Page 69 of The Unlikely Heir

Trevor swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The Prince of Wales isn’t here.”

“I beg to differ.”

Oliver’s head jerks toward me, and I know it’s my moment to step forward.

If Trevor’s shocked to see Oliver on his doorstep, it’s nothing compared to when I move into the pool of light.

He goes even paler and grips the side of his doorway for support.

“Do you want to look the Prince of Wales in the eyes right now and repeat all the vile things you’ve been saying about him?”

Trevor won’t meet my gaze.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he mutters.

“Fun for whom? Do you think it’s fun for the Prince of Wales?”

“I didn’t know he was reading it.”

“Well, that’s the thing about social media. You never know who is reading it. All the more reason to be polite, I would think.”

Trevor can’t hold Oliver’s gaze, dropping his eyes to a patch of threadbare carpet.

Inexplicably, I feel a rush of pity for him. He’s living in a rundown apartment, and if he’s got time to harass me so thoroughly, he’s probably not working. He definitely doesn’t give the impression of leading an emotionally satisfying life.

“I like your shirt,” I say. “Are you a Black Sabbath fan?”

Oliver and Trevor both look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Yes,” Trevor says eventually, his voice faint. “Yes, I like Black Sabbath.”

“Me too. ‘Peace of Mind’ is my favorite song of theirs. What’s yours?”

“Uh…‘War Pigs.’”

I nod my approval. “That has a sick bassline.”

“Are you guys for real?” There’s an element of pleading in Trevor’s voice as his eyes flick between Oliver and me like he’s really hoping this is all just some hallucination.

I know that feeling. I have it most days.

“Actually, you got us. We’re just actors who look like the prime minister and the Prince of Wales who’ve been hired to track down all the trolls on social media and give you a little piece of free advice,” Oliver says.

“What advice?” The words seem to fall from Trevor’s lips without his consent.

“Go find something positive to do with your life instead of always looking to pull people down. Because karma will always find you in the end, I promise.”

“My mom always said, ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,’” I add helpfully.

A small smile creeps onto Oliver’s face, and he glances at me. “I think we’re finished here.”

I nod. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor.”

Trevor doesn’t reply. He continues to stand there, blinking at us in bewilderment.

Oliver turns on his heel and walks back down the path. I follow him back to the car.

“So that’s the most patriotic man in Britain,” Oliver says once we’re inside the car. “I think we might be in trouble if that’s the case.”