Page 55 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Eoin

When I first met Nicholas, all I saw was his polished veneer, the royal playboy, and I’d despised him when I saw how he treated his mother.

I’d thought of him as another parasitic toff, floating through life on a cushion of inherited wealth and unearned privilege, contributing nothing but tabloid headlines.

Christ, I’ve never been more wrong about anyone in my life.

The way his mind works, it’s like he’s playing chess while everyone else is stuck on checkers. Genuine compassion exists at the core of him, covered by layers of poshness and protocol. And he’s somehow found a potential solution out of this impossible conundrum we’re faced with.

He defies everything I thought I knew about how power corrupts and privilege blinds.

But it’s not just my opinion of him that has changed over the last few weeks. Nicholas has also completely upended everything I thought I knew about myself.

I thought, when I finally fell in love, it would be a gentle descent of growing to know the other person, of building trust brick by careful brick until something solid stood between us.

Not this maddening freefall, this blazing inferno that stripped away every defense before I realized they were gone. This constant craving that makes me forget years of training faster than a pint disappears on payday.

I’m falling in love with him so fast that it makes my head spin. Every moment we spend together makes me wish I could stop time, keep us in this stolen car forever, suspended between who we were and whatever comes next.

But I can’t tell him any of that now.

Not when he flinches if I get too close. Not when he calls me Officer O’Connell like we’re strangers.

Not when every moment feels like I’m losing more of what we almost had.

Malachy’s words echo in my brain, along with every story I ever heard about people who reached above their station and got their hands slapped away. I hate that my chest is tightening with doubt, even as Nicholas sits beside me, trusting me with his life.

But what terrifies me most isn’t that Malachy might be right.

It’s that I’m too far gone to save myself, even if he is. Because how can I ever go back to my normal, ordinary life knowing that Nicholas exists?

But he doesn’t trust me with his heart anymore. And I have no idea what I can do to change that.

While I’m having this existential dilemma, Nicholas keeps driving. The road is narrow now, wrapping around cliffs that drop straight to the lake. Then it opens up to wide bays packed with holiday settlements.

Christ, there are people everywhere. Kiwis out enjoying their summer, hauling boats and jet skis about, sprawled on beaches with their coolers full of beer, faces turned up to the sun without a care in the world.

I finally pull myself together enough to check the burner phone’s map app, looking for somewhere safe to stop and make this call.

Eventually, I spot a car park at the beginning of a walking track beside a river that feeds the lake. There should be enough cars to blend in, and it’s got multiple exits if we need them.

“Turn off here,” I instruct Nicholas.

Even though it’s past five, the summer sun still beats down like it’s got a personal vendetta against Irish skin.

As we get out of the car, Nicholas adjusts the tourist cap that makes him look like someone’s dad on a camping trip, and fuck me if it doesn’t remind me about how vulnerable he is right now.

Just his ridiculous disguise and me standing between him and the people who want to use him as a political statement.

My eyes dart around the car park, but there is no one else here.

We head down the pathway, then cut toward the river.

To anyone watching, we’re just another tourist couple video calling the folks back home, showing off the sparkling river view.

Not the second in line to the throne, about to ring the Prince of Wales and the prince consort while hiding from terrorists and law enforcement.

Nicholas takes the phone, and I move to stand beside him. We’re standing close, shoulders almost touching. He tenses, angling his body to maintain that crucial inch of space between us.

The rejection stings more than it should. The summer heat suddenly feels cold.

I watch as he dials. After a few seconds, Prince Callum’s face fills the screen.

“Nicholas?” Callum’s brow is furrowed. “Oh my god. Are you okay? Oliver’s contact at MI6 told us you’ve been kidnapped by your protection officer.

I believe the New Zealand authorities immediately did a media embargo to keep a lid on the incident at Hobbiton, but we’re just about to head to an emergency meeting with the home secretary and the commissioner. ”

My pulse spikes as Prince Callum’s words confirm what I’ve already suspected. I’ve become officially the most wanted man in the Commonwealth.

Brilliant. Just feckin’ brilliant.

Every intelligence agency, every police force, every border control officer will have my face memorized within hours.

“I’d actually characterize it more as an unplanned vacation with an armed escort. Much less paperwork than official royal tours,” Nicholas says.

Callum blinks at him. “What?”

“I guess technically you could say I’ve been kidnapped by a brooding Irishman with a nasty temper. Say hi to Eoin. Eoin, meet my brother.” He flashes the phone screen in my direction.

“What the hell is going on, Nicholas?” Oliver barks. His face crowds next to his husband’s on the screen, and I flinch at the look on the former prime minister’s face. I’m reminded that he’s the man who used to control the United Kingdom’s intelligence services and military operations.

“Well, we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Nicholas says, and despite myself, despite everything, I can’t help my snort.

This man will always entertain me, amuse me, surprise me.

Nicholas clocks my reaction, and for a heartbeat, his expression softens. But then he seems to remember he’s keeping me at arm’s length because his face shutters again.

His voice is brisk as he speaks again, “So, here’s the short version.

Eoin here was planted in my security detail by his mentor at Scotland Yard to find a traitor among my protection officers.

But twist of the century, his mentor turns out to be the mastermind behind the organization that’s been trying to kidnap me.

Apparently, they’ve been recruiting people from former colonies with rather legitimate grievances about how the British aristocracy pillaged their countries for centuries.

Oh, and Eoin’s brother is involved too, and his brother and his mentor thought Eoin would release me to them.

But he won’t, so now we’ve got both the authorities and terrorists hunting us.

All it really needs is for me to have a secret twin brother, and then we’d have a proper soap opera drama. ”

Callum’s face has gone slack with shock, while Oliver’s eyes have narrowed to laser focus.

“What do you need us to do?”

Nicholas smiles. “Well, since I’ve already been kidnapped—theoretically speaking—I thought we might actually use it to our advantage.

Specifically, to convince Grandmother, along with my mother’s side of the family, to part with a rather substantial amount of blood money as a way of acknowledging historical wrongs.

Call it reparations, call it ransom, call it whatever makes the lawyers happy.

After all, nothing says ‘sorry about the colonialism’ quite like transferring a few billion pounds to the descendants of those we exploited, does it? ”

There’s a beat of perfect silence before Oliver lets out a bark of startled laughter.

“You want to fake your own kidnapping…to force colonial reparations?” Oliver clarifies.

“It’s hardly faking,” Nicholas says. “It’s just that my nominated kidnapper isn’t as willing to go through with the whole plan as the terrorists expected him to be.

And we’re rather hoping that once the announcement of the establishment of the funds is set up, the terrorist groups will back off and you know, stop hunting me like I’m one of the foxes my relatives used to go after. ”

“Do you think your mother’s family would agree to something like this?” Oliver asks.

“Well, that’s where I’m going to have to rely on your persuasive skills.

Grandmother gets to be remembered as the monarch who finally acknowledged our less-than-sterling imperial past instead of the one who clutched the family jewels until her final breath.

Once the royal family agrees, I can imagine the other aristocratic families, including the Preston-Alexanders, would have more pressure to fall in line. ”

Oliver’s face is still contemplative. “A start is all we’ll need.

Most of the Crown Estate is untouchable by the monarch these days.

It’s held in trust for the nation. But if the royal family and other aristocratic families acknowledge the need for reparations, MPs would face enormous pressure to draft a special Act of Parliament releasing some of the Crown Estate holdings for that purpose. ”

“So we need to get Grandmother onside first, and then the Preston-Alexanders and other aristocratic families to get the public’s attention.”

“I think we could potentially pull something together, but we’re going to need some time. How safe are you now?” Oliver asks.

“We’re managing,” I say, scanning our surroundings even as I speak. The riverbank is still deserted, but every moment exposed feels like tempting fate.

“We’ll have to do it without it becoming public that you’ve supposedly been kidnapped. There’s the whole ‘don’t negotiate with terrorists’ mantra that I spouted often enough from Number 10,” Oliver says.

“Or don’t let it be known that you’re trying to arrange for terrorists to get what they want so they stop hunting me,” Nicholas replies.

“The head of RaSP, Colin Pierce, is corrupted. He’s on his way here and needs to be neutralized as soon as possible,” I say.

Oliver nods briskly. “Leave that to me.”

Callum’s frowning. “But how do we explain to the public that you’ve gone AWOL from the royal tour?”

“I’m sure you can come up with something plausible,” Nicholas says.

Callum’s frown deepens. “Can you stay safe for twenty-four hours while we try to organize the announcement of a reparation fund?”

“I’ll keep him safe,” I vow.