Royally Wrong for You

Meet Camilla Willow. She's a baker who's in love with what she does. Most would say she's got a can do attitude and is ready to stick up for what she believes in. Some might even say she's too uptight. Her mother's ill and she's doing everything she can to make ends meet.

Meet Theodore Stephen Hamilton. He's a prince of the royal family. Well, he's not exactly the prince. His brother is next in line. He's spontaneous and is used to getting his way. There's nothing responsible about him.

Both are worlds apart, but there's something between them. There's some kind of electricity neither can explain. There's also a position as a nanny at the castle that could bring them together.


1. Chapter One.


"I'm gonna need those pastries out soon!" I call from the register. My hands wipe off some flour stuck between my fingers onto my apron. The door sweeps open, bringing in the muggy air of summer and customers. There's a constant rustling when you work in a bakery, from the clanging plates, to the beeping ovens. Some people find it overwhelming, but there's a peacefulness that flows through me. All these parts working together, I don't know, I like it.

There are rows of pastries, cookies, and cakes that fill the shelves shown in glass. Children usually circle the shelves while the breath from their mouths stain the glass. Wrapping up an order, I carefully place the treats into a bag before calling out the order number.

"I can take the next person, please!" I say and a man steps forward. Whipping out my sharpie, I uncap it and raise my brow. "What can I get you today?"

A hand shuffles with a wallet on the counter before he speaks.

"I don't know, what's good here?"

Dropping the sharpie, I glance upwards while brushing away a few strands of hair. My hazel eyes meet deep blues eyes full of curiosity. Ready to give my spiel about the raspberry swirl brownies, I feel caught off guard. This man was beautiful from his jawline to the broadness of his chest. My chest tightens and my stomach does subtle flip flops. Oh my God, I'm staring.


"I um, I'd suggest the raspberry brownie swirl?" I say with hesitation and the corner of his lips twitch up. His eyes swing back and forth as if checking his surroundings, before leaning in on the counter with his forearms. I almost step backwards, but instead I keep my ground. What was he doing?

"I'll take three," he says and his eyes linger on me as I swing the sharpie tip against the bag.

"What's your name?" I ask, keeping my routine in mind. We get all kinds of customers everyday. There is no reason for me drool over this one imparticular. Besides, I've never seen him before and we usually rotate with regulars. He must be from out of town.

For a moment, he seems flustered as he stands up straight and again and rubs his neck awkwardly. "I need a name for your bag," I repeat.

"Right, sorry, it's Stephen," he answers, eyes rising from the counter to me.

I scramble to get it down before twisting around towards the back shelves and rolling over some plastic gloves onto my hands. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious about my nails. They're all worn down with burnt marks etched into the tips. It's dumb, but as I glance up and watch Stephen, he's clean with a collared shirt neatly tucked into a pair of dark jeans that look like they've been ironed on. Here I am covered in flour and scattered mud colored hair bundled up into a braid. Stephen has his eyes on the desserts as if inspecting them when he suddenly catches me staring.

Oh my God. He's smiling. Is he smiling at me? My eyes revert downwards. I don't want to look.

"Do you make all of these yourself?" he asks as I relax. Stepping over to the glass, I nod.

"Yeah, well, they're recipes from my family. I've got a couple staff members helping, but it's mostly just me right now," I answer before ducking down to slide the back door open for his brownies. His eyes are still on me as I plop three brownies into his bag. I'm usually good at this small talk thing, but nothing's coming out. "Yeah, I've been baking since I could hold a wooden spoon in my hand," I mumble, coming up to hand him his bag when the top of my head slams against the edge of the door. My mouth drops open in irritating pain. "Shit," I sneer. The next few seconds are a blur as I hear a large thud, a cabinet shake, and squeaky shoes land near me.

"Are you alright?"

My poorly treated head raises until I'm met with those gorgeous blue eyes again. Concern races across them. It takes a few seconds to realize what he's done. Who the hell jumps over the counter like that?

"Yeah, I'm fine, I" my eyes scan the counter and back to him. "Did you just jump over the counter?" I ask in bewilderment.

This time he leans in close, too close, and whispers, "Do people not normally do that?" He asks and I'm stuck for the words. Was he serious?

"No, not for such a small injury," I tell him with a nervous chuckle.

"So you are in fact injured?" He asks, inspecting the top of my head.

His eyes burn into me and I don't know where to look when one my co-workers shouts for scones to come out. I jump and he finally turns away from me. When I glance around, a small line of people have gathered in the front. My hand clutches the brown bag before bringing it up to show him. "Here's your order, I really have to go help my customers," I say in a rush pushing the bag against his chest. He grabs the bag and stares back at me with that unsure look in his eye again. "There's a small door you can slide through to get out from behind the counter," I point out and then add as I'm making my way towards the register, "Unless you'd prefer to jump again, I really just need to get back to work," I stammer my lame attempt to be humourous and stumble backwards towards a few impatient customers. He inspects the bag back and forth between me before shuffling out of the counter and back into the dining area.

My fingers begin to ring up the next customer and I smile through my routine. However, Stephen's still standing there, watching me. I smile awkwardly, completely unsure of what he wants from me.

"I'm sorry, but what's your name?" He asks, stepping forward.

"Excuse me, my order," a customer says with frustration and I shake my head with an apology.

"Sorry, that'll be six pounds and I'll have it ready for you in about-"

"I can't leave until I recieve your name," Stephen insists, interrupting me. At this point, I'm set on ignoring him. He obviously has very little common sense and I've got a business to run.

"Your order will be ready in ten minutes." I continue and Stephen persists when he waltz himself in front of my customers. Excuse me? Now he's being plain rude.

"Will you please go, you're scaring my customers now," I spat, thoroughly annoyed.

"Your name, please."

"Oh honey, just give him your name," an older lady chimes in from the back of the line. I huff and lean my hands on the counter.

"If I give you my name, will you leave?"

"Just your name and I'll go," he agrees.

"Camilla," I answer through a begrudging smile. The corners of his mouth tilt up as he nods.


"You said you'd leave, now leave," I point towards the door and he chuckles while he raises his hands up in defeat. He steps back, muttering a few apologies to my customers and I watch him the whole way. He doesn't seem to want to look away until he absolutely has to and my chest tightens.

What in God's name just happened?


I jiggle with the handle to my house, sighing with exhaustion. The door creaks open and I'm greeted with the warmth of the fire place and my mother bawled up in a blanket. She's asleep so I try stay quiet until a gust of wind causes the door to slam itself shut with a loud thud. Mother jerks up, feeling around the couch until she sees me. A sigh of relief escapes her.

"Hey mom," I murmur as I step towards the end of the couch. Our home isn't large by any means, but we've got small living room with a fireplace. There's one bedroom, but that hasn't been a big deal because it's just mom and I.

"Welcome home, sweetie," mom mumbles and pats the couch for me to sit down with her. I comply and cautiously sit down, wrapping more blankets around her feet.

"How're you feeling today?" I ask with a little too much pity in my tone and I cough to get it out of me. Mom never liked to be pitied. This whole thing is frustrating for her. She's been sick for multiple months now and her skin has become paler. The blonde hair she has used to glow brighter, but it's become dull and dried out. We've seen the doctor but there's nothing we can do or at least nothing we can do that we can afford right now. So I've been trying hard to keep the bakery going because it's all we've got.

Her hand squeezes mine and I smile as convincingly as I can, but she clucks her tongue at me.

"I'm fine, don't you worry about me. As long as I've got this warmth on me, I'm a happy woman. Now, tell me all about your day," she insists and I do everything in me to keep the suspicion in me from being visible.

"You know, same old, same old," I tell her but pause, "Well, there was this one thing, but it's really no big deal." My head shakes and a smile twists at my lips. I can't help it. For the most part, my schedule revolves around mom and the bakery so I don't have time for any kind of relationship with a guy. I've never really received any kind of attention from one either. I don't know what I'm saying. That guy, Stephen, he was an odd ball. A completely handsome odd ball.

"No, no tell me dear," mother encourages me and my smile broadens, unsure of what to tell her. She gasps a little, her mouth forming into a small 'o'. "Did my little Camilla meet a boy?" My eyes widen. How do mothers have these powers where they just know? My eyes search anywhere and everywhere around the room until they land back on my mother's excited face.

"Mom, no, it was nothing. It was weird," I explain.

"What was weird about it?" She asks and I shake my head, completely embarrassed. Thinking back to what happened, I still can't believe what happened.

"I don't know, I guess he was just different, he spoke differently and did things a little differently."

"Well, that's not bad. Was he cute?" My lips press together and my head nods up and down, defeated by her. There was no denying his handsomeness, but maybe that was it. Maybe that was all there was to him.

"It doesn't matter though, I'll probably never see him again," I tell as I get up and head towards our cramped kitchen. "I'm gonna make you some dinner alright, you rest and I'll help you into bed afterwards."


Hey! thanks for reading! be sure to leave a comment if you enjoyed my story. I love any constructive feed back as well :D

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...