Page 169 of The Unlikely Pair

I’ve fallen in love.

Toby and I didn’t merely fall in love. We fell into a profound, unfathomable love, the kind of love where your souls mesh together and trying to separate them will permanently wound you.

I’ve never told him I feel like this.

Telling him I love him will only make this impossible situation even worse.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it’s too large.

“When I went to pick you up from the hospital, you were so…happy. You were thin and scratched up and looked absolutely terrible, yet when the two of you interacted, you were thehappiest I’ve ever seen you,” Prunella says, her voice gentle. “I want that for you, Harry. I want you to have that kind of happiness all the time.”

“But I can’t be with him.”

“Why the everlasting hell not?”

Her words echo in my head.

Things were so simple in the wilderness. Life boiled down to the basics, and there wasn’t room for anything else.

Is it truly so simple now we’ve returned to civilization? Somewhere to live, something to do, something to hope for, someone to love.

My father warned me not to make the same mistake he made. I have the feeling I am, just not the mistake he believes he made.

I imagine the rest of my life spooling out without Toby. I’ll most likely become the prime minister. My name will be forever etched into the annals of this great nation.

But I’ll never again get to hear his laugh. I’ll never get to kiss him.

Is any reward worth such a price?

Chapter Fifty

Harry

As if my tumultuous mind doesn’t have enough to occupy it, I find myself amid a maelstrom of messages when I turn on my phone the next morning.

Apparently, David Grantham has given another speech that has ignited a media firestorm, dominating the headlines and sparking a tempest of controversy across social media.

In the car on my way back to London, I listen to his words and feel queasiness settle in my stomach.

There is free speech, and there is hate speech. How to draw the line between the two remains one of the biggest challenges any democracy faces. But in my estimation, David Grantham has unequivocally overstepped the bounds of what should be tolerated from those who aspire to positions of power.

I’m due in the Chamber in less than an hour. But I divert my driver to the Conservative Party headquarters, where I take the stairs two at a time and rap sharply on the door to Amanda’s office.

Her mouth twists when she sees me. “Let me guess, this is about David Grantham.”

“He’s crossed the line, Amanda. He was warned, but he hasn’t listened. We can’t continue to tolerate this type of rhetoric.”

“Polling has him easily winning the seat, Harry. In an election this close, we can’t switch out a candidate now. Especially not one with such extensive grassroots support.”

I fix her with a pointed look, my jaw set. “But it’s bigotry, plain and simple. There is no place for it in today’s society.”

“I’ve canvassed other board members, and there is no support for the removal of David Grantham based on his comments, considering the proximity of the election and the current polling data.”

I shake my head. Have we truly been reduced to this, a party that prioritizes victory above all else, even if it means embracing hatred and intolerance?

A wave of impotent rage washes over me. I want to shout, to rage against the cynicism and calculation that seems to have infected the party I love, but I know it will do no good. Not here, not now.

“I’ve got to get to Parliament,” I say.