Chapter 30 #3
“What the hell?” he asks.
I need to leave.
I don’t normally back down from confrontations, but this really isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.
I turn on my heel, pushing through the crowd until I reach the corridor leading to the toilets. It’s empty, and I continue to stride down it. But I’m not fast enough. Based on the footfalls behind me, Garett is gaining on me.
“Oliver.”
I whirl to face him. “What?”
Garett stops still, his intense gaze not leaving my face. “Do you want to tell me why the Prince of Wales is wearing your grandfather’s dog tags?”
“I’m sure there are many sets of dog tags in the world,” I say. It’s a classic politician non-answer, something factually correct that doesn’t actually address the question.
And Garett sees right through it.
“Show me your dog tags then.”
I just stare at him.
Disbelief blooms on his face as he shakes his head. “What the fuck, Oliver? Like seriously, what the absolute fuck?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.” My voice is clipped. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
Garett is still staring at me like I’ve grown several new heads.
“What about your precious career? Your career was worth so much more than me, yet you’re willing to risk it on some fling with the Prince of Wales. Have you lost your mind?”
Garett continues to glare at me. For the first time in our relationship, I’m struggling to know how to answer him.
How can I explain to my ex-husband that no matter what else happens in my life, when I’m on my deathbed, I’m going to be thinking about Callum. That having had the privilege to kiss him, touch him, will be my most treasured memory.
“You never gave me your grandfather’s dog tags to wear.” He’s trying for derision, but I can hear an underlying layer of hurt in his voice.
“You never asked.” I can’t help countering Garett because this is what our relationship was about. Move and countermove. Combative love.
Garett just stares at me for a long second. “Did he have to ask?”
And with that, Garett wins. He sees the answer on my face. But his shoulders slump, and for a second, he’s the one who looks defeated before he forces a smirk onto his face.
“So the mighty Oliver Hartwell has fallen in love. I always wanted to see this day. Although I must admit these are not the circumstances I wanted to see.”
“I did love you, Garett.” My voice comes out harsh because this is an argument we had so many times as our marriage fell apart. He accused me of not loving him as an excuse for cheating. And I, a seasoned debater, found it a difficult argument to counter because how do you prove love?
With dog tags, it turns out.
“You might have loved me, but you never fell for me like you’ve fallen now, did you?”
I can’t meet his eyes. He’s right. What I felt for Garett is only a smidgen of what I feel for Callum.
It turns out I didn’t need an upper-class, slightly less ambitious but better-connected version of myself.
I needed someone to counterbalance me, make me look at the world in a different way.
And Callum does that.
“Oliver.” I’m normally so happy to hear Callum’s voice saying my name, but right now, my stomach hollows as he comes down the hallway towards us.
Callum has refastened his bowtie. His damp hair is a shade darker than normal.
His eyes shoot between Garett and me. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, Your Royal Highness,” Garett says in a smooth voice. “I’m Garett Taylor, Oliver’s ex-husband.” He sticks his hand out.
There’s not a trace of Callum’s usual genial nature. He gives Garett’s hand a perfunctory shake, and I’m fairly sure he’s squeezing harder than usual.
“Callum Prescott, Prince of Wales,” he says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Callum use his title. He drops Garett’s hand abruptly, turning to me. “Are you okay?”
“Oliver is fine. We were just having a little chat about the decisions he’s been making recently,” Garett says.
“Garett,” I say, my voice low and full of warning.
Other people flood into the corridor then, noisy interlopers but a good reminder that this is not the right place for any extended discussions between my ex-husband and my secret lover.
“You can’t say anything,” I quickly instruct Garett.
There’s another hurt look in Garett’s eyes. “Of course not, Oliver.”
And in his expression, I catch a glimpse of the man I dated and married, who carefully kept my secrets for over a decade, even when things turned toxic between us.
Garett’s gaze ping-pongs between the two of us. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
My jaw tightens as Garett retreats. Before Callum and I can talk, the wave of people overwhelms Callum, gushing about how great he was on stage.
I just hope you know what you’re doing.
I don’t know what I’m doing, actually, but I can’t explain it to Garett because he never saw this version of me.
For the first time in my life, I am without a plan, without a roadmap to show me the clear path ahead.
I am not with Callum because it is the right choice for my future.
I am with Callum because it is the right choice for my happiness now.