Page 126 of The Unlikely Heir
Toby blinks at me for a few seconds before he speaks again. “I’m sorry. My brain isn’t just exploding right now. It’s exploding with such force there’s going to be little flecks of Toby’s brain sprinkled in the far corners of the universe.”
I claw my hands through my hair. “Do I want to see the brain explosion that’s going to happen when I tell you it’s not just fucking?”
“What do you mean, it’s not just fucking?” His eyes are wild. “How the hell can it be more than fucking?”
I lean forward, my elbows on the table, my head resting on my fingertips.
“You’re telling me you’ve got feelings for him?” There’s so much skepticism in his voice it could probably sink a battleship.
I look up at Toby through my fingers. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
Toby recoils back. I get the feeling he’s reacting not just to my words but my voice. It’s stripped back of all the usual veneer, revealing the raw emotion beneath.
Ollie from Essex is telling his friend he’s fallen in love.
“Fucking hell, Oliver,” he says.
I can’t help wholeheartedly agreeing with his analysis of the situation.
ChapterThirty-Three
Callum
American Prince Plucks a Rose from the English Garden
Callum’s Rose: A Royal Romance Blossoms
Has Prince Callum Found His Rose Amidst the Thorns?
I shouldn’t be surprised that my date with Rose hits the front page of the tabloids. Or that it’s sent headline writers into a botanical metaphor frenzy.
It’s exactly what Raymond wanted.
Yet seeing the articles makes me feel like throwing up.
I’m already on edge, scrolling through all the news sites, trying to find traces of the emergency that dragged Oliver out of my bed a few hours ago. But it appears the most important headline in the country today is my date with Rose.
“Rose is very beautiful,” Nicholas says from the other side of the car, where he’s also scrolling through his phone. “Perfect choice for a future queen.”
“It was one date.” I rub between my eyebrows. “It’s a bit too early to send out wedding invitations.”
Nicholas leans in, his voice low. “You know, people would understand if you wanted to step down in succession, have the freedom to date whoever you wanted.”
I snap my head up. What is he saying? Is he just saying it generally? Or does he know about Oliver and me?
“But that would mean you’d have to be king. Do you want that?” My lips are almost numb as I force the words out of my mouth.
Nicholas shrugs. “Not really. But I’d do it if I had to.”
For a second, we just stare at each other.
A younger brother. How many times throughout history has the younger brother watched as his older brother got all the attention and glory just because of the randomness of birth order?
Nicholas seems to have taken the instructions of the palace officials seriously and has curbed his playboy ways since his promotion up the ranks of succession.
Which begs the question: would he be a better Prince of Wales than me?
I break our stare as the car slows down to pull into the Tower of London.
