Page 136 of The Unlikely Pair
Oliver and I have never talked in detail about my love life, but for a strange second, I want to blurt that out now. I want to tell him every last word, look, and touch that happened between Harry and me.
I want to ask the question burning inside me right now.What do you think it all means?Because that’s what I’m struggling with. How should I process everything that happened between Harry and me? What should I do now about these oversized feelings I’ve never had to cope with?
It’s definitely not something I’m going to talk through with the psychologist I’m scheduled to see tomorrow.
But Harry was Oliver’s political foe for so long. Could I actually find the right words to explain what Harry ended up meaning to me out in the wilderness? Can I explain to Oliver who Harry is, the real Harry? Would I believe it myself if I hadn’t lived with him side by side for forty-two days?
Instead, I turn to Callum.
“So, what interesting survival stories did you learn?”
Callum’s face brightens. “Juliane Koepcke survived as a seventeen-year-old in the Amazon jungle for eleven days after the plane she was in disintegrated in midair, and she fell two miles while still strapped to her seat. And there was the Robertson family who survived in a small life-raft for thirty-eight days in the Pacific Ocean by eating raw fish and drinking turtle blood and rainwater.”
“Thankfully, turtle blood wasn’t on the menu for us,” I say.
Oliver regards me slightly incredulously. “What was on the menu for you? How on Earth did you survive out there?”
I shrug.
“We caught fish, and once we found a cabin, we made snares to trap squirrels, hares, and rabbits.”
“How did you survive the cold?”
“We had a ferro rod on the multitool that was in the survival kit to make fire. And we had survival blankets, and we used our body warmth to keep the temperature up.”
Oliver blinks. “Sorry, I’m just trying to cope with the vision of you and Harry huddling together to stay warm.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Yeah, well, it turns out you’ll do almost anything when necessity requires it,” I say, a brittle note in my voice.
Fortunately, Oliver doesn’t comment on that.
Instead, he clamps a hand on my shoulder. “You look knackered. We’ll leave you so you can sleep. The media interest is going to be intense over the next few days. As you can imagine, the search for you has dominated the headlines for over a month. And I’m sure there’s also going to be political maneuvering from both parties about who can manipulate this situation to their advantage.”
“Something to look forward to,” I say.
“The tabloids have somehow got hold of pictures of you and Harry when you were being transferred to the RAF flight in Helsinki. There are now TikTok and Instagram profiles devoted to your beards,” Callum says.
I roll my eyes. “Of course there are.”
My head throbs when I imagine how the media will salivate over this story. All wanting the inside scoop on what happened in the wilderness.
Oliver engulfs me in another hug as he goes to leave. “I’m so glad to have you back safe and well.”
I appreciate the sentiment behind his hug, but it disorients me.
Because it is the wrong arms hugging me. And that throws me even more, that I would ever consider Oliver wrong and Harry Matheson right.
“Thank you for coming, Your Royal Highness,” I say when he pulls back.
“Get some sleep,” he instructs.
Once Oliver and Callum have left, I try to obey Oliver’s instructions as I head to the room in the medical wing I was assigned earlier because I’m aware I’m beyond exhausted.
But as I settle into the bed with crisp white sheets and try to sleep, I can’t drift off. Because something essential is missing.
Harry. I want to see Harry.
