Page 135 of The Unlikely Spare

Chapter Thirty-Four

Eoin

When I first met Nicholas, all I saw was his polished veneer, the royal playboy, and I’d despised him when I saw how he treated his mother. I’d thought of him as another parasitic toff, floating through life on a cushion of inherited wealth and unearned privilege, contributing nothing but tabloid headlines.

Christ, I’ve never been more wrong about anyone in my life.

The way his mind works, it’s like he’s playing chess while everyone else is stuck on checkers. Genuine compassion exists at the core of him, covered by layers of poshness and protocol. And he’s somehow found a potential solution out of this impossible conundrum we’re faced with.

He defies everything I thought I knew about how power corrupts and privilege blinds.

But it’s not just my opinion of him that has changed over the last few weeks. Nicholas has also completely upended everything I thought I knew about myself.

I thought, when I finally fell in love, it would be a gentle descent of growing to know the other person, of building trust brick by careful brick until something solid stood between us.

Not this maddening freefall, this blazing inferno that stripped away every defense before I realized they were gone.This constant craving that makes me forget years of training faster than a pint disappears on payday.

I’m falling in love with him so fast that it makes my head spin. Every moment we spend together makes me wish I could stop time, keep us in this stolen car forever, suspended between who we were and whatever comes next.

But I can’t tell him any of that now.

Not when he flinches if I get too close. Not when he calls me Officer O’Connell like we’re strangers.

Not when every moment feels like I’m losing more of what we almost had.

Malachy’s words echo in my brain, along with every story I ever heard about people who reached above their station and got their hands slapped away. I hate that my chest is tightening with doubt, even as Nicholas sits beside me, trusting me with his life.

But what terrifies me most isn’t that Malachy might be right.

It’s that I’m too far gone to save myself, even if he is. Because how can I ever go back to my normal, ordinary life knowing that Nicholas exists?

But he doesn’t trust me with his heart anymore. And I have no idea what I can do to change that.

While I’m having this existential dilemma, Nicholas keeps driving. The road is narrow now, wrapping around cliffs that drop straight to the lake. Then it opens up to wide bays packed with holiday settlements.

Christ, there are people everywhere. Kiwis out enjoying their summer, hauling boats and jet skis about, sprawled on beaches with their coolers full of beer, faces turned up to the sun without a care in the world.

I finally pull myself together enough to check the burner phone’s map app, looking for somewhere safe to stop and make this call.

Eventually, I spot a car park at the beginning of a walking track beside a river that feeds the lake. There should be enough cars to blend in, and it’s got multiple exits if we need them.

“Turn off here,” I instruct Nicholas.

Even though it’s past five, the summer sun still beats down like it’s got a personal vendetta against Irish skin. As we get out of the car, Nicholas adjusts the tourist cap that makes him look like someone’s dad on a camping trip, and fuck me if it doesn’t remind me about how vulnerable he is right now. Just his ridiculous disguise and me standing between him and the people who want to use him as a political statement.

My eyes dart around the car park, but there is no one else here.

We head down the pathway, then cut toward the river. To anyone watching, we’re just another tourist couple video calling the folks back home, showing off the sparkling river view. Not the second in line to the throne, about to ring the Prince of Wales and the prince consort while hiding from terrorists and law enforcement.

Nicholas takes the phone, and I move to stand beside him. We’re standing close, shoulders almost touching. He tenses, angling his body to maintain that crucial inch of space between us.

The rejection stings more than it should. The summer heat suddenly feels cold.

I watch as he dials. After a few seconds, Prince Callum’s face fills the screen.

“Nicholas?” Callum’s brow is furrowed. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Oliver’s contact at MI6 told us you’ve been kidnapped by your protection officer. I believe the New Zealand authorities immediately did a media embargo to keep a lid on the incident at Hobbiton, but we’re just about to head to an emergency meeting with the home secretary and the commissioner.”

My pulse spikes as Prince Callum’s words confirm what I’ve already suspected. I’ve become officially the most wanted man in the Commonwealth.