Page 11 of The Unlikely Heir

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

Her blue eyes don’t leave mine.

“I need you to help me save the crown.” Although my grandmother says the words in her usual upper-class British accent, something lurks under her clear enunciation, something I’ve never heard in her voice before. It’s almost an edge of pleading.

And so I make a vow to her, the words feeling heavier, more weighted, than any words I have ever spoken.

“I will do everything in my power to keep the monarchy alive.”

ChapterFive

Callum

The relief on my grandmother’s face causes a glow of happiness inside me. I will do anything I can right now to make her feel better. I will stand on my head and reciteMuch Ado About Nothing, which I know is her favorite Shakespeare play. I will organize a flash mob of corgis performing a choreographed dance to her favorite Diana Ross tune.

Because she deserves so much more than what she is having to cope with right now.

But the option that started spinning in my mind in the car is one I need to put out there before we move forward.

“I can step aside if you want, if you think that would help. If you think Nicholas will be more palatable as the heir,” I offer. “I know the fact I’m not English might make everything more difficult.”

I haven’t spent much time in the UK, but I can imagine my Californian accent might not be what people expect from the Prince of Wales.

My grandmother seems to carefully consider my words before she shakes her head. “No. I don’t want more turmoil in the succession line. Besides, I’m not sure if Nicholas’s temperament is suited to being king.”

And she thinks mine is? I’m happy with her confidence in me, even if I don’t quite share it.

I think of what I know about my younger half-brother. He’s twenty-two and has just graduated from Oxford. He’s been through the top British schools and is the archetype of a polo-playing, privileged upper-class aristocrat. He definitely looks and sounds more like a prince than me. The last time I saw him, he was in California for some boys’ weekend. He was severely hungover when we met for brunch, and I got the feeling his life revolves around partying with young European glitterati at various exotic locations around the world.

“I will need Nicholas and Amelia to step up, though, as second and third in line to the throne, as we have a lot of royal engagements we now need to fill. There’s a limit on what Amelia will be able to do as she’s so focused on her studies.”

While I don’t know either of my half-siblings well, I have a soft spot for Amelia. She’s the definition of nerdy chic. Our relationship currently consists of sending each other funny memes. I guess the upside of this whole thing is I will get to know my half-siblings better. Given my parents divorced when I was less than a year old, and I grew up on the other side of the Atlantic, it’s understandable that they are pretty much strangers to me.

A palace courtier comes into the room. “Your Majesty, the prime minister is here.”

“Thank you, Clive. You may let him in,” my grandmother says.

I run a hand through my hair.

“I’m not sure if I’m up to meeting the prime minister right now,” I say.

“It’s just an informal meeting. We’re going to be working closely with the government going forward, and I thought it would be good for you to meet him. Oliver’s a good man. Slightly too serious, but they always are in their first term.”

The weight of history is in her voice. She’s seen many, many prime ministers, after all.

The noise of the opening door swings my attention away from my grandmother to where Oliver Hartwell is entering the room.

He’s dressed in a dark suit that emphasizes his extremely good looks. Dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, a defined jaw that always seems to have just a hint of stubble. It’s like he’s so manly that his facial hair grows back the moment he shaves it off.

He looks every inch a prime minister, someone in complete control, as he strolls across the carpet toward us.

He bows to my grandmother. “Your Majesty.”

Then he turns toward me and gives a cursory nod. “Your Royal Highness.”

I stick out my hand because it seems ridiculous to have Oliver Hartwell bowing to me and the sooner we move past that, the better.

Oliver reaches out and takes my hand in his.