Page 74 of The Unlikely Heir
I am not built to withstandhim.
The conversation swirls around me, debating whether Harper’s proposed subsidies would be the most efficient use of funds. A few cabinet ministers shoot me glances because I’m uncharacteristically quiet.
Finally, the conversation moves on to other items on the agenda.
Alfred clears his throat in a pompous way. He tries to disguise the way he’s gunning for my job, but he’s not particularly good at it. However, when I did my last cabinet reshuffle, I decided to go with the old adage of keeping your friends close and enemies closer.
“What do you have for us to discuss today, Alfred?” I ask.
“We’ve had a request that Metropolitan Police should be sent to Wales in the lead-up to the investiture of the Prince of Wales. We are also looking at strengthening the security for all the palaces and royal family members when they’re out in public.”
I snap my head up. “What has prompted them to ask for it?”
“After the scandal, and with a new heir to the throne, there has been a spike in threats against the royal family. There have been death threats against the Prince of Wales that Scotland Yard is taking seriously.”
My stomach hollows.
There are death threats against Callum.
Of course, if I’d thought about it logically, I would have known there would be death threats against him.
But it strikes me in the chest. The thought of someone, anyone, hurting Callum causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise.
I want to track them down and rip out their throats.
Fuck.
Where the hell did that come from? It appears Ollie from Essex, who grew up in a dog-eat-dog world and was taught to settle disputes by physical violence, still lives on inside me.
“Of course we’ll approve the funding,” I say.
Alfred’s dark eyebrows pull together. “At some point, we shall need to discuss ongoing security for the disgraced members of the royal family. Taxpayers won’t be happy to continue to shell out for non-working family members.”
“I’ll speak with Her Majesty about it,” I promise.
Luckily, the conversation moves on to the next item on the agenda, and I concentrate on taking deep breaths to regain my equilibrium.
“Are you all right?” Toby comes forward as we finish up the cabinet meeting. He asks the question in an undertone so no one but me hears over the shuffle of papers.
I shift my gaze away from my perceptive best friend. “I’m fine.”
I’m lying. Totally and completely.
My reaction to the idea of Callum getting hurt caused a warning siren to go off in my head. Confirming what I already suspected.
This is not just a crush, not just attraction. I have genuine, intense feelings for him.
There are so many reasons why I can’t start an affair with the Prince of Wales. My head is flooded with them. A Noah’s Ark-level downpour of why Callum and I can’t be together.
How the fuck did I get myself into this position?
* * *
After being so distracted at the cabinet meeting, I force myself to read all the briefing papers about energy efficiency so now I am fully informed on the subject and can talk about insulating materials and a building’s thermal envelope with the best of them.
But thoughts of the kiss continue to poke and prod in the back of my mind, and as soon as the distraction of work is gone, it becomes the only thing pounding in my head.
When I get inside my flat, I pick up my private phone like it’s a nuclear bomb that could detonate at any moment.
