begin with baking.”

Beside me, Thomas Golden grins. I swear he’s wriggling with the opportunity to show his prowess around the kitchen as he does with challenging alpine ascents.

Any hope from my self-guided pep talk has evaporated. I’ve never baked in my life. I’m doomed. Using a delivery app would be most unsporting. I glance at Jax, a furrow between his brows.

“To make this challenge personal to each of you, we want you to take a couple of hours this morning to look up family recipes or find a recipe online or in one of our cookbooks that reminds you of home and where you come from. We look to this as our opportunity to introduce all of you and your background. Do keep in mind that although we have a broad range of ingredients at hand, more exotic items may not be available. As a side note, we will also be pulling you into interviews as part of the challenges, as well as for the introductory segment you will each have during the program in the first few weeks.”

My therapist would tell me to hold off on the catastrophizing, but any efforts I’ve made towards life skills usually still involve a chef or occasionally delivery. A glance around reveals a room full of outwardly stoic men and a round of nods.

“As well, presentation matters. We also want each of you to set up a breakfast table for four in the ballroom. We have ample linens, flowers, and accessories for you to choose from, with your baking the centerpiece.”

I have a chance at aesthetics. How much different can decorating a table and place setting be from pulling together the right look? I’ve read House and Home , plus I’ve spent a lifetime in stately homes. Presentation is up my alley.

In the background, the crew prepares equipment for filming.

“The cookbooks are in the breakfast room, should you like to use those. And I’m sure you all may have your own devices, but we have tablets available if you wish to use one to help prepare or during the challenge.

I can’t wait to find out what home tastes like to you.

” Colin beams triumphantly at us. “We will reassemble at 1:00 p.m. for filming the challenge, though the crew may film your preparations. Please don’t hide out in your rooms for too long because we don’t want to miss valuable footage of your process. ”

It’s generous to think I have a process.

I’ll have to fake one.

And with that, the men disperse in different directions. Some head to their rooms, others to the reception room with its sofas to browse, presumably on their phones. No one heads to the breakfast room.

Thomas Golden strides off, purposeful as he scrolls on his phone with one hand.

He may have direction written all over him, but I can fake that too.

I enter the bright breakfast room with my head held high in a facade of confidence for the cameras.

Duty calls. Everything breakfast has been cleared away, except for the tea and coffee station.

The buffet has been replaced with a few light snacks.

I make a cup of tea to fortify myself, walk past the snacks and the beautifully baked muffins taunting me, and then at last turn to face the table with the baking cookbooks with the enthusiasm of a man heading to his own execution.

Standing fixed in place with my tea, I wait for inspiration to come, as if I can manifest my own muffins out of wishes.

The steam rises, and the smell of the Earl Grey tea is comforting.

Colin wants the recipe to be personal, something to remind me of home, but we’ve had chefs and staff for nearly as long as I can remember.

Although my father only became King when I was four years old.

Before that, we lived at Frogmore Cottage.

My parents still conducted royal duties, but life was a little closer to normal.

I remember when I was small, being sat on my mum’s knee with her arm around me, watching her drink tea with her friends, and the smell of fresh baked biscuits filling the room and the surprising taste of the gingersnaps dipped in chocolate.

Had she made them herself? Or did someone bake them for us?

I swallow, something caught in my throat.

No, she made them herself, I recall with relief.

After all, Mum hadn’t been born royal and had a shot at legitimate life skills before she married my father.

As for him, I’ve never seen him so much as boil a kettle.

“Well? What do you think, Your Royal Highness?”

I start. My tea sloshes. I hadn’t heard anyone approach. That’s twice today I’ve been caught off guard.

I glance over. It’s one of the cast members, the oldest, with brown hair mostly gone silver. “Please, call me Auggie. What’s your name?”

He chuckles. “I’m David.”

“Good to meet you.” I scan the cookbooks. Salvation must lie in one of them. “I’m at a loss, I suppose. Though I have an idea. And it absolutely doesn’t involve smuggling in baked goods under the cover of darkness for tomorrow.”

“I’m a little bit at a loss too, don’t worry. I’m thinking of the bread department. Although I’m not sure if I’ll have enough time for the bread to rise, so the bread-smuggling idea has some appeal. Otherwise, I’m going to have to try and hope for the best.”

“Bread’s advanced.” There’s no universe in which bread making isn’t considered advanced. I wouldn’t know a leavening agent unless I tripped over one and it fought back.

To my relief, he smiles back. “I’m not sure I’m an advanced baker, but I can usually get the job done. I’ve been practicing.”

“Advanced,” I confirm. “Absolutely.” Of course he practiced his baking. Very sensible approach, being prepared and all that.

“Do you bake?”

“No.” I shake my head, grim-faced. The room’s already too warm, the sun streaming in through the tall windows. I should have snuck down to the palace kitchens my last night at home when I couldn’t sleep and practiced baking. Oh, regrets. “Actually, not ever.”

“Oh?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. “This is my first time baking.”

And quite possibly my last. But if I’m going to try, I’m going to go for it. I’m all in now.

“Right.” His eyebrows climb. “I can see, then, why you look daunted.”

“Well. No time like the present to learn,” I say gamely into the too-still air of the breakfast room.

Someone should open a window for a breeze.

Meanwhile, I wonder if anyone’s ever spontaneously learned to bake at an expert level out of pure force of will.

I’m about to find out. Who knew baking would come into my royal duties?

And, super-fun twist, being judged by the kingdom, too, as well as my father, once whatever happens airs on television.

Meanwhile, David’s smile is too kind, which tells me everything I need to know about my prospects in the patisserie department. And that I need to keep better control of my face.

With reluctance, I set the tea down on the table and pick up a cookery book promisingly entitled Biscuits: A Festival of Taste. David sets to work rifling through the books, flipping through a couple of bread books till he finds something suitable.

I search till I find a gingersnaps recipe. They must have chocolate around here that I can melt and dip them in. Right. There’s a first time for everything. And if I can avoid Thomas Golden during the challenge, even better.