Page 50 of The Unlikely Spare
Oliver sends a pointed look at Callum, and Callum gives him a grin.
“We’ve decided we’re not going to find out. I thought it would be more magical that way. Like Christmas morning when you’re a kid and have no idea what’s in the present.” Callum glances at Oliver with affection in his eyes. “Oliver wanted to know until I wore him down with three weeks of surprises to demonstrate the joy of the unexpected.”
“He also reminded me that monarchs throughout history have managed without ultrasound technology, so we could certainly handle a few months of suspense,” Oliver says, directing a smile at his husband.
Seeing Oliver with Callum is rather like witnessing a grizzly bear being conquered by a golden retriever.
The hollow space beneath my ribs expands, echoing with something I refuse to name.
These two men defied convention, politics, and the entire bloody British establishment to be together.
My own relationships have been decidedly unremarkable. Strategic setups with suitable aristocratic daughters, yacht parties with people whose names blur together, nights that leave nothing but emptiness when morning comes.
And my one meaningful relationship ended in a level of betrayal that wouldn’t be out of place in a Shakespearean play.
“Suspense is good for the soul,” Callum says, and I snap out of my memories to focus on the conversation.
“Your grandmother strongly believes it’s going to be a boy,” Oliver adds.
“Queen Katharine and her famous intuition,” I say. “She correctly guessed which horse would win the Derby three years in a row. Though I’m still not entirely convinced she didn’t have inside information from the stables.”
Callum laughs. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“How is she doing?” I ask.
“She’s improved significantly,” Oliver says. “Though she’s rather frustrated with the doctors insisting she’s not up to engagements yet.”
That sounds exactly like our grandmother.
“She did mention she’s been reviewing your press coverage,” Callum says. “She’s quite pleased, actually. Said you were doing a good job.”
“High praise indeed from Her Majesty.” I have a burst of pleasure at the compliment. Grandmother’s approval has always been a rare and valuable currency in our family.
“Actually, talking about doing a good job at something, there’s something we wanted to ask you,” Callum’s voice shifts, taking on that particular American earnestness. “Oliver and I have been discussing godparents, and we’d like to ask if you’d consider the job.”
The phone nearly slips from my fingers.
Something hot and uncomfortable prickles behind my eyes, and it’s a few seconds before I’m able to reply.
“Me? Are you certain? I’m hardly a paragon of responsible behavior. Surely there are better candidates for spiritual guidance?”
“We thought you were the best person for the job,” Oliver says seriously.
I have to swallow against a sudden tightness in my throat. “Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse? Though I should warn you, I’m anticipating my godparenting skills will extend primarily to inappropriate birthday gifts and providing alibis when your child sneaks out of state functions.”
“We wouldn’t expect anything less,” Callum says with a grin.
I fiddle with my signet ring, twisting it in circles around my finger as I try to compose myself.
The fact that Callum and Oliver are trusting me with such an important task makes me feel all kinds of warm and squirmy feelings that I ordinarily take great pains to avoid feeling. Because affection goes hand in hand with vulnerability, and in my personal royal handbook, vulnerability ranks somewhere between treason and wearing brown shoes with a navy suit at royal functions.
I swiftly steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Anyway, Oliver, you look quite overdressed for this time in the morning.”
“I’ve got a meeting this morning.”
“What sort of meeting?” I ask.
