Page 44 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nicholas

It’s probably fitting that I’m in New Zealand and at a rugby stadium. Eden Park stretches around me, the hallowed ground where the New Zealand rugby team has crushed countless dreams of other international teams, including many English ones.

The Boxing Day charity luncheon for The Restart Initiative is apparently the social event of the Auckland holiday season, judging by the turnout in the crowded function room. Current players mix with retired legends, all here to raise money for players who’ve suffered career-ending injuries.

I adjust my cuffs, scanning the room automatically for Eoin. He’s stationed near the entrance, his posture rigid even by his usual standards.

Something’s off with him. I can tell by the tension in his jawline, the way his gaze sweeps the room relentlessly, never pausing on any single point for long. His right hand keeps drifting toward his earpiece every few seconds, a nervous tic I’ve never observed in him before.

It seems I’ve inadvertently become fluent in the dialect of Eoin O’Connell, without even realizing I had enrolled in the course.

I know the precise angle his head tilts when he’s listening through his earpiece, and the way sunlight turns the stubble along his jaw to copper wire.

I know how his Irish accent thickens when he’s aroused?—

“Your Royal Highness,” a voice interrupts my thoughts, which is probably a good thing, as inappropriate erections tend to photograph poorly at charity events.

I turn to find the event organizer, Mrs. Henare, beaming at me. “I’m so pleased you could join us today. There are some players you might enjoy meeting.”

“I’d be delighted.” Having played rugby myself at Eton, I’ve always had a soft spot for the sport, even if my own talents were decidedly mediocre.

Mrs. Henare guides me through the crowd toward two men I recognize instantly.

Aiden Jones, the former New Zealand star, whose tactical brilliance made him a nightmare for England’s back line for nearly a decade.

Beside him is Tyler Bannings, the younger player who took over the starting second-five position from Aiden and is now on the way to cementing his own legacy as one of the best to play the game.

“May I introduce?—”

“Aiden Jones and Tyler Bannings,” I finish for her, extending my hand first to Tyler. “Your try against England in the World Cup semifinal still haunts the collective unconscious of my countrymen, Mr. Bannings.”

“It’s Bannings-Jones now, actually,” Tyler says as he shakes my hand. “We hyphenated our names when we got married. We wanted to make all the rugby commentators work harder for their paycheck.”

“Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you,” Aiden replies as he shakes my hand, his grip firm. He’s always come across as a broody and standoffish guy on TV, but there’s a soft look in his eyes now as he glances at his husband.

Meanwhile, Tyler flashes a cheeky grin at me. “You English seem to have a unique relationship with sport. You invent all the sports like rugby, netball, cricket, and tennis, then get to watch all the other nations learn how to beat you.”

“We like to think of it as a charitable contribution to the world. Though I’m not sure our players feel quite so generous when they’re staring down a haka.”

Aiden and Tyler laugh and our conversation moves on to talking about their involvement with the charity’s work with injured players.

I try to listen attentively and make appropriate comments, but part of my brain can’t help monitoring Eoin. He appears to have angled his body to keep both exits in view, but he’s not looking directly at me. We’ve made eye contact exactly twice since arriving, and both times he’s looked away first.

After last night, the deliberate distance feels like a slap.

Is it because Singh nearly discovered us? Has that near miss caused him to reconsider our entire…whatever this is?

My stomach drops at the thought, the champagne inside swirling.

The rest of the luncheon passes in a blur of speeches, charity auctions, and mingling. I do what I do best: charming donors, posing for photos, making appropriate jokes that will look good in tomorrow’s papers and on social media.

By the time we’re preparing to leave for our next engagement—a visit to the Hobbiton movie set that would normally have me making jokes about whether they’d let me keep the one ring to rule them all—my nerves are stretched thin.

“Car’s ready, sir,” Eoin says, appearing at my elbow as I finish saying goodbye to Tyler and Aiden. His voice is professional, distant. Nothing like the intimate whispers we shared just yesterday.

“Thank you, Officer O’Connell.” I inject coolness into my voice to match his formality.

The car’s interior feels like blessed relief after the crowded function room. I settle into the leather seat, watching Auckland’s cityscape fade as we head south into farmland. Eoin sits across from me, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on the scenery outside.

Officer Blake has positioned herself up front with the driver, leaving just the two of us in the back. The privacy screen is up. This is the closest approximation to alone time we’ve been afforded all day.

“Would you care to enlighten me as to why you’re behaving like we’re in a John le Carré novel?” I ask in a low voice.

Eoin’s head whips up and his eyes meet mine. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about,” he finally replies.

The silence stretches between us, taut as a garrote wire.

My fingers find my signet ring, twisting it in tight circles that match the spiraling of my thoughts.

Yesterday, Eoin and I were skin to skin, every barrier dissolved. He’d whispered my name like a prayer against my skin.

Now he might as well be carved from stone, giving nothing away.

And suddenly, I’m reminded of Daniel.

Daniel, who could go from passionate to detached in the space of a heartbeat. Daniel, who kept secrets from me.

I turn to stare out the window, trying to suppress the rather inconvenient tide of panic. It’s not the same. Eoin isn’t Daniel. The situations are entirely different.

Aren’t they?

But even as I try to convince myself, the parallels stack up.

The sudden emotional distance after intimacy.

The sense that there’s something happening beneath the surface that I’m not allowed to see.

Daniel had perfected the art of making me feel like my instincts were faulty, like the distance I sensed was all in my head.

What can I do?

My instincts are all screaming to retreat.

If he’s going to be like this, then I’ll match him with my own coolness and distance. I’ll slide back into the role of the untouchable prince. God knows I’ve had enough practice.

But my traitorous heart keeps replaying yesterday and how, when I was with him, I hadn’t felt like I was performing. I was just Nicholas, and somehow that was enough for him. The thought of stuffing myself back into that suffocating royal box makes me want to punch something.

Sod it all.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence.” I lean forward, keeping my eyes on him. “You and the entire security team have been on high alert all day. So I’ll ask again. What’s happening?”

Eoin hesitates, conflict clear in his eyes. “It’s just a precautionary measure. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Nothing for me to be concerned about?” I repeat incredulously. “I’m the sodding bullseye on this particular dartboard, aren’t I? I think that gives me some right to know if there’s a specific threat against me.”

“We’re handling it.”

The dismissal sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the car’s air conditioning.

And without thinking, words start to tumble out of my mouth. “I can’t stand you keeping secrets from me. It reminds me too much…” I trail off, suddenly aware of how much I’m about to reveal. I swallow hard before I finish. “Too much of someone I’d rather not have you, of all people, channeling.”

“Who don’t you want me to remind you of?” Eoin’s gaze is fixed on mine, sharp as a blade yet somehow tender at the edges.

And it’s that look in his eyes that breaks my defenses, crumbling them like centuries-old battlements finally surrendering to time and tide.

No one has ever looked at me like that. Like what I’m about to say is important, not because of the title attached to my name or how it might affect diplomatic relations, but because it matters to me.

“Someone I knew at university. Someone I was foolish enough to trust with rather more than my course notes,” I say finally. “He kept lots of secrets from me. And it didn’t end well.” That’s the understatement of the century.

I turn to look out the window at the rolling hills going past.

“What happened?” Eoin’s voice is tight.

And when I glance at him, his expression is fierce, like he will single-handedly track Daniel down and rip him limb from limb if he hears anything he doesn’t like.

Eoin wouldn’t betray me. Looking at his expression, I know that truth in my bones. And it makes me realize how deep my attraction to him actually is.

He’s the solid presence I didn’t realize I needed, someone to anchor me, someone who will call me on my bullshit when everyone else is too intimidated to try.

“Oh, it was merely your garden-variety tale of youthful infatuation, complete with eight months of me giving my heart to a guy only for him to completely shatter it.”

Memories of Daniel’s handsome face swell in my mind.

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 my eyebrow 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.”

I nod, not entirely appeased. But I’m willing to accept the compromise for now.

“For what it’s worth”—Eoin’s voice drops lower—“your ex was an idiot to accept fifty thousand pounds in exchange for giving you up.”

Despite everything, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward. “Oh? What would your price be, Officer O’Connell?”

His eyes meet mine. “There isn’t one,” he says simply.

And God help me, I believe him.