Page 47 of The Unlikely Spare
“I’m Archie,” the boy offers. “I’m going to be a flying doctor when I grow up.”
“Dr. Archie,” Nicholas says with perfect seriousness. “It has an excellent ring to it. I expect you’ll be brilliant.”
Their conversation continues, Nicholas asking about Archie’s favorite subjects in school and sharing a story about how he once got stuck in a tree trying to rescue his cousin’s hat.
Just as Nicholas is demonstrating what appears to be a particularly terrible magic trick involving his signet ring, he glances up and catches me watching. His expression shifts immediately, shoulders tensing. He finishes the trick for Archie before straightening.
“Officer O’Connell,” he says, voice casual. “Just ensuring our young doctor here is receiving proper royal attention.”
I nod. “You’re expected for the certificate presentation in five minutes, sir.”
Nicholas turns back to Archie. “It was a genuine pleasure meeting you, Dr. Archie. I shall expect an invitation to your medical school graduation.”
The boy’s face lights up. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Royal promise.” Nicholas makes a crossing motion over his heart that makes Archie giggle again before he reluctantly heads back to the main event.
As we walk back, Nicholas glances at me, a defensive edge to his voice. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were watching me with an expression marginally less disapproving than usual. It’s unsettling.”
I hesitate, then decide on honesty. “My brother is a wheelchair user.”
Nicholas’s steps falter, though he recovers quickly. “I see,” he says.
“People either talk down to him like he’s a child or avoid eye contact entirely,” I continue. “I just appreciate that you did neither with that boy.”
Surprise flashes across his face. He seems almost flummoxed, like he has no idea what to do with a genuine compliment.
“It’s the least anyone should do,” he says finally. “Though I’m sorry about your brother. Was it an accident?”
The memory surfaces before I can stop it—the dust, the screaming, my inability to reach Malachy. The rage when we discovered the landlord had ignored structural warnings for years to save money.
“Our tenement building collapsed,” I say shortly. “Faulty maintenance.”
Nicholas absorbs this, his eyes searching my face. “That must have been difficult.”
“More for him than me,” I reply, the familiar guilt tightening my chest.
“That’s why you became a security officer? To protect people?” he asks quietly.
Now it’s my turn to stumble. For a second, I forget my cover story, the carefully constructed background of Officer O’Connell.
“Something like that,” I reply.
Nicholas studies me for a moment longer, those blue eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable with. “You know, O’Connell, just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”
It’s like he’s taken my own thoughts out of my head and spoken them aloud. Because isn’t that what I spend so much of my time doing? Trying to unravel the puzzle of this man. His kindness toward Archie provides yet another contradictory piece.
I’m aware I have an almost borderline obsession with trying to figure out what kind of man Prince Nicholas is.
But the idea that Prince Nicholas spends any time trying to figure me out in return is unsettling.
“I could say the same about you,” I reply. “You’re constantly surprising me.”
“Me? I’m devastatingly straightforward. Spoiled prince with a history of tabloid scandals and a talent for irritating his security detail.”
