Page 13 of The Unlikely Heir
He glances at Gran. “As you know, you have the government’s complete support during this crisis. Anything you need from us, just let us know.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate that.”
He turns to leave. “It was nice to meet you, Prince Callum. I’m sure we’ll see more of each other in the future.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Two days ago, I talked a lady through an insurance claim because her children flooded her basement trying to set up an inflatable pool indoors. Now I have a future that involves spending time with the British prime minister.
I take a deep breath, trying to gulp enough oxygen to banish my lightheaded feeling as Oliver leaves the room.
I don’t know if there is enough oxygen in the world to help me cope with my new reality.
“We’ve got a meeting with the chief communication officers from Buckingham Palace, Kensington Palace, and Clarence House soon. We need to discuss logistics going forward,” Gran says. “We’ll be renovating Clarence House for you, but for the moment, we’ve placed you in one of the Buckingham Palace apartments. Why don’t you go freshen up?”
“Okay,” I say.
I bow again to her as I leave, and she smiles at me, but her smile is creaky around the edges.
I have another flash of anger toward my relatives, along with an overwhelming crush of responsibility. My grandmother has done nothing but serve her country faithfully her entire life. She doesn’t deserve to see everything she has worked for fall apart.
I will do anything I can to get Gran smiling properly again.
Raymond is waiting for me outside. As I follow him through the hallways again, my phone beeps with a message.
It’s from Scott, with a link to the front page of theAmerican Daily.
British Monarchy Shock! Scandal Engulfs the Royal Family, Forcing Senior Royals to Resign
The New Heir to the Throne is American!
Underneath the headline is an old photo taken when I was a teenager standing next to my grandmother. I have no idea where they dredged it up from. My hair is too long and I’m squinting into the sun. I look like an aged hippie who has spent far too much time sampling recreational drugs.
Scott’s accompanied the link with a message.
Um…either you have some previously unrecognized and highly evolved Photoshop and media manipulation skills, or you really are the heir to the British throne. Either way, congratulations!
ChapterSix
Oliver
Toby slaps down the morning papers on the briefing room table. “I think we could pass legislation mandating everyone in the country has to marry a goose, and we wouldn’t even generate a headline.”
He’s right.
The whole country is currently in an uproar.
The media doesn’t know which story to focus on, the salacious downfall of so many members of the royal family or the fact the new heir to the throne is an unknown American.
I stare at the headlines screaming about betrayal and treachery, interspersed by photos of a smiling Callum. The picture featured on the front page ofThe Corporate Timesis the same one Rosalia shared at the cabinet meeting, where he looks every inch the all-American guy.
Now I’ve met him, I know the photo doesn’t do Callum Prescott justice. It doesn’t show how his hair flops perfectly over his forehead, how his eyes are such an unusual shade of green, reminding me of a peridot gemstone of perfect clarity.
But it wasn’t his looks that surprised me about Callum Prescott.
I’d expected…what? Cocky arrogance to go with his handsomeness. Smoothness and charm. Confidence combined with reserve.
Not a bumbling, affable guy who seems to trip over his own tongue.
