Page 95 of The Unlikely Heir
But I don’t spend too much time dwelling on anyone else because in front of me is one of the finest sights I’ve ever had the privilege to lay my eyes on.
Oliver in a kilt.
I thought a top hat magnified Oliver’s handsomeness, but it turns out it has nothing on a kilt. The ancient Scots really knew what they were doing in the fashion stakes.
How can the sight of someone else’s knees turn my own wobbly? There’s a knee conundrum in there somewhere.
Despite my best intentions, I’m drawn to him like a bee to honey. Like iron filings to a magnet. Like a child to a muddy puddle.
Oliver’s dark eyes regard me warily as I approach.
“Did you know that the term Ghillies is both Gaelic for gamekeeper and also the name of the shoe used for dancing?” I ask.
“I’m impressed with your knowledge of Gaelic.”
“You really should just be impressed with my ability to Google,” I reply.
He smiles at me, one lip quirking up. My breath leaves my body.
How can a smile be a weapon? How can it be a knife straight through me?
But it’s worse when Amelia comes over to us, and he smiles at her. It’s not the same type he gave me, it’s his more standard generic smile, but I still feel bereft.
I want all of Oliver’s smiles. If I can’t have him properly, if I can’t have him the way I want him, then I at least want the bits I can have all to myself.
“Callum.” Raymond glides over to me, followed by a willowy blonde in a deep-red dress. “I would like you to meet Calista Podmore.”
Could anything be more agonizing than being set up with a woman in front of the guy you have feelings for?
“Calista, it’s nice to meet you.”
She’s beautiful with a heart-shaped face and large warm brown eyes.
She gives a small dip of a curtsy. “It’s lovely to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
“You too. This is Oliver Hartwell.”
She smiles at him. “Nice to meet you, Prime Minister.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Oliver says.
“And this is my sister, Amelia.”
“I think I know your sister, Penelope,” Amelia says. “We went to school together.”
Amelia and Calista start the British public school hobby of comparing who they know in common while Oliver retreats.
Panic overwhelms me.
I have to clamp my arms to my sides to stop myself from grabbing him and forcing him to stay by my side.
Amelia and Calista’s conversation moves on to their outfits, and Amelia tells Calista about how her brooch represents Boudica, an ancient tribal leader who tried to revolt against the patriarchal Roman empire. I’d normally be interested in discussing Boudica because she’s a fascinating historical figure, but I don’t pay much attention as I watch Oliver’s progress across the ballroom.
He stops to talk to people, his forehead creasing in concentration as he listens, then smoothing into a polite smile.
A lump forms in my throat.
It’s like I’m drowning in this want for Oliver, and if I’m not careful, it will consume me.
