Page 23 of The Unlikely Spare

“There are concerns about how certain segments of the public might respond to the surrogacy news,” Sir Fergus saysdelicately. “The palace feels that having the Prince of Wales in England to manage the situation would be prudent.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m entirely devastated about escaping the British winter for Australian beaches,” I say. “Although I was looking forward to spending Christmas at Sandringham and seeing what Oliver’s choice of Christmas jumper will be this year.”

“You would depart on December fifteenth and return January tenth,” Lady Powell supplies.

I glance over at Callum. He seems genuinely grateful, which softens my instinct to be difficult just so I can pretend I actually have some choice in the matter.

“The security arrangements will need to be adjusted,” Rick Cavendish interjects, speaking for the first time. “We’ll need to coordinate with local authorities and conduct advance reconnaissance.”

My security detail. Of course my protection team will come with me Down Under. Seven protection officers, all with Christmas plans utterly demolished because of this royal reshuffling. The thought sits uncomfortably in my stomach like a lump of poorly digested gingerbread.

I know Officer Blake had tickets for a West End show with her girlfriend. Officer Davis mentioned something about his parents visiting from Bristol.

I can’t help glancing at O’Connell now, who remains as expressive as a brick wall.

What am I pulling my newest shadow away from?

Does the stern Irishman have someone waiting for him at home? Perhaps a wife who matches his stoicism, both of them communicating in a series of disapproving grunts across the dinner table. Or maybe he has children, a whole brood of miniature O’Connell’s with permanent frowns, who spendChristmas morning unwrapping practical gifts like pocket-sized threat assessment manuals and tactical black turtlenecks.

What does the man do when he’s not busy silently judging me? It’s almost impossible to imagine him stringing up fairy lights or singing carols.

More likely, he stares intensely at his Christmas tree until it decorates itself out of sheer intimidation.

The Lord Chamberlain shuffles some papers. “The palace communications office will release an official statement tomorrow morning.”

“Well then,” I say, standing and buttoning my jacket, “I suppose I’d better brush up on my Australian slang and practice my koala-cuddling technique.”

“The full itinerary and briefing documents will be delivered to Kensington Palace this evening,” Raymond says.

“I appreciate you stepping in,” Callum says quietly in the shuffle as everyone also stands. “I know it’s not ideal timing.”

I flash him a grin. “I suppose I shall endure four weeks of sunshine and adoring crowds as my Christmas gift to you. Though I expect something spectacular in return.”

Callum’s face softens. “Thank you, Nicholas. Seriously.”

I wave away his gratitude. “Just make sure Grandmother actually rests. And try not to break the internet when you and Oliver announce your news.”

“We’ll try,” Callum replies.

As we exit the room, Officer O’Connell falls into step beside me, his expression unreadable.

“Looking forward to Australia, Officer O’Connell?” I can’t help but ask. “Although that Irish skin of yours is probably not the best match for the Australian sun, is it?”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” he replies flatly.

“That’s the spirit,” I say cheerfully. “After all, if the wildlife doesn’t kill us, we’ll only have the intense proximity to each other to worry about.”

For a fleeting second, something like alarm passes across his stoic features, and I feel a small, petty thrill at having cracked that impenetrable facade.

The satisfaction evaporates as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar tightness in my chest.

I’ve got to prepare for an upcoming tour of the antipodes. Four weeks representing the Crown, trying to convince the Australian and New Zealand public that they still want us while Grandmother recovers and Callum prepares for fatherhood.

I can’t let the Queen or my country down.

Chapter Seven

Eoin