Page 41 of The Unlikely Spare
Eight. Its movements seem to become more deliberate. The creature is both beautiful and terrifying.
A strong hand grips my ankle—O’Connell.
I shake him off with a kick, pushing closer as my lungs begin to stage an advanced protest.
Only when the ray rises slightly, tail arching upward in what looks like a defensive posture, do I let O’Connell haul me back. His grip is iron around my wrist as he kicks powerfully toward the surface.
We break the surface together, and I gasp for air, pushing my mask off my face. O’Connell rips off his own mask, and even through the water dripping over my eyes, I can see he’s breathing hard.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” The guide is suddenly right next to us. “That was a full-grown bull ray! One strike from that tail and you’d be in serious trouble.”
O’Connell says nothing, but when I meet his eyes, they’re not just annoyed. They’re filled with fury.
I should feel chastened. Instead, my blood sings.
I continue to gulp air to fill my greedy lungs, tasting salt water and exhilaration.
“Magnificent creature,” I manage to finally say. “Do you think it might be interested in a position at court? We could use something with that much spine in the House of Lords.”
“Back to the boat. Now.” O’Connell’s voice vibrates with anger.
The guide looks between us. “Tour’s over. I’m not having a royal emergency on my watch.”
My hands are trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the intoxicating aftershock.
O’Connell’s hand remains clamped around my wrist as we swim back. I briefly consider suggesting he loosen his grip, but decide that silence might be the better part of valor in this particular situation.
I pull myself onto the platform first, water streaming from my wetsuit. The weight of it drags at me, but the lingering adrenaline makes me feel almost weightless.
“Excellent adventure,” I say to the guide brightly, aware of the press photographers snapping away from the upper deck. “That stingray was particularly impressive. Do they often come so close to snorkelers?”
The guide’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, sir. They generally prefer to maintain a safe distance. As do we.” He emphasizes the last words slightly, his Australian politeness barely containing his irritation.
“Well, I consider myself fortunate then.” I flash my best royal smile. “A truly unique experience.”
The guide nods and gestures toward the boat’s interior. “The changing facilities are below deck, Your Royal Highness. We’ll be heading back to shore in approximately twenty minutes.”
“I’ll just nip down to get changed then,” I say.
Unfortunately, O’Connell follows me to the changing area, which means we’re momentarily alone.
Which is not a good thing.
He shuts the door forcefully behind him.
“Do you have any idea—” he begins, voice low and growly.
“How fortunate I was to see such a splendid creature up close?” I finish for him, reaching back to unzip my wetsuit. “Yes, I am aware of that fact. I’ll be sure to mention it to the press.”
“You deliberately endangered yourself.” His jaw is clenched so tightly I can see a muscle twitching beneath his stubble.
Good. It’s exactly what I wanted earlier, a glimpse of the real person under all that professionalism. Someone who can actually be provoked into genuine feeling.
Even if that feeling is primarily the desire to strangle me.
“It was a calculated risk.” I run the towel over my hair, probably making it stand up in all directions. Not exactly the carefully coiffed royal image, but then the tabloids do love aPrince Nicholas: He’s Just Like Usmoment.
I match O’Connell’s gaze, refusing to be intimidated despite the fact he’s looming over me like the physical embodiment of disapproval. “I was never in any actual danger.”
