Page 143 of The Unlikely Spare

“But what?” I prompt.

“But the stakes have never been so high,” he replies softly.

My heart gallops. His eyes in the dim light are storm-gray, tracking across my face like he’s memorizing every detail.

Is this what love is? The idea that someone can see every bit of you, even your pettiness and sharp edges and spectacular failures, then shrug and say, “Yes, still you.”

I think about how I felt on the lakefront when I saw how upset Eoin was, how comforting him took a higher priority over my anger at him.

This thing that brings out the best in people, that makes cowards brave and liars honest and princes forget they’re supposed to be untouchable.

That makes you want to rewrite your entire existence just to be someone who deserves what the other person is offering.

Surely, surely, it can only be love?

I should be terrified by that thought, by how much I want this, want him.

Instead, I’m terrified of going back to a life where I have to pretend this feeling doesn’t exist.

But how can I get past the fact that he deceived me?

It’s not just about trusting him. Trusting him means also trusting myself, trusting my own judgment, which feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and choosing to step forward into empty air.

And maybe that’s the part I’m most afraid of.

I turn my attention to rummaging in the duffel bag to find a T-shirt to sleep in, feeling the scorch of his eyes on me.

But I know Eoin’s right. Adding sex into the mix, no matter how hot it is, would not be a good option for either of us.

I put on the T-shirt, then lie down in my sleeping bag, looking up at Eoin.

“You need to sleep,” he says quietly.

“You need to sleep too. I can take a turn keeping watch at some point.”

He frowns, but I meet his gaze with as much seriousness as I can muster while wearing a T-shirt that proclaims,I Got Lei’d in Hawaii.

“We’re a team, remember?”

He studies my face for a long second before he nods. “I’ll wake you up at some point so I can grab a few hours.”

“Make sure you do.” I zip the sleeping bag up.

The night settles around us like a held breath. Outside, someone strums a guitar badly, and the German couple’s laughter drifts on the wind. Inside our borrowed sanctuary, Eoin stays upright, alert, with his gun in his hands, and I watch the play of shadows across his face.

This man who kissed me in a maintenance shed like it was the end of the world and just kissed me next to burning sausages like I’m the beginning of a new one. This man I’m desperately in love with but can’t trust. This man who chose me over everything but started with a lie.

The impossibility of us sits heavy in my chest, but I don’t give in to it. Instead, I watch Eoin closely and pretend that I can somehow make the world bend just enough to accommodate an Irish detective and a spare English prince. That I can somehow learn to trust again. That somehow, love might be enough.

It’s pure hubris, this hope.

Then again, my entire bloodline was built on the audacious belief that God himself ordained our rule, so perhaps delusion is simply genetic.

And I can’t help the belief that the person who was sent to betray me is somehow the only one capable of saving me.

If I can let him.

Chapter Thirty-Six