Page 87 of The Unlikely Heir
Callum, in worn corduroy trousers and a woolen pullover that matches his eyes. Callum, whose handsome face seems to be a torrent of emotions.
For a long second, we just stare at each other. I snap my attention to the queen and force myself to greet her first before turning to Callum.
“Nice to see you, Your Royal Highness.” It takes every ounce of the skills I’ve learned over the years to keep my greeting benign and neutral.
“Always a pleasure, Prime Minister,” he replies. He gives my hand a small squeeze before letting go. My hand tingles at the aftermath of his touch.
Fuck. This whole weekend is going to be an exercise of extreme frustration, being so near to Callum, but yet so far.
I’d just been congratulating myself on having the willpower to resist contacting Callum. But my challenge just got so much harder.
Now I have to resist him when he’s right in front of me.
* * *
I stagger down to breakfast the next morning after a fitful sleep. I managed to keep my distance from Callum the night before, only to have him invade my dreams.
That kiss. Over and over again, my subconscious replayed exactly how it felt to kiss Callum. The softness of his lips. The warmth of his face when I cupped it. The taste of him.
Thankfully, I’ve had so many years of experience choking down my emotions that I greet Callum cordially at breakfast like he’s just another member of the royal family, like he hasn’t been the feature of a night’s worth of my fantasies.
I don’t let my gaze linger on a freshly shaven Callum sitting across from me, his hair slightly damp from the shower. Instead, I glance at Queen Katharine, who reads the newspaper while eating her eggs and toast. I’ve always enjoyed watching the queen at Balmoral. She’s more relaxed here, surrounded by her family. But this visit, there’s an edge to her. She’s trying so hard to pretend everything is normal with most of her family missing, but there’s a brittleness to her like she could shatter at any moment.
She seems to sense my gaze on her and puts down her cup of tea, regarding me over her reading glasses.
“Now, Oliver, I know you don’t enjoy hunting, but I was wondering if you’d like to go fishing today.”
“Fishing would be brilliant,” I reply.
The royal family loves their outdoor life, as I’ve learned from previous visits. My first year, they took me hunting for a stag, and I couldn’t really hide my revulsion for blood sports. I have enough blood sports in my day job.
“Callum, Nicholas, why don’t you go with Oliver too? Bruce can accompany you as your guide and show you the best spots.”
At her words, I can’t help my gaze shooting to Callum.
A tinge of pink rides up Callum’s cheekbones. He sneaks a quick glance at me, then diverts his gaze back to the cereal in front of him.
“Okay,” Callum says to his plate. “That sounds like fun.”
“That sounds like a marvelous plan,” Nicholas says. “I would love the chance to talk to Oliver more about the policy initiatives his government plans to roll out this term.”
Is this Nicholas playing pretend heir? Trying to show Callum up by his interest in the government of Britain. Or am I too suspicious and cynical after spending so much time in the quagmire of British politics?
After breakfast, we head to the gear room. I know from my last visit here that fishing is a serious endeavor where we get kitted out with waders, boots, and vests.
“So, are we going to ride out or drive?” Nicholas asks as we all leave the gear room armed with supplies.
“My vote is definitely for the Land Rovers,” Callum says swiftly.
“What about you, Oliver? Do you ride?” Nicholas asks.
“No, I don’t. There weren’t many pony clubs where I grew up,” I say.
“Land Rovers it is,” Nicholas says in a jolly voice. “I’ll go find Bruce, and then we’ll get this show on the road, shall we?”
He leaves Callum and me standing on the cobbled courtyard.
Callum shuffles his fishing gear into one arm so he can bend down to pet one of the dogs constantly underfoot at Balmoral.
