Page 144 of The Unlikely Pair

I finally get to see him again.

Chapter Forty-One

Toby

I sit in the Commons Chamber surrounded by my fellow Labour MPs for the State Opening of Parliament, straightening my tie for the umpteenth time.

I’m not nervous about the State Opening of Parliament, which happens every year and marks the formal start of the parliamentary year. It’s an event steeped in tradition and symbolism, with the Queen traveling from Buckingham Palace to Westminster in a horse-drawn carriage. She then delivers a speech outlining the government’s agenda for the coming session.

No, my nerves today come from an entirely different place.

I’ll see Harry again today.

It seems ridiculous to be fussing with my tie in preparation for seeing him for the first time in over a week. Harry has seen me in every state possible. He won’t judge me based on what I look like.

The air around me buzzes with the low hum conversation.

“Toby, old chap!” My colleague, Jeremy, claps me on the shoulder. “I’m guessing you didn’t volunteer to be the hostage MP today.”

Part of the ancient tradition of the State Opening of Parliament is an MP is taken as a symbolic “hostage” at Buckingham Palace until the Queen returns safely.

I force a laugh. “No, I definitely didn’t volunteer for that role.”

“I don’t blame you for that.” Jeremy chuckles. “But really, it’s good to have you back. We need all hands on deck to keep the Tories on their toes.”

As if on cue, a hush falls over the Chamber. I turn to see what’s caused the sudden shift in atmosphere and my breath catches in my throat.

Striding into the Commons Chamber with his usual confident step is Harry. Like me, it’s the first time he’s been back in Parliament since our wilderness ordeal. He looks every inch the leader of the opposition. His tailored suit is impeccable, he’s clean-shaven, and his hair slicked back neatly.

It’s like going back in time.

I have an overwhelming urge to go over to him and mess his hair up. I want to get him back to being my version of Harry. I want him to be the unshaven Harry with an unkempt beard and wild hair, the one who laughed with me and held me close at night.

Not this cold version I used to know and loathe.

But it’s a good reminder that Harry’s the Conservative leader campaigning to be prime minister. He’s married to a woman. There’s absolutely no place for me in Harry’s life.

Just as I’m thinking that, Harry’s gaze finds mine.

For a few seconds, our eyes are locked with such an intensity it sends a shiver down my spine.

“I daresay you did well surviving out there with him. Tell me, is he the pompous git he appears to be?” Jeremy’s voice interrupts my focus on Harry.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I rip my eyes away from him. “He has his moments.”

I’m trying to focus on Jeremy, to answer his further questions, when I see the Serjeant-at-Arms rise to signal the proceedings are about to begin.

The doorkeepers, garbed in white tie and tails, straighten, and a hush falls over the Chamber.

“Close the door,” the Speaker calls.

The door is slammed shut just as the representative of the House of Lords approaches. It’s a symbolic gesture, a nod to the independence of the Commons from the lords and the monarchy.

It’s part of an ancient understanding that made Oliver’s relationship with Prince Callum so untenable when he was prime minister. The need to keep the monarchy separate from the House of Commons.

I sneak a glance at Harry’s face. Does he feel the power of that one motion? He, who descends from a line of ancestors once part of the House of Lords for generations. But now his family sign their title away every generation so they can be part of the House of Commons, where the true political power lies.

The noise of three sharp knocks snaps me out of my contemplation. It’s another symbolic gesture. Since 1642, when King Charles I attempted to arrest five Members of Parliament, a monarch has not entered the Commons Chamber.