Page 145 of The Unlikely Spare
“It looks like the palace released an official statement claiming I had to cancel events because I was unwell, but that particular message has been drowned out by an anonymous source that says I’ve gone AWOL.”
“We need to hit the road. Now,” I say.
We’re loading our salvaged camping gear into the car when the German couple appears next to us.
“Such drama!” the woman exclaims, brandishing her phone like a trophy. “The English prince disappeared. Like David Copperfield, but royal!”
Nicholas plasters on a confused expression. “Who’s missing?”
The woman launches into an enthusiastic explanation involving hand gestures and at least three different conspiracy theories she’s gleaned from social media.
“Everyone thinks it’s a sex scandal.” She leans in conspiratorially. “It’s always sex with these royals. But I think it could be aliens.”
Nicholas makes a sound like a stepped-on cat that he tries to turn into a cough. “Fascinating. Though you’d think aliens would have better taste than the British monarchy.”
“Maybe he discovers Tinder?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Swipe right on sheep farmer, fall in love, now living in mountains making cheese.”
“Maybe,” Nicholas says. “Anyway, it was lovely to meet you, thank you ever so much for your help with our tent last night.”
“You two are so sweet together,” she says. “Like newlyweds should be. I think you have a long and very happy life together.”
Nicholas’s shoulders stiffen.
“Ah… Thank you. We’re very happy together.” His voice cracks on the last word.
“Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon,” the man says with a smile.
We’re both slightly awkward as we drive away. I try to maintain the appropriate pace for honeymooning tourists who are not, in fact, the missing prince and his errant protection officer on the run.
When we get to an intersection, I pause.
“What direction do you think we should head in?”
Nicholas is studying the map on his phone. “I think we should head back north. South is called the Desert Road, which doesn’t exactly reassure me that there’s a lot there. Plus, they’llbe expecting us to head south, right? If we head back to Lake Taupo, we’ll be heading in a direction they don’t suspect.”
Nicholas’s tactical mind shouldn’t surprise me anymore. But the casual way he dissects our enemies’ thought patterns while absently adjusting those ridiculous glasses makes me want to kiss him.
Apparently, my type is posh princes who can outmaneuver terrorists while looking like they’ve been styled by a blind ferret.
This is the same mind that proposed turning his own kidnapping into a vehicle for colonial reparations, that saw opportunity where I only saw disaster.
I missed it for a long time, too blinded by my own prejudices to see that such an outstanding mind came camouflaged in designer suits and snarky humor.
Nicholas shifts in the passenger seat, and when I glance over, he’s watching the road with careful neutrality. The morning sun catches in his disaster of bleached hair, making it glow like something radioactive.
“Pierce has been cultivating assets for years,” I say, needing to fill the silence with something other than everything we’re not saying. “Building his network, waiting for the right moment.”
“A long game,” Nicholas says.
“He was always good at that. Seeing ten moves ahead while the rest of us were still figuring out the board.”
Nicholas is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Is that what drew you to undercover work? The chess match of it all?”
“Partly,” I admit. “There’s something about becoming someone else entirely. Learning their patterns, their tells. Getting so deep into a cover that you almost forget who you started as.”
“Sounds lonely,” he says.
“It can be. You can’t let anyone get too close. Can’t form real connections because everything’s built on lies.” The irony ofsaying this to him isn’t lost on either of us. “But there’s also… I don’t know. A purpose to it. Knowing you’re the only thing standing between civilians and people who’d hurt them.”
