Page 65 of The Unlikely Spare
It’s the way he says the words, with such resignation beneath the frustration, as if I’ve confirmed every cynical assumption he’s ever made about people with my breeding and background.
As if I’m exactly the entitled aristocrat he expected me to be.
Shame rears inside me.
It takes every ounce of royal training not to flinch in the wake of his stare.
He’s right, of course. I have been treating this like a game. A diversion to alleviate boredom, to satisfy my curiosity about whether I could crack his professional veneer. As much as I’ve wanted to get to know him, I haven’t actually stopped to consider the real person behind the uniform, with his own career and reputation at stake.
I take a step back from him.
I feel…chastised.
It’s not something to which I’m accustomed.
I swallow, still locked in his gray eyes.
“I apologize if my attempt to make conversation with you has made you uncomfortable,” I say. “I think you are correct, we should return to the main path where it is more secure.”
I turn on my heel and stride away. Back straight, chin up, emotions buried so deep they might as well be in another time zone.
The Field of Lights stretches around us like a galaxy of artificial stars, but I focus only on the path ahead, refusing to look back to see if he’s following.
Of course he’s following me.
It’s his job.
I’m glad for the dim light, as I’m sure blood is pumping to my cheeks.
As we rejoin the gala, I slide back into Prince Nicholas mode without missing a beat. Smile, handshake, charming comment about Australia’s beauty, repeat.
No one notices anything amiss. Why would they? I’ve spent my entire life perfecting this performance.
I deliberately don’t look at Officer O’Connell.
But as we drive away from Ulu?u later that evening, its ancient face receding under the night sky, I can’t shake the feeling that O’Connell saw straight through my royal veneer to something raw and uncomfortable beneath.
For all my privilege and power, he’s the one who walked away from that encounter with his dignity intact. While I—second in line to a thousand-year-old throne—am left wondering why the rejection of a commoner I’ve known for mere weeks stings so much.
Why it feels like losing something precious I never realized I wanted until it was already gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Eoin
Darwin’s heat is a different beast altogether, wrapping around you like a damp wool blanket you can’t shrug off.
We’ve been in Darwin for three days. It’s the last stop on the Australian leg of the royal tour before we head to New Zealand.
This stage of the tour has been jammed with events.
Nicholas has opened a new cyclone shelter where they demonstrated the emergency warning system, accidentally triggering every car alarm in the parking lot.
He’s launched a barramundi breeding program where he had to wade into muddy pools wearing rubber waders that were clearly three sizes too big. Every step made obscene squelching sounds that had the school kids in the audience in hysterics. He named his fish Gerald and gave a solemn speech about Gerald’s future contributions to Australian aquaculture while the fish immediately swam away and hid under a rock.
He’s unveiled a new coastal cleanup initiative and demonstrated the correct way to use one of those grabby-stick things to collect rubbish.
And throughout it all, he hasn’t looked at me properly once.
