Page 31 of The Unlikely Heir
“Oh, you definitely should watch them. I get the feeling you could learn a lot,” Callum says.
I snort into my trifle.
I watch Callum more closely as he takes a spoonful of the pudding.
He seems to sense my gaze because he looks up, his green eyes capturing mine.
He gives a small grin, and something flutters inside me. I hold his gaze, trying to understand why I have this reaction to him. Sure, he’s incredibly good-looking, but I’m used to attractive men. I was married to a stunningly handsome man for five years. I’ve definitely learned my lesson that looks aren’t everything.
No, Callum’s attractiveness isn’t responsible for this weird feeling inside me.
Callum blinks and glances away, which makes me realize I’m still staring at him. Heat threatens to invade my cheeks, but I battle it back. I don’t do embarrassment. It’s not a healthy emotion for a politician to engage in.
After more strained small talk, the meal finishes, and we are free to leave the purgatory of Lionel’s company.
Everyone adjourns to the Waterloo Chamber for post-dinner drinks.
I try to focus on my job, doing my best to circulate the room and network with the other leaders. We’re aiming to lock down a new trade deal with India, so I make a beeline for the Indian prime minister. Arvind and I know each other well, and he’s a straight shooter. We discuss the latest test match cricket series between our two countries for a while, then move on to our upcoming trade talks before he throws me a curve ball.
“Perhaps as part of the trade deal, we can talk about the return of the Koh-i-Noor?” he suggests with an arched brow.
I’ve known there’s a rising movement in India for the return of the biggest diamond in the world, which Queen Victoria demanded in 1849 as part of a peace treaty with a ten-year-old in Punjab.
“It’s not mine to give you, unfortunately. Besides, it’s cursed, remember? Do you really want it back?” I’m trying for a joke, but Arvind gives me a dark look to show my humor isn’t appreciated.
“I think the people of India are prepared to take their chances,” he says in a dry voice.
I drop my pretenses and go for honesty. “Look, I understand your position. And while, personally, I wish the ownership of a lot of things could be reconsidered in light of historical injustices, including the land my Scottish ancestors were forced off during the Highland clearances, it’s not going to be a point of negotiation in any trade deal at this stage.”
Arvind stares at me. “You play the part of the oppressed minority well, Mr. Hartwell, for an Englishman.”
His words cut me, and I try not to flinch.
I suck in a breath. “While we’re discussing oppressed minorities, shall we talk about whether my marriage would have been legal in your country?”
He raises his eyebrows and a bemused expression comes across his face. “By the time of your next marriage, it will be.”
I’m not sure if he’s commenting on the speed of progress for LGBTQ+ rights in India or the amount of time it will take to find someone who’s prepared to marry me again. I decide to assume the former.
“I truly hope that is correct,” I say. “And I hope other countries in the Commonwealth follow your lead.”
I’m not even going to call it the elephant in the room because I’m fairly sure it’s the size of a blue whale by now. Of the fifty-three nations represented at this summit, homosexuality remains a criminal offense in twenty-nine of them. It’s another sad legacy of Britain’s colonial past, the prohibition of consensual sex acts between people of the same sex.
“I hope so too,” Arvind says. “I’m sure we will come to a trade agreement that will mutually benefit both our countries. But I should warn you that India will continue to ask for the Koh-i-Noor, and the calls will only get louder.”
“I would do the same in India’s position,” I reply honestly.
He nods at me in acknowledgment as he walks away to intercept New Zealand’s prime minister.
As I amble in the opposite direction, I’m suddenly looking at the elaborate decorations of the Waterloo Chamber with fresh eyes. How many of the treasures in this castle are ill-gotten gains?
I spot Callum Prescott standing by himself at the far end of the room, inspecting a giant portrait above an ornate fireplace. His hand reaches out to touch the painting before he pulls himself back. I can’t help heading over to him.
“I was impressed with your knowledge of the collapse of civilization earlier,” I say as I draw near.
Callum whirls around to face me.
“Never underestimate the general knowledge base of someone who chopped and changed majors in college as many times as I did.” He gives a self-deprecating smile, once again stirring an unusual feeling inside me.
