Page 93 of The Unlikely Heir

But there is no way.

He is the future king. I’m the prime minister.

There is no future for us. There can never be a future.

I need to leave before I say or do something stupid.

I abruptly turn back towards the door. “Nothing has changed, Callum.” I can only hope he hears the regret in my voice.

It feels like I’m walking through treacle, moving away from the one thing I want the most.

“That night in Essex…” Callum says.

I stop at the door, take a deep breath, then turn to face him. “What about it?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Do you ever…do you ever think about it?”

The vulnerability in Callum’s eyes draws the truth out of me with a force I can’t control.

“I can never stop thinking about it,” I say quietly.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Callum

I can never stop thinking about it. I can never stop thinking about it.

Those words circle my mind like overenthusiastic vultures the next day.

I know a lot about vultures from my brief obsession with birds of prey. It turns out circling vultures are not waiting for their food to die. They are simply using the thermal currents in the air to help them save energy by not having to flap their wings.

My brain has apparently decided to save energy by not letting any other thoughts besides Oliver in.

I’m late to breakfast, and I have a weird mixture of disappointment and relief when I learn Oliver’s already left with Gran this morning to go hiking to the Balmoral Cairns.

Space from Oliver is probably a good thing right now.

Amelia looks up from her book and gives me a distracted smile as I sit at the table.

Aunt Alice and Frederick are also there, but their greetings are icier than the wind coming off the moors. They’re leaving after breakfast because Gran doesn’t think it’s appropriate for them to attend the Ghillies Ball tonight.

“You’re looking for some inspiration, Amelia?” Frederick smirks.

My confusion lifts when I read the title of Amelia’s book:Rebel Princesses.

Amelia raises her gaze to meet Frederick’s levelly. “I’m actually reading about Somali’s Queen Arawelo. During her reign, she banished gender roles and used to hang male rapists and prisoners by their testicles.”

I hide a smile as Frederick involuntarily flinches.

I’m just leaving the dining room and psyching myself up for a long, contemplative walk along the River Dee, where I’ll attempt to wrestle with that age-old conundrum—how do you get over someone you want but can’t have—when an unexpected figure in the entranceway stops me short.

“Raymond,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I flew up for the Ghillies Ball. I realized you won’t know how to do the traditional dances, so I’ll need to coach you.”

I blink. “Oh. Okay.”

The thought of Raymond teaching me to dance has me wincing. I get the feeling this will not be a pleasant experience for either of us.