Page 108 of The Unlikely Heir
We wait together, and I realize I don’t really know what to say to my brother. What’s going on in his life, how he’s coping with all the changes.
I open my mouth to ask, but one look at his closed expression and my words die.
Besides, with the number of cameras trained on us, it might not be the best time to start a deep and meaningful conversation with my brother.
A whistle blows, and the competition begins. People of all ages take turns flinging their wellies into the field, the atmosphere filled with laughter and cheers.
Our turns finally arrive, and Nicholas steps up to the mark, his welly in hand. With a smooth motion, he sends it sailing through the air, landing with a satisfying thud in the muddy field. He gets the loudest cheer.
He looks at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Your turn,” he says.
A young boy hands me a neon-pink boot, which seems to weigh as much as a small boulder.
I grip my welly and, taking a deep breath, heave it as far as I can. It soars through the air, tumbling end over end, before landing with a satisfying thud a few feet before Nicholas’s.
And even though I don’t beat his throw, the crowd erupts into even louder cheers than they did for Nicholas.
Nicholas turns to me.
“I guess it’s lucky the kingdom isn’t determined by who can throw a welly the furthest distance,” he says.
“Yeah, lucky,” I echo.
When all the welly wanging is over, and I’ve said my goodbyes to the organizers and Nicholas, my security team ushers me past the protesters into the car.
Once I’m safely inside, Raymond looks at me like he’s just had an epiphany.
“You need to go on a date,” he says.
“What?”
“Nothing will distract the media more than the idea that they might get a new princess. It’s exactly what we need to secure the monarchy.”
I bite my lip. If we want distraction, I’m fairly sure revealing the truth about my romantic life would make most people forget my dishonest relatives even exist.
I want to secure the monarchy. I promised my grandmother I would do everything I could to help her.
So how can I refuse Raymond on this request? I can’t exactly tell him the truth.
I’m worried about how my secret boyfriend, the prime minister, will feel about me going on a date.
I rest my forehead on the glass, watching the fields of England outside the window.
* * *
I’m antsy before my video call with Oliver, pacing my room restlessly. I don’t know how to reconcile the two wants in my life: being the best Prince of Wales possible and Oliver.
There’s a flutter in my stomach when he finally calls me. I dive toward my phone like a seagull spotting the last french fry on the beach.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He gives me his lopsided smile, and my heart skips. Oliver is just so naturally sexy. Especially now, at the end of the day, tie loosened, stubble on his cheeks. I want to be there next to him, to brush my lips over his, graze my mouth down his jaw, his neck, feel the thrum of his pulse beneath my touch. I want to be in his arms, forget the pressures of our positions, and just be two men who love each other.
But what I want is impossible.
“Raymond wants me to date,” I blurt.
