Page 12 of The Unlikely Heir

And my world tilts off its axis.

I mean, my world is already off its axis right now. I feel like I’m in a whole other galaxy than the one I usually inhabit, but having Oliver’s warm, dry palm pressing against mine makes it tilt even more, the room momentarily swirling around me.

My stomach swirls in unison.

What the hell? I’ve never had this physical reaction to someone before.

Prime minister-induced vertigo. Is that a thing?

Oliver’s eyebrows pull together. His eyes flick down to where our hands are joined, like there’s something he can’t quite figure out either.

My whole body is trembling like I’ve just been electrocuted. Or had one too many espressos.

I open my mouth and a whole lot of inane babble falls out. “It’s so nice to meet you, Prime Minister. I think it’s amazing what you’ve done for LGBTQ+ representation in politics. I mean, it’s so seriously cool that the youth of today have someone like you to look up to.”

Awesome. Fanboy gushing. That’s a great way to start a working relationship with one of the most powerful men in the world. Next, I’ll be asking for his autograph.

“Uh…thanks,” Oliver says, withdrawing his hand quickly from mine. Which is fair enough because it hasn’t been scientifically proven that being a babbling idiot isn’t contagious.

I immediately feel the absence of Oliver’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

He glances at my grandmother, who watches us with a small crease between her eyebrows.

Is she now questioning her earlier assertion that I’m the right person for the future of the monarchy? I wouldn’t really blame her.

“Oliver and I meet once a week for me to go through the government papers and be briefed on the legislation that needs to be signed into law,” she tells me.

I nod. It’s a little-known fact of the British constitutional monarchy that the queen has the final sign-off on all laws. The paper I did on the history of European monarchies as part of my unfinished master’s now seems increasingly valuable.

“We’ve already drafted the legislation to remove your family members caught up in the scandal from the succession line,” Oliver says. “We’re going to introduce it simultaneously in the House of Lords and the House of Commons. We anticipate it will pass with no obstruction within a few days.”

I’m so distracted by the authoritative way he speaks that I’m a few seconds too late with my reply.

“Okay.” And what a scintillating reply it is. Oliver must really be admiring my intellectual prowess right now.

“The press offices for all the palaces are working around the clock to manage this situation,” my grandmother says to Oliver. “The general consensus is we need to get Prince Callum in front of the public as soon as possible. We must show the British public that the royal family will continue our duties uninterrupted.”

“The show must go on,” I say without thinking.

My grandmother turns to me, a questioning look on her face.

“Isn’t that what they say in show business?” I ask. “That the show must go on? And I guess I’m one of the new feature acts, right? Hopefully, I’m not expected to do any trapeze stunts because heights terrify me. I’m willing to give fire breathing a go though.”

My grandmother has a neutral expression as I rattle on, but then, she’s used to my flights of fancy. She also does about two hundred public engagements a year. She would have had to deal with many other bumbling idiots before. There must be more of us out there.

Although Oliver’s looking at me like I’ve just provided more evidence for my earlier idiot diagnosis.

The silence extends for an excruciating moment before Oliver breaks it. “What about a clown? What’s your stance on doing clownish acts?”

I nod enthusiastically. “That definitely feels like it’s within my skill set. I think I’d really rock the red-nose look.”

“I agree,” he says, one side of his top lip twitching upward and the lines around his eyes deepening slightly. I stare at him in wonder. Is there a chance I’ve amused Oliver Hartwell? Surely not. Oliver is notorious for being very, very serious.

“Callum’s going to have some media training,” Gran says, in what must be the most obvious point in the universe.

“That’s always a good idea.” Oliver manages to keep a straight face, which is a tribute to his advanced diplomatic skills. No wonder he’s ended up the prime minister.