Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Oliver
Two days later, I’m back at Buckingham Palace. This time it’s not for a clandestine meeting with the Prince of Wales but instead for my standard weekly meeting with Queen Katharine.
“Your Majesty.” I bow my head then move forward to shake her hand.
“Oliver. Nice to see you.”
My weekly meetings with the Queen, while Parliament is in session, have always been part of the privilege of being the prime minister.
But lately, I’ve been tense during them. It feels disingenuous to sit across from Queen Katharine talking about our foreign policy plans and new government initiatives without mentioning that I’m head-over-heels in love with her grandson.
She wouldn’t approve of our relationship, of course. Her loyalty is to the crown above everything else. And there is no way mine and Callum’s relationship can be construed as good for the crown.
“Have you had a busy day?” she inquires as we take our usual seat in the armchairs.
“We’ve been preparing for our next round of trade negotiations with the EU.”
“That must be keeping you busy,” she says.
As we discuss the details of our trade negotiations, Queen Katharine is her usual reserved mix of interested and insightful.
She has the scope of history, having counseled seven other prime ministers.
No topic is off limits between us, from political to personal, but she still remains absolutely politically neutral.
Before I came into the job, I’d heard other former prime ministers discuss how important the Queen’s counsel was to them, how she was the one person they could say anything to and know it wouldn’t be leaked.
It’s like having a therapist, and I have often found that in the course of explaining a particular problem I’m having, a solution becomes apparent.
I’m fairly sure she won’t have a solution for the biggest problem I’m facing right now.
I rub my forehead.
There’s a tightness about the Queen’s mouth as she changes the topic away from EU trade negotiations.
“I was wondering, have you been monitoring the protests against the monarchy?” she asks.
“We have been watching them closely,” I say carefully.
I don’t want to go into details of how closely my cabinet is watching the swelling numbers of people calling for an end to the monarchy, demanding that the government hold a referendum so every person can vote on whether the country should continue as a constitutional monarchy.
I haven’t talked to Callum about it either because all cabinet discussions are confidential. It’s not really pillow talk either, the fact that a growing number of people essentially want Callum out of a job, no matter how hard he’s trying to serve them.
“I feel it shall settle down,” Queen Katharine says.
There’s an edge to her voice that I think means she’s not completely certain.
She only hopes her words are true. “The focus will move to Prince Callum’s investiture.
Callum’s a very different type of royal, but I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing.
The monarchy always needs to modernize to survive. ”
I pull at the cuff of my suit, unable to meet her eyes as I study the armrest of the Louis XV chair.
“Yes, he’s definitely a different breed of royal,” I say.
It’s a week before I get to see Callum again in person. This time, we’re at a comedy gala raising money for children with heart issues. Even though I knew he would be here tonight, my mouth still goes dry when I see him in the lineup of dignitaries, dressed in his tuxedo.
I plaster on my politician game face as I approach him.
“Your Royal Highness.” I greet him with the usual bob of my head.
“Prime Minister.” Our handshake lasts slightly longer than normal, and I’m fairly sure there’s an extra squeeze in there just for me.
“Nice to see you again,” he says, giving me a small Callum grin.
“Nice to see you too,” I reply.
He gives me a meaningful look. “I hope you have as enjoyable an evening tonight as you did the last time we were together.” His voice is low.
My voice is hoarse when I reply, “I sincerely doubt that.”
Callum gives me a sweet smile underlaid with just a hint of spice, and I feel my body react to him like every cell remembers what happened last time we were alone.
But my allocated time is up, and I can’t linger. I have to force myself to move and shake the hands of other dignitaries.
I glance back at Callum, who is doing his usual Callum thing. Is it my imagination, or does everyone who interacts with Callum walk away with a smile, their step lighter? He just has that effect on people.
I’ve never been a possessive person, but I have this crazy urge to claim Callum now.
To howl it to the heavens that he’s mine.
Make sure the whole world knows he belongs to me, that if they mess with him, they become my mortal enemy.
If they hurt a single hair on his beautiful head, I shall hunt them to the corners of the earth and through the afterlife to get my vengeance.
Fuck.
This feeling scares me. That this primitive side of me lurks under the veneer of civilized behavior.
“Hello, Oliver.”
It’s the voice of another person who makes me want to ditch my veneer of civilized behavior but in a very different way.
I whirl around to face my ex-husband.
“Garett,” I say coolly. I nod at the man standing next to him. “Hello, Riccardo.”
Riccardo is a doe-eyed man in his mid-twenties who always looks nervous when we interact.
But I guess if I’d been caught red-handed fucking the prime minister’s husband in their marital bed at Downing Street, I’d be slightly anxious too.
“Prime Minister,” he says, a blush trekking up his cheeks.
This is the one thing that makes these encounters bearable for me.
My husband chose this man over me, and I’m sure Garett has cataloged every flaw of mine to Riccardo, yet Riccardo never acts anything but deferential.
Perhaps he’s worried about pissing off a man who commands MI5.
There’s a chance I threatened him with both deportation and disembowelment when I caught them together.
But I truly believe you shouldn’t be held responsible for what you say to the guy you’ve just caught fucking the man who vowed to be faithful to you forever.
“How have you been?” Garett asks.
“Busy,” I reply. “The country doesn’t just run itself.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Garett replies, his words jagged and pointy.
How, after being separated for over two years, can we immediately fall into our old pattern of arguments like we’ve never ceased?
I summon every ounce of my self-control, knowing half the eyes in the room must be upon us.
“Anyway, how are you two? How’s the acting going, Riccardo?”
“Good, thank you. I’ve got a part in Barry Hatfield’s upcoming play.”
And so I chat with Riccardo about his role long enough to satisfy any lurking media that there’s no enduring grudge between me and my ex-husband, but not long enough to start rumors of a throuple—I know only too well how the British press works.
“Anyway, I must find my table before the show begins. Nice to see you both.” I aim that last bit at Garett, who looks back at me in a way to imply that nice wouldn’t be his go-to word for any encounter with me.
I can’t help probing my feelings as I make my dignified retreat.
For so long, I’ve regretted the breakdown of my marriage. Despite the fractious nature of our relationship, I’ve missed Garett’s companionship and the security that comes with knowing someone is always there for you.
But if Garett and I hadn’t broken up, I wouldn’t have Callum in my life now.
And despite all the complications I know lie ahead of us, the thought of never having known Callum makes my soul shudder.
I’d never have discovered how effortless being with the right person is, how it can provide happiness at a deeper level than I’ve ever experienced before.
I head to the tables, looking for my name in the place settings.
Suddenly, I’m aware Callum is hovering by my side.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs.
I look up at him in surprise. “I’m fine.”
His forehead creases. “That’s your ex-husband, isn’t it? What did he say to you? You didn’t look very happy.”
I wasn’t very happy. But Callum knowing me so well he could see past my fake act with Garett and Riccardo, him caring enough to find me and check I’m okay, makes me extremely happy.
“Yes, that’s my ex-husband and the bloke he cheated on me with. Encounters with them never leave me feeling particularly chuffed.”
Callum’s frown deepens into a scowl. He shoots a glance at where Garett and Riccardo are taking their seats. “Just remember, I’m immune to prosecution when I become king,” he says in a low voice. “I’m willing to hear suggestions about who you want to add to my hit list.”
A smile breaks out on my face before I can help myself.
“It’s always good to know I’ve got that up my sleeve,” I say.
“Your Royal Highness, the show is about to start.” One of the charity’s minders is suddenly by Callum’s side.
“I better get to my seat,” he says.
I nod. I try to stop my eyes from trailing after him as I find my own seat and the comedy show begins.
The emcee is Ralph Jacobson, a well-known British comedian. He begins with a joke-filled monologue.
“We’ve got some important dignitaries in the audience today.” He waits until the applause dies down before he continues. “I was smoking a joint with Prince Callum the other day, and I finally understand why people call him ‘Your Royal Highness.’”
The groan that goes around the room is almost deafening.
I flick a glance at Callum, who is grinning. To be fair, based on the banter we exchange on a regular basis, I’m not sure either of us would be able to identify a good joke if we heard one.
As if Callum can hear my thoughts, he meets my gaze and scrunches his nose slightly.
Bloody hell, I am so far gone for this man that even him scrunching his nose at me causes my heart to pound.