Page 73 of The Unlikely Heir

Eventually, Oliver withdraws from me. In the dim light, his pupils seem enormous, swallowing his irises so the black pools are all I can see.

“Callum,” he says. Somehow, he says my name like it’s both a question and the answer to that question.

ChapterSeventeen

Oliver

The Cabinet Room, 10 Downing Street.

It’s a historic room where many momentous decisions have been made over the years. Ending the British Empire, the partition of India and Pakistan, granting independence to Commonwealth nations, and every important decision relating to British health, education, and the welfare state.

Lord George sat here on Armistice Day in 1918. Churchill sat here on VE day in 1945.

The table is covered in green baize, an interesting choice that I’ve never quite got my head around. The material is usually found cloaking snooker tables, which are a far cry from the political games played out here.

My position as prime minister has me sitting in the middle of the table, in the only one of the brown leather upholstered chairs that has arms, the ornate fireplace behind me.

Today, we’re trying to sort out changes to the Energy Efficiency Act, looking at incentives for UK homes and buildings to become more energy efficient.

Harper Cole, an extremely diligent MP from Newcastle and my Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change, is outlining the policy failures that have led us to this point.

Unfortunately, my mind is not completely focused on Harper’s words.

I can’t stop thinking about Callum. About that kiss.

Kissing Callum is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

It’s also the worst.

Because now I know what it’s like to kiss Callum Prescott.

I know what it’s like to have his lips pressed against mine, to have his hands in my hair, to breathe the same air as him. I know what it feels like to kiss someone and for it to be so fundamentally…right, like it was meant to happen, an event written in the stars since the beginning of time.

I never knew a kiss could feel like the truth.

And my mind throbs with the implications of it.

After we kissed, I’d stood abruptly, muttering about having to head back before striding off, leaving Callum to follow. Callum had seemed dazed as he stumbled after me.

It was only when we’d approached the cars that I turned to him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Makes sense for you to go straight back to the palace, right? Are you all right to ride with your protection officers?”

“Oliver.” There’d been something about the way he said my name that had made my heart twist painfully.

I’d glanced to where members of the royal protection squad and my security team were watching us.

Callum had followed my gaze, biting his lip and scuffing a foot along the concrete.

“I’ll message you tomorrow, okay?” he’d said finally.

I’d nodded. “Okay.”

Now, regret stabs me at the thought of Callum’s face when I left him on the path.

But I have a major problem.

I am not built to withstand this.