Page 119 of The Unlikely Heir
“You never asked.” I can’t help countering Garett because this is what our relationship was about. Move and countermove. Combative love.
Garett just stares at me for a long second. “Didhehave to ask?”
And with that, Garett wins. He sees the answer on my face. But his shoulders slump, and for a second, he’s the one who looks defeated before he forces a smirk onto his face.
“So the mighty Oliver Hartwell has fallen in love. I always wanted to see this day. Although I must admit these are not the circumstances I wanted to see.”
“I did love you, Garett.” My voice comes out harsh because this is an argument we had so many times as our marriage fell apart. He accused me of not loving him as an excuse for cheating. And I, a seasoned debater, found it a difficult argument to counter because how do you prove love?
With dog tags, it turns out.
“You might have loved me, but you never fell for me like you’ve fallen now, did you?”
I can’t meet his eyes. He’s right. What I felt for Garett is only a smidgen of what I feel for Callum.
It turns out I didn’t need an upper-class, slightly less ambitious but better-connected version of myself.
I needed someone to counterbalance me, make me look at the world in a different way.
And Callum does that.
“Oliver.” I’m normally so happy to hear Callum’s voice saying my name, but right now, my stomach hollows as he comes down the hallway towards us.
Callum has refastened his bowtie. His damp hair is a shade darker than normal.
His eyes shoot between Garett and me. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, Your Royal Highness,” Garett says in a smooth voice. “I’m Garett Taylor, Oliver’s ex-husband.” He sticks his hand out.
There’s not a trace of Callum’s usual genial nature. He gives Garett’s hand a perfunctory shake, and I’m fairly sure he’s squeezing harder than usual.
“Callum Prescott, Prince of Wales,” he says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Callum use his title. He drops Garett’s hand abruptly, turning to me. “Are you okay?”
“Oliver is fine. We were just having a little chat about the decisions he’s been making recently,” Garett says.
“Garett,” I say, my voice low and full of warning.
Other people flood into the corridor then, noisy interlopers but a good reminder that this is not the right place for any extended discussions between my ex-husband and my secret lover.
“You can’t say anything,” I quickly instruct Garett.
There’s another hurt look in Garett’s eyes. “Of course not, Oliver.”
And in his expression, I catch a glimpse of the man I dated and married, who carefully kept my secrets for over a decade, even when things turned toxic between us.
Garett’s gaze ping-pongs between the two of us. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
My jaw tightens as Garett retreats. Before Callum and I can talk, the wave of people overwhelms Callum, gushing about how great he was on stage.
I just hope you know what you’re doing.
I don’t know what I’m doing, actually, but I can’t explain it to Garett because he never saw this version of me.
For the first time in my life, I am without a plan, without a roadmap to show me the clear path ahead.
I am not with Callum because it is the right choice for my future.
I am with Callum because it is the right choice for my happiness now.
