Page 154 of The Unlikely Heir

“I flew up as soon as I heard the news.”

I open my eyes to see Toby looking at me with a mixture of affection and relief.

“So, what analysis of the situation would you give me now?” I manage to get out.

“As your political adviser, I have to say that risking your life to save the future king was a good political move. You’re pretty much untouchable. You could ride your high approval ratings into a historic election victory, gaining an unprecedented majority in Parliament.”

I swallow. “That’s good to hear.”

“That’s assuming you still want to be the prime minister.”

My gaze flies to him. “What do you mean?”

Toby just looks back at me steadily, this man who has been by my side since I was an angry student at Oxford campaigning against the oligarchy.

“What were you thinking when you jumped in front of him?” he asks me. There’s a seriousness to his voice that I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. He continues on before I have a chance to answer. “You weren’t thinking about all the laws you want to pass and the reforms you want to push through, were you?”

“I was thinking I can’t live in a world without him.” My voice is quiet.

My gaze slips to the generic painting on the wall, a seascape that vaguely resembles the one of Southend-on-Sea that hangs in my flat, my wedding present from my nan.

Thinking about that painting makes me realize that what’s stopping me from being with Callum properly is not just about the incompatibility between my job and Callum’s role in the royal family. I’ve hidden behind that.

The truth is, I am scared about how much I love him.

It scares me that independent Ollie Hartwell, the kid who always had to stand on his own feet and make his own way in the world, is now so in love. That my happiness is completely interwoven with another person.

Staring at the painting also reminds me of the portraits lining the staircase at Downing Street. How if you asked the average person to name the prime ministers, they’d manage half a dozen if they were lucky.

History will eventually forget us. Even prime ministers and royalty become a small footnote if we’re lucky.

But to spend a lifetime beside someone I love. Waking up next to him every day. Seeing his smile. Getting to kiss him.

All those small moments will add up to so much more than a footnote.

Besides, there are many different ways to serve. Callum has shown me that.

There’s a noise in the doorway.

Callum, the Prince of Wales, is standing there, holding a cup of coffee and some newspapers. And along with relief, there’s another look in his eyes, a look that no one else but Callum has ever given me. Simple, straightforward happiness that I exist.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Toby says as he gets up to leave.

I nod wordlessly, my gaze not leaving Callum’s. He gives Toby a brief smile as he slips past him, then steps hesitantly into my room.

“Hey,” he says softly.

I swallow, trying to get some moisture in it. “Hey.”

Callum comes towards me, his gaze not leaving mine. He puts his coffee cup on my table, then perches on the edge of my bed.

“So, we made the papers,” Callum says, spreading a swathe of newspapers on the crisp white sheets. He gives me a small, uncertain grin. “I don’t know if we can do the headline contest though. We’re both getting an equal share.”

I laugh, but it hurts, so I stop abruptly.

“That’s good to know,” I say.

“EvenThe Corporate Timesis calling you a hero.”