Page 20 of The Unlikely Spare
It may be time for a spot of fun.
“Officer O’Connell, I believe your professional assessment is required,” I call across the room.
His eyes narrow. “Sir?”
“These young bakers want me to sample their gingerbread.” I gesture to the children surrounding me. “As my dedicated protection officer, surely you should verify everything is safe for my consumption.”
His eyes narrow further as he moves toward me with the kind of controlled power that makes my pulse do something irritating.
I ignore it.
“I don’t believe food testing falls under my job description,” he says when he reaches me.
“Nonsense. Think of it as a thorough threat assessment.”
His expression remains impassive.
“And who knows, it might even sweeten your disposition,” I say with a smile.
“My disposition is perfectly adequate,” he replies, but the children are staring at him now with expectant faces.
“Do you want to taste my gingerbread palace?” A little girl with glasses thrusts a plate toward him. “I made the drawbridge myself.”
O’Connell looks from the child to me, then back again.
“Well, I suppose a thorough security inspection is warranted,” O’Connell says through gritted teeth.
Despite his gruffness, he’s gentle when he takes the plate off her. He takes a small bite.
“And?” I prompt, enjoying his discomfort far more than is quite appropriate.
“It’s secure,” he says flatly, but then his expression softens as he addresses the girl, “and quite delicious.”
She beams at him, and I catch a flash of something almost human in his expression.
“Are you really a royal bodyguard?” a small boy asks.
“I am,” O’Connell confirms stiffly.
“So, you would die for Prince Nicholas?”
O’Connell looks momentarily blindsided. The innocent question hits me like a sucker punch to the stomach.
How have I not thought about this reality? Officer O’Connell, like all of my protection officers, is literally paid to value my life above his own.
“Billy!” the boy’s mother exclaims.
“It’s quite all right,” I intervene smoothly. “Officer O’Connell would absolutely die for me. Though, at present, he’s merelybeen required to try some cake, which seems the less extreme option, wouldn’t you agree?”
A little girl with red curls thrusts her creation toward O’Connell. “I made this part look like a prince,” she announces proudly, pointing to what appears to be a vaguely humanoid lump of icing.
O’Connell crouches down to her level. “That’s very impressive craftsmanship.”
“The resemblance is uncanny,” I add. “She’s captured my royal bearing quite perfectly.”
“I think the icing prince looks more dignified,” O’Connell says as he straightens.
I blink at him. Heavens above. Alert the media. Breaking news: stone-faced protection officer reveals hint of personality.
