Page 19 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

It’s a sea turtle. Ancient face impassive, flippers cutting through water. We drift closer, but the turtle continues its patrol as if we’re no more significant than a piece of seaweed.

When it vanishes into the blue, my eyes wander farther to the right, and my chest tightens when my gaze lands on something that lies below.

Diamond-shaped. Massive. Sand clouds puffing up where its wings disturb the seafloor.

Stingray.

My breath catches, sending a burst of bubbles past my mask.

The stingray moves with a grace that makes me feel like a clumsy pantomime.

Before I know what I’m doing, I take a deep breath and dive down. My eardrums complain about the pressure, but I don’t care because I’m getting closer to the magnificent creature.

My pulse hammers a rhythm that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with finally, finally feeling the edges of something real.

I know stingrays are dangerous, but somehow, that knowledge only makes this encounter more magical. The ray’s tail arcs gracefully, the venomous spine clearly visible.

This creature doesn’t care about my bloodline or succession rights. I’m just another shadow disrupting its morning.

The stingray banks left, stirring up sand clouds that glitter in the filtered sunlight, and my lungs burn from holding my breath along with something that might be joy.

O’Connell’s shadow crosses over me. Looking up, I see the reef guide at the surface, frantically slapping the water—the universal signal to return immediately.

The stingray changes direction as if it senses my presence.

Ten feet away now.

Eight. Its movements seem to become more deliberate. The creature is both beautiful and terrifying.

A strong hand grips my ankle—O’Connell.

I shake him off with a kick, pushing closer as my lungs begin to stage an advanced protest.

Only when the ray rises slightly, tail arching upward in what looks like a defensive posture, do I let O’Connell haul me back. His grip is iron around my wrist as he kicks powerfully toward the surface.

We break the surface together, and I gasp for air, pushing my mask off my face. O’Connell rips off his own mask, and even through the water dripping over my eyes, I can see he’s breathing hard.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” The guide is suddenly right next to us. “That was a full-grown bull ray! One strike from that tail and you’d be in serious trouble.”

O’Connell says nothing, but when I meet his eyes, they’re not just annoyed. They’re filled with fury.

I should feel chastened. Instead, my blood sings.

I continue to gulp air to fill my greedy lungs, tasting salt water and exhilaration.

“Magnificent creature,” I manage to finally say. “Do you think it might be interested in a position at court? We could use something with that much spine in the House of Lords.”

“Back to the boat. Now.” O’Connell’s voice vibrates with anger.

The guide looks between us. “Tour’s over. I’m not having a royal emergency on my watch.”

My hands are trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the intoxicating aftershock.

O’Connell’s hand remains clamped around my wrist as we swim back. I briefly consider suggesting he loosen his grip, but decide that silence might be the better part of valor in this particular situation.

I pull myself onto the platform first, water streaming from my wetsuit. The weight of it drags at me, but the lingering adrenaline makes me feel almost weightless.

“Excellent adventure,” I say to the guide brightly, aware of the press photographers snapping away from the upper deck. “That stingray was particularly impressive. Do they often come so close to snorkelers?”

The guide’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, sir. They generally prefer to maintain a safe distance. As do we.” He emphasizes the last words slightly, his Australian politeness barely containing his irritation.

“Well, I consider myself fortunate then.” I flash my best royal smile. “A truly unique experience.”

The guide nods and gestures toward the boat’s interior. “The changing facilities are below deck, Your Royal Highness. We’ll be heading back to shore in approximately twenty minutes.”

“I’ll just nip down to get changed then,” I say.

Unfortunately, O’Connell follows me to the changing area, which means we’re momentarily alone.

Which is not a good thing.

He shuts the door forcefully behind him.

“Do you have any idea—” he begins, voice low and growly.

“How fortunate I was to see such a splendid creature up close?” I finish for him, reaching back to unzip my wetsuit. “Yes, I am aware of that fact. I’ll be sure to mention it to the press.”

“You deliberately endangered yourself.” His jaw is clenched so tightly I can see a muscle twitching beneath his stubble.

Good. It’s exactly what I wanted earlier, a glimpse of the real person under all that professionalism. Someone who can actually be provoked into genuine feeling.

Even if that feeling is primarily the desire to strangle me.

“It was a calculated risk.” I run the towel over my hair, probably making it stand up in all directions. Not exactly the carefully coiffed royal image, but then the tabloids do love a Prince Nicholas: He’s Just Like Us moment.

I match O’Connell’s gaze, refusing to be intimidated despite the fact he’s looming over me like the physical embodiment of disapproval. “I was never in any actual danger.”

“That’s not your call to make.” He’s struggling visibly now, battling with genuine anger. “My job is to protect you, which becomes difficult when you actively work against me.”

“Consider it practice for your reflexes.” I flash him a smile that pitches somewhere between charming and infuriating. “You performed admirably. Very quick response time.”

His face darkens further. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Isn’t it though?” I lower my voice to match his intensity. “My entire existence is carefully stage-managed for public consumption. Every risk assessed, every variable controlled. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like.”

The emotion flickering across his face is definitely not sympathy. “You’re right. I can’t understand choosing to endanger yourself for a moment’s thrill when people…” He cuts himself off, exhaling loudly before he continues. “When your safety affects so many others.”

I feel a momentary flash of guilt, but I swallow it down.

“Oh, spare me the ‘crown and country’ lecture.” I turn away, busying myself with trying to extract my arms from my wetsuit. “I’m quite aware of my position. Painfully so, in fact. Although, I guess I should be flattered by your dedication to my continued existence.”

When I look back up, I find O’Connell staring at me as if trying to decide whether I’m worth the inevitable ulcers this job will give him.

“My job is to keep you safe,” he says finally.

“And my job is to be paraded around like a prized show pony, smiling and waving on command.” I manage to tug the wetsuit down to my waist. “Occasionally, I like to remind myself I’m still capable of making my own choices.”

“There’s a difference between independence and recklessness.”

“Occupational hazard of being the spare heir.” I shrug, wrapping the towel around my waist. “We’re expected to be just reckless enough to be interesting, but not quite enough to be genuinely in danger.”

O’Connell’s expression remains stern.

“Next time, stick to the safety instructions.” His stare bores into me. “Sir,” he tacks on like an afterthought.

O’Connell really has mastered the art of making “sir” sound like a four-letter word. It’s almost impressive.

I should recommend him for diplomatic service. One can barely imagine what he could do with “Your Excellency.”

“Of course, Officer O’Connell,” I reply with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting changed. Unless you’re aiming for a glimpse of the royal jewels, perhaps we could continue this fascinating discussion when I’m fully clothed?”

O’Connell stalks to the door, and I turn back to the business of changing, tugging my wetsuit lower.

The sound of movement halts, and I look up to find O’Connell frozen in the doorway, having turned back with his mouth half-open as if to deliver one final reprimand.

His eyes flick downward to my bare torso for the briefest moment before snapping back to my face. But then his eyes dart away immediately, a flush climbing up his neck. He shuts the door behind him with a bang that reverberates through the small changing room.

I stand motionless for several heartbeats, my skin suddenly hypersensitive, as if the path his eyes traced left physical heat in their wake.

Now that is interesting.