Page 96 of The Unlikely Heir
“Time to get out on the dancefloor,” Raymond says as he sidles up to me.
I force myself to tear my attention away from Oliver. But it’s a physical pain to try to keep my attention somewhere that’s not him.
I focus instead on the challenge of dancing, managing to stay upright, and remembering most of the steps. I only step on two people’s toes, which is a total win.
Through Raymond’s special form of magic, I somehow always end up in the same dancing group as Calista.
She’s an accomplished dancer, and every time we stop for a break, she’s interesting to chat with. It turns out she’s just traveled through South America, and she regales me with funny stories from her travels.
“So we were dancing, and suddenly, something touched my shoulder. I look over, and the parrot had landed there. And then the parrot started bobbing its head along to the music!”
“That’s really funny,” I say.
But even as I’m laughing at her stories, I can’t help sliding a look across the room to where Oliver is leaning against the far wall in all his kilted glory.
Our eyes meet. The brooding, handsome prime minister is watching me.
And the truth engulfs me.
There’s a very simple reason why I will never be interested in Calista.
She’s not Oliver.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Oliver
How had I not realized this would happen?
Callum is the future king. An important part of his job, of all kings’ jobs throughout history, is to produce an heir.
To produce an heir, he needs a wife, and it appears Calista Podmore is a candidate for the job.
Callum and Calista. They’re a perfect alliteration. Even the alphabet is conspiring in their favor.
And I’m so bloody jealous.
I’m a seething, frothing mess of jealousy.
I can’t drag my eyes away from where they’re dancing together. Where she’s touching him. She’s getting to do what I want to do—put her hands on Callum. Not a single person in the room thinks anything is wrong when a woman lightly grazes her hands across a man’s waist to draw him closer to her.
Callum raises his eyes to mine, and our gazes lock.
I can’t break free. It’s an invisible thread, tugging, pulling, binding us in this silent torment. Staring at him while he’s got someone else’s arms wrapped around him.
I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating under the weight of my want for Callum, how much I crave the thing I can’t have.
I tear my gaze away and turn towards the door, desperate for fresh air.
The balcony I find myself on is thankfully empty.
The cool night air wraps around me like a blanket, and I shiver involuntarily. My heart is still thudding, but here in the dark, my emotions feel slightly more contained. The chill is a soothing balm against the fever within me. I lean against the stone railing of the terrace, the coldness seeping into my bones, grounding me.
The door opening behind me shatters my reverie. I turn, my heart leaping into my throat.
It’s Callum.
Right here. As he comes towards me in his kilt and suit jacket, the memory of him on the riverbank yesterday fills my mind. How he soaked up the sun, water drops on his skin, almost glowing with light.
