Page 48 of The Unlikely Heir

His comment jolts me back to reality.

This is not just an academic debate. I’m discussing this with the Prime Minister of the UK, the elected leader of over sixty-seven million people. And I will one day be the king of this country, the counterbalance to Oliver and his government, tasked with giving royal assent to all laws. Even though it is a mainly ceremonial task, I’m there as a safeguard for the British people, ensuring the government doesn’t overstep its powers.

The thought makes my head do pirouettes.

“Do you ever worry your job is too big for you?” I ask.

God, it’s only after the question is out of my mouth that I realize there’s a completely wrong way to interpret it. Like I’m questioning his ability to do his job.

“I mean, do you ever worry you’re going to let down the people relying on you?” I continue quickly.

Oliver studies me for a moment. “Not really. For the first part of my career, I was running on defiance. I was the gay kid who grew up in poverty. I had a major chip on my shoulder and a point to prove. I didn’t have room for self-doubt.”

He stares out over the river, at the ancient waters of the Thames, before continuing.

“Occasionally now, I’ll doubt myself more. Sometimes I find myself too caught up in the in-fighting and politics of scoring a win that I lose my focus on what we’re supposed to be doing, which is helping people.”

He raises his gaze to mine. “But then I look at the other people putting their hand up to run this country, and I feel fairly confident I’m doing a better job than they could ever do.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m not confident I’m doing a better job than anyone else at this. I mean, I’m trying my hardest. But what happens if my hardest isn’t good enough?”

Oliver takes a step closer to me, his eyes searching my face.

“Your hardest is good enough, Callum. Of course it is.”

“Not if you believe what the press and the public are saying,” I point out.

“You shouldn’t listen to them.”

“But they have a point. I didn’t even grow up in this country, learning to be royal like my relatives. I’m only doing this through the sheer coincidence of my birth.” I take a deep breath. “I’m trying so hard, but my interactions with people feel so forced, you know? It’s hard to imagine doing this for the rest of my life, always being judged, always having to pretend to be something I’m not.”

“Then you need to find a way to do your job, represent the crown, and still be you,” Oliver says.

I lift my eyebrow skeptically. “Do you really think the British public wants to see the real me?”

He studies me for a second, his brow furrowed. “Yes. I think they do. Be the you who knows completely random facts. Be the you who tells those awfully horrendous jokes.”

“Hey.” I pretend to be affronted. “If my jokes are terrible, then yours are too.”

“I don’t think either of us has much authority when it comes to good jokes,” Oliver says with a smile.

Despite the cold air swirling around us, being on the receiving end of Oliver’s smile causes warmth to spread through me.

“Oh, I heard a great one the other day that I was saving to tell you. What do you get when you cross a joke with a rhetorical question?”

“What?”

I just stare at him.

A smile slides onto his face.

“That’s so bad it’s almost good,” he admits.

“I thought you’d like it,” I say. “As soon as I heard it, I thought, ‘That’s an Oliver joke.’”

“I’m so glad bad puns make you think of me,” he says. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to be known for.”

I laugh and Oliver chuckles too.