Page 109 of The Unlikely Spare

When we met, he was in his last year at Oxford while I was in my second. He was studying international relations and had been brilliant, ambitious, charming. All the things Oxford admires.

He was my tutor in a paper on international security in the twentieth century, and I’d been completely mesmerized.

At first, I thought my fascination with Daniel was merely academic, an admiration for his intellect, his confidence in tutorials. But then I’d catch myself staring at his hands as he annotated my essays, wondering how they’d feel against my skin. When our knees accidentally touched under the table during a late-night study session, the jolt that ran through me was decidedly not scholarly.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He hadn’t been my first attraction to a man, but it was the first time I couldn’t simply brush it aside as appreciation for good aesthetics. The first time it demanded acknowledgment.

“How did he shatter your heart?” Eoin asks.

“When my mother found out about our relationship, she didn’t approve. Of course this was before Callum, before the public accepted a gay member of the royal family. She decided the appropriate response was to bribe Daniel to break up with me.” The words taste like acid as I say them. “Fifty thousand pounds. The going rate for a prince’s heart, apparently. Rather pedestrian, really—one would have hoped for at least six figures.”

Eoin’s expression darkens. “He took it?”

“He took it. Used it to fund his master’s program at LSE. Last I heard, he’s working for some think tank in Washington.”

Eoin’s expression contains anger, sympathy, and something else I can’t quite name.

“That was wrong of them,” he says finally, his voice low and rough. “Both of them.”

“Yes, well. Royal life comes with certain occupational hazards. Duplicitous mothers and mercenary boyfriends are apparently among them.” I swallow hard before raising myeyebrow at him. “So you can perhaps understand why I’m quite easily triggered by having secrets kept from me.”

“It’s not the same,” Eoin says.

“Isn’t it? You’re keeping me in the dark, making decisions about my life without my input. How is that any different?”

“Because I—” He stops abruptly, jaw clenching.

“Because you what?” I press.

His eyes meet mine, storm-gray and conflicted. “Because I’m trying to keep you alive, not control you. There’s a difference.”

“The difference doesn’t seem particularly clear from where I’m sitting,” I say, though some of the heat has gone out of my words.

Eoin rubs a hand across his face, looking suddenly tired. “There has been intelligence suggesting another attempt against you may be imminent,” he says finally. “That’s why we’ve been on high alert.”

My breath catches. “When, precisely?”

“We don’t know exactly. But the amount of communication going on indicates it could be soon.”

The car hits a pothole, jostling us. Eoin’s hand moves unconsciously to his shoulder holster like he’s checking to make sure his weapon is still there.

“One might have thought informing the target would be rather fundamental to the whole protection business. I have a right to know.”

He meets my gaze. “Yes. You do. I’m sorry.”

The simple apology catches me off guard.

Daniel never apologized, not even when I confronted him about what he’d done. He’d just looked at me with those calculating eyes and said, “Be realistic, Nicholas. What did you think was going to happen? That your mother and grandmother would welcome me into the royal fold with open arms? This was always going to end.”

But Eoin’s apology feels genuine. His eyes hold mine.

“I’m not him,” he says quietly, echoing words he’s spoken once before. “I’m not keeping secrets to hurt you or control you. But I understand why it might feel that way.”

Something in my chest loosens slightly. “So what happens now?”

“Now, we follow the security protocols. Keep you safe until we identify the threat.” His hands rest on his knees, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. “And I promise to keep you better informed going forward.”