Page 42 of The Unlikely Spare
“That’s not your call to make.” He’s struggling visibly now, battling with genuine anger. “My job is to protect you, which becomes difficult when you actively work against me.”
“Consider it practice for your reflexes.” I flash him a smile that pitches somewhere between charming and infuriating. “You performed admirably. Very quick response time.”
His face darkens further. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Isn’t it though?” I lower my voice to match his intensity. “My entire existence is carefully stage-managed for public consumption. Every risk assessed, every variable controlled. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like.”
The emotion flickering across his face is definitely not sympathy. “You’re right. I can’t understand choosing to endanger yourself for a moment’s thrill when people…” He cutshimself off, exhaling loudly before he continues. “When your safety affects so many others.”
I feel a momentary flash of guilt, but I swallow it down.
“Oh, spare me the ‘crown and country’ lecture.” I turn away, busying myself with trying to extract my arms from my wetsuit. “I’m quite aware of my position. Painfully so, in fact. Although, I guess I should be flattered by your dedication to my continued existence.”
When I look back up, I find O’Connell staring at me as if trying to decide whether I’m worth the inevitable ulcers this job will give him.
“My job is to keep you safe,” he says finally.
“And my job is to be paraded around like a prized show pony, smiling and waving on command.” I manage to tug the wetsuit down to my waist. “Occasionally, I like to remind myself I’m still capable of making my own choices.”
“There’s a difference between independence and recklessness.”
“Occupational hazard of being the spare heir.” I shrug, wrapping the towel around my waist. “We’re expected to be just reckless enough to be interesting, but not quite enough to be genuinely in danger.”
O’Connell’s expression remains stern.
“Next time, stick to the safety instructions.” His stare bores into me. “Sir,” he tacks on like an afterthought.
O’Connell really has mastered the art of making “sir” sound like a four-letter word. It’s almost impressive.
I should recommend him for diplomatic service. One can barely imagine what he could do with “Your Excellency.”
“Of course, Officer O’Connell,” I reply with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting changed. Unless you’re aiming for a glimpse of the royal jewels, perhaps we could continue this fascinating discussion when I’m fully clothed?”
O’Connell stalks to the door, and I turn back to the business of changing, tugging my wetsuit lower.
The sound of movement halts, and I look up to find O’Connell frozen in the doorway, having turned back with his mouth half-open as if to deliver one final reprimand.
His eyes flick downward to my bare torso for the briefest moment before snapping back to my face. But then his eyes dart away immediately, a flush climbing up his neck. He shuts the door behind him with a bang that reverberates through the small changing room.
I stand motionless for several heartbeats, my skin suddenly hypersensitive, as if the path his eyes traced left physical heat in their wake.
Nowthatis interesting.
Chapter Twelve
Eoin
The heart of Australia is red. Red desert sprawling in every direction under a sky so fierce it makes your eyes water just looking at it. The heat hits you like a fist, making you understand why the early European explorers dropped like flies trying to cross this place.
We flew into Alice Springs last night. It’s a town that shouldn’t exist, planted in the dead center of nowhere. Forty degrees in the shade, and the locals carry on like it’s nothing.
“So, apparently, the royal advisors decided scheduling a stop in the hottest part of Australia in the middle of summer would be a good idea,” Singh drawls.
“I’ve never had to factor in the probability of spontaneous combustion as a security risk before,” Malcolm says seriously. “I’ve calculated the probability of a protection officer suffering heat stroke is thirty-four point two percent.”
We’re having a security briefing in the hotel conference room. The air conditioning deserves a royal commendation as it battles valiantly against the furnace outside.
Through the window, I see protesters gathering outside the hotel entrance. Their numbers have swelled since morning—at least fifty now, with handmade signs bobbing above thecrowd.NOT MY QUEENandNO CROWN ON STOLEN LANDvisible even from this distance. Local police keep them behind barricades, but we can still hear their chants.
