Page 83 of The Unlikely Heir

I want to keep him close to me. I want to keep his attention focused on me, have more chances to soak up the small details of Oliver. The way his suit jacket is scrunched up slightly on the left side, exposing a small patch of dark hair on his wrist. The way his long fingers grasp his race card, the smooth curve of his fingernails.

But I need something to say, something to prolong our conversation so Oliver doesn’t move away.

“It’s hot today,” I say. Apparently, talking about the weather is the height of my conversational skills right now. And the tabloids don’t think I’m British enough!

“Yes, it is,” Oliver agrees.

“Why do you think formal dress requirements mean one gender always freezes while the other overheats?”

“Perhaps it’s a conspiracy to make sure someone is always in a bad mood,” Oliver replies, and I huff a small laugh.

Oh god, I love laughing with Oliver so much. Trying to hide my happiness, I nod down at his card.

“So, do you think you’ve picked the winner for the St James’s Palace Stakes?”

“I’ve gone with the favorite. My philosophy is to always play the best odds.”

“My strategy is to pick the name I like the best.”

Oliver studies the card for a second before glancing up at me. “Let me guess, you picked Stirrup Trouble.”

My stomach swirls. “How did you know that?”

His eyes are dark and full of hidden depths as he stares at me.

“I thought the pun would appeal to you,” he says quietly.

It feels like someone has stepped on my lungs.

I rip my eyes away from Oliver, staring out over the emerald-green grass of the racecourse, trying to regain my breath and balance. I meant what I said to him in the diner. I’ve never had this kind of connection with someone before. Someone who can look at a list of eleven horse names and instantly know which one I’d pick.

And it makes me more determined to get things back to how they were before. Because this type of friendship is rare and precious. Especially to me.

I look up and notice Nicholas standing by the bar, watching Oliver and me, a small frown etched on his face.

I slant my body so my back faces Nicholas and lower my voice. “Can we…ah…talk?”

Oliver’s face is suddenly wary. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“You know what I mean.”

Oliver’s face changes, and I suddenly see his genial composure has simply been a mask.

He flicks a glance at my family before lowering his voice.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“About what happened that night.”

A muscle in Oliver’s jaw works, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Can we just forget about it?” I run my hand through my hair. “I really don’t want to ruin the friendship we have.”

Oliver continues to stare at me, his expression unreadable.

He swallows, looking away, his jaw still tense. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve been ghosting me so hard that Casper would be jealous of your skills.”