Page 107 of The Unlikely Spare

The Boxing Day charity luncheon for The Restart Initiative is apparently the social event of the Auckland holiday season, judging by the turnout in the crowded function room. Current players mix with retired legends, all here to raise money for players who’ve suffered career-ending injuries.

I adjust my cuffs, scanning the room automatically for Eoin. He’s stationed near the entrance, his posture rigid even by his usual standards.

Something’s off with him. I can tell by the tension in his jawline, the way his gaze sweeps the room relentlessly, never pausing on any single point for long. His right hand keeps drifting toward his earpiece every few seconds, a nervous tic I’ve never observed in him before.

It seems I’ve inadvertently become fluent in the dialect of Eoin O’Connell, without even realizing I had enrolled in the course. I know the precise angle his head tilts when he’s listeningthrough his earpiece, and the way sunlight turns the stubble along his jaw to copper wire. I know how his Irish accent thickens when he’s aroused?—

“Your Royal Highness,” a voice interrupts my thoughts, which is probably a good thing, as inappropriate erections tend to photograph poorly at charity events.

I turn to find the event organizer, Mrs. Henare, beaming at me. “I’m so pleased you could join us today. There are some players you might enjoy meeting.”

“I’d be delighted.” Having played rugby myself at Eton, I’ve always had a soft spot for the sport, even if my own talents were decidedly mediocre.

Mrs. Henare guides me through the crowd toward two men I recognize instantly.

Aiden Jones, the former New Zealand star, whose tactical brilliance made him a nightmare for England’s back line for nearly a decade. Beside him is Tyler Bannings, the younger player who took over the starting second-five position from Aiden and is now on the way to cementing his own legacy as one of the best to play the game.

“May I introduce?—”

“Aiden Jones and Tyler Bannings,” I finish for her, extending my hand first to Tyler. “Your try against England in the World Cup semifinal still haunts the collective unconscious of my countrymen, Mr. Bannings.”

“It’s Bannings-Jones now, actually,” Tyler says as he shakes my hand. “We hyphenated our names when we got married. We wanted to make all the rugby commentators work harder for their paycheck.”

“Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Aiden replies as he shakes my hand, his grip firm. He’s always come across as a broody and standoffish guyon TV, but there’s a soft look in his eyes now as he glances at his husband.

Meanwhile, Tyler flashes a cheeky grin at me. “You English seem to have a unique relationship with sport. You invent all the sports like rugby, netball, cricket, and tennis, then get to watch all the other nations learn how to beat you.”

“We like to think of it as a charitable contribution to the world. Though I’m not sure our players feel quite so generous when they’re staring down a haka.”

Aiden and Tyler laugh and our conversation moves on to talking about their involvement with the charity’s work with injured players.

I try to listen attentively and make appropriate comments, but part of my brain can’t help monitoring Eoin. He appears to have angled his body to keep both exits in view, but he’s not looking directly at me. We’ve made eye contact exactly twice since arriving, and both times he’s looked away first.

After last night, the deliberate distance feels like a slap.

Is it because Singh nearly discovered us? Has that near miss caused him to reconsider our entire…whatever this is?

My stomach drops at the thought, the champagne inside swirling.

The rest of the luncheon passes in a blur of speeches, charity auctions, and mingling. I do what I do best: charming donors, posing for photos, making appropriate jokes that will look good in tomorrow’s papers and on social media.

By the time we’re preparing to leave for our next engagement—a visit to the Hobbiton movie set that would normally have me making jokes about whether they’d let me keep the one ring to rule them all—my nerves are stretched thin.

“Car’s ready, sir,” Eoin says, appearing at my elbow as I finish saying goodbye to Tyler and Aiden. His voice is professional,distant. Nothing like the intimate whispers we shared just yesterday.

“Thank you, Officer O’Connell.” I inject coolness into my voice to match his formality.

The car’s interior feels like blessed relief after the crowded function room. I settle into the leather seat, watching Auckland’s cityscape fade as we head south into farmland. Eoin sits across from me, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on the scenery outside.

Officer Blake has positioned herself up front with the driver, leaving just the two of us in the back. The privacy screen is up. This is the closest approximation to alone time we’ve been afforded all day.

“Would you care to enlighten me as to why you’re behaving like we’re in a John le Carré novel?” I ask in a low voice.

Eoin’s head whips up and his eyes meet mine. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about,” he finally replies.

The silence stretches between us, taut as a garrote wire.