Page 54 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nicholas
My words echo in the car for a moment before Eoin’s expression turns fierce.
“I’m not handing you over to them.” There’s steel in his voice.
My breath catches at the vehemence on his face. The absolute certainty. Daniel sold me out for fifty thousand pounds. Yet here’s Eoin, who has his own brother, his mentor, eight hundred years of his country’s history, all pulling him toward betrayal.
And still, he’s chosen me.
The irony isn’t lost on me. He’s choosing me over everything, and I still can’t let him close to me, due to the fear he’ll hurt me again.
What kind of coward does that make me?
Eoin’s proving himself with every breath, every choice, and I’m still measuring the distance between us like a general planning defensive positions.
For the first time in my life, I understand what it feels like to have someone truly in my corner. Not a performance of loyalty for the cameras or calculating the benefits of association with royalty. Just Eoin, stubborn and steadfast, choosing me over everything else he’s ever known.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating, glimpsing a potential future where someone knows all my sharp edges and dark corners and stays anyway.
And I hate myself for not being brave enough to contemplate that possibility.
But I can’t focus on that now. I need to stay focused on the task at hand. Before I do something stupid like reach for him.
“Are you sure that’s not the best solution? I mean, they probably won’t harm me. They’ll need me alive. Then you could join your brother. Get your new life, new identity. I’d understand.”
I’m testing him, and I know it.
Something flashes across his face—hurt? Anger?
“Is that what you think of me? That I’d sell you out after everything?”
“Everyone has a price,” I say quietly.
“That’s bullshit,” he says, and the certainty in his voice makes something crack inside my chest. A hairline fracture in the walls I’ve built.
I can’t afford to let it spread.
I pretend to check my mirrors so I can calm myself down before he sees what his words do to me.
Once I’m composed enough, I speak again.
“All right, so if you won’t hand me over, what if we give the terrorists what they want without the whole capture and hold me for ransom angle?”
Eoin’s eyes narrow. “How can we do that?”
“Well, there seems to be a fun little wrinkle in our current predicament in that we actually agree with what these wannabe kidnappers want. Rather awkward, isn’t it?” I ease off the accelerator as we approach a bend.
“What do you mean, we agree?”
“Obviously, I take issue with their methods, what with the whole using me like some breathing reparations voucher. In fact, I’m sure it would also force me to star in what would undoubtedly be the world’s most awkward hostage video.
‘Hello, Grandmother, don’t mind the anti-imperialist manifesto I’m about to read while someone points a gun at my perfectly coiffed head. ’”
Eoin huffs out a laugh, then his voice turns incredulous. “How the fuck are you making me laugh right now?”
“It’s a talent. Humor in crisis situations is practically part of the royal training manual.
When cornered by terrorists, one must maintain a stiff upper lip and a cutting wit .
I’m fairly sure it’s section four, paragraph seven, right after the chapter on which fork to use when dining with dictators. ”
That look of amusement and affection on Eoin’s face—Christ, it makes me want things I can’t have. Makes me want to pull over, lean across this stolen car’s console, and kiss him until I forget why I’m keeping him at arm’s length.
I force myself to return to the task at hand.
“So, circling back to the uncomfortable truth, these terrorists have a point. There’s absolutely no doubt my ancestors on both sides of my family wrote the playbook on stealing resources, enslaving populations, and establishing trade systems designed to funnel wealth from the colonies to British bank accounts.
And despite the documented evidence of how it has left people in multiple countries around the world in poverty, there have been no attempts at any type of reparations, even though those families still hold immense wealth. ”
“Just because a terrorist group has motives rooted in legitimate historical wrongs doesn’t mean kidnapping is suddenly acceptable. Violence just perpetuates the cycle of oppression with different players,” Eoin says.
“What’s their alternative? Send a strongly worded letter to Buckingham Palace? I’d bet my trust fund they’ve tried the polite approach already. Probably got a form letter back thanking them for their interest.”
Eoin’s jaw works. “Maybe we should save the philosophical discussions about whether justice is best served by changing institutions from within or blowing them up for another time. You know, when we’re not on the run from terrorists and the law enforcement of two countries.
Maybe, instead, you should tell me what you’re thinking. ”
I deploy my most withering eye roll, though it lacks its usual venom.
Mostly because I’m fighting the urge to trace that tension in his jaw with my fingers. God, I hate that I still want him this much.
But that is a problem for another day. Right now, I focus on telling him my idea.
“Here’s the thing: we know you haven’t actually kidnapped me. But the authorities probably imagine you’ve got me chained up in some dank basement, subsisting on stale biscuits while you torture me with traditional Irish ballads.’”
His forehead rumples. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that my mother’s family, the Preston-Alexanders, don’t know I’m not currently being held hostage by an irate Irishman. Obviously, I’ll have to loop in Callum and Oliver on our little charade since we’ll need their help pulling this off.
“My idea is to contact Callum and Oliver, explain what is going on, and get them to start background negotiations to secure my release from my ‘kidnapper.’ And I believe it should involve a substantial transfer of money from both sides of my family. Then, the terrorist group can’t exactly keep trying to kidnap me when they have already succeeded in achieving their goal, can they? ”
Eoin’s forehead stays creased with enough lines to rival the London Underground map. “Do you actually think your families will be convinced to give away a significant portion of their wealth? And your brother and his husband will be happy to help you?”
“You know who Oliver is, right? He must be the most anti-monarchist prime minister since Cromwell. I’m willing to bet he had spreadsheets labeled Operation: Eat the Rich when he arrived at Number 10.
“In fact, I’m quite certain that his falling desperately in love with the Prince of Wales was just the universe’s idea of an epic practical joke. I know he finds our family’s wealth obscene, and Callum and he have talked about ways to redistribute it once they inherit it.”
“But isn’t the Queen still in control?”
“That’s where Callum and Oliver get to work their magic.
Once Grandmother realizes they’re planning to empty the royal coffers anyway, she might prefer to do it herself.
Can’t have the history books saying she left it to her grandson to fix centuries of colonial plunder, can we?
Much better optics if she does it while still breathing. ”
“So your grandmother would willingly part with billions of dollars just to maintain control of her legacy?” Eoin’s voice is loaded with skepticism.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel.
“My grandmother is many things, but sentimental about wealth isn’t one of them.
A lot of the royal wealth is actually untouchable because it’s part of the Crown Estate, and one can’t simply pop down to the ATM and withdraw a few castles.
But the Sovereign Grant? Her personal billions?
That’s fair game. I think Callum and Oliver could convince Grandmother to cement her place in history as the monarch who acknowledged colonial injustice rather than the one who ignored it until the bitter end. ”
The road ahead of me is straight, so I steal a full glance at him.
Wrong move. Now I can see the gold flecks in his gray eyes, the exact spot on his jaw where stubble’s starting to shadow. My fingertips itch with the memory of touching him there.
I swallow hard, dragging my eyes back to the road, and return to the task of persuading him.
“She’s ninety years old, Eoin. At this point, she’s more concerned with Wikipedia entries than investment portfolios.
“And it’s not just about the money. It’s about acknowledgment. I think these people want recognition of historical injustice as much as they want financial reparations. They want someone with a crown to actually say ‘Yes, we robbed you blind and built our palaces with your resources.’”
“Let me get this straight.” Eoin’s voice is thick with disbelief.
“You want to negotiate your own ransom, convince your aristocratic relatives to part with billions they’ve hoarded for centuries to establish a reparations fund for colonial injustices, and do this while we’re on the run from both law enforcement and actual terrorists? ”
“When you say it like that, it sounds rather ambitious, doesn’t it?”
“It sounds bloody insane,” he mutters, but I’m fairly certain admiration is lurking beneath his words.
“The best plans usually do,” I say. “And having a brooding Irishman as my pretend kidnapper adds a certain dramatic flair.”
“I’m not brooding,” he growls.
“You’re doing it right this second. That jaw clench, the furrowed brow, the general air of Irish melancholy. It’s textbook brooding.”
His lips twitch, fighting a smile.
For a moment, we’re just us again. Not the prince and the liar, not the protected and the protector. Just Nicholas and Eoin, and God help me, I want to live in this moment. Want to forget everything else and just be this.
But I can’t.
I suddenly pretend to take an intense interest in the road ahead, refusing to glance at him.
“How exactly do we contact your brother without Pierce intercepting the call?” Eoin asks.
“We use the other burner phone. Callum has a private phone that’s supposed to be unhackable, and no one else knows the number besides me. It’s an emergency thing we set up when those tabloids were hacking everyone’s voicemails a few years back.”
“Right then. Let’s find a safe place to call your brother.”
“Why don’t you look at the map for somewhere with nice scenery to pull over. If I’m going to orchestrate the dismantling of centuries of colonial wealth, I’d like a view,” I say.
Unfortunately, I don’t think any view will make me forget the reality of Eoin and me.
Two people who found each other at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way.