Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Oliver
Consciousness comes to me slowly, random thoughts floating through my mind that I cling to.
The feel of soft lips on mine on a park bench in Essex.
A vision of Callum lying in the sun on a Scottish river bank, sending one of his special smiles my way.
The intensity of his gaze when I was inside him.
The light behind my eyelids grows brighter.
There’s discomfort in my shoulder, a low, throbbing pain.
And suddenly I’m aware of noises, a beeping of some machine, the sound of a door being shut in the distance, someone breathing close by.
I open my eyes, and it takes me a few moments to focus on the person by my bed.
Toby looks haggard, like his whole face has slumped since I last saw him. Dark circles underline his eyes.
I’m in hospital, the crisp white sheets starchy against my skin.
And now my memories are like an assault.
Callum, with his crown glinting in unexpected sunlight. A gun being raised, my frantic race to get to him, then immense pain unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Then flickers afterward: Callum urging me to talk to him but finding myself slipping away, then wrestling myself awake in the ambulance, trying to cling to consciousness so I could tell someone, anyone, that it was Amelia because if they didn’t know, she could still get to Callum…
“Callum,” I manage to croak out.
“He’s just gone to get a coffee. He spent the night in that chair over there.” Toby nods at an upholstered chair in the corner.
Relief shoots through me, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Callum is alive. The pressure in my chest eases.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s doing as well as you can expect, given he’s been shot at, been frantically worried about the man he loves, and has discovered his sister betrayed him.”
I close my eyes.
Callum is alive. I desperately want to see him, touch him, reassure myself that no one has hurt him. My whole body craves him.
But what am I actually going to say?
Nothing has changed. I might have saved his life, but he’s still the Prince of Wales. And I’m still the prime minister.
“How did you get here?” I ask Toby.
“I flew up as soon as I heard the news.”
I open my eyes to see Toby looking at me with a mixture of affection and relief.
“So, what analysis of the situation would you give me now?” I manage to get out.
“As your political adviser, I have to say that risking your life to save the future king was a good political move. You’re pretty much untouchable. You could ride your high approval ratings into a historic election victory, gaining an unprecedented majority in Parliament.”
I swallow. “That’s good to hear.”
“That’s assuming you still want to be the prime minister.”
My gaze flies to him. “What do you mean?”
Toby just looks back at me steadily, this man who has been by my side since I was an angry student at Oxford campaigning against the oligarchy.
“What were you thinking when you jumped in front of him?” he asks me.
There’s a seriousness to his voice that I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.
He continues on before I have a chance to answer.
“You weren’t thinking about all the laws you want to pass and the reforms you want to push through, were you? ”
“I was thinking I can’t live in a world without him.” My voice is quiet.
My gaze slips to the generic painting on the wall, a seascape that vaguely resembles the one of Southend-on-Sea that hangs in my flat, my wedding present from my nan.
Thinking about that painting makes me realize that what’s stopping me from being with Callum properly is not just about the incompatibility between my job and Callum’s role in the royal family. I’ve hidden behind that.
The truth is, I am scared about how much I love him.
It scares me that independent Ollie Hartwell, the kid who always had to stand on his own feet and make his own way in the world, is now so in love. That my happiness is completely interwoven with another person.
Staring at the painting also reminds me of the portraits lining the staircase at Downing Street. How if you asked the average person to name the prime ministers, they’d manage half a dozen if they were lucky.
History will eventually forget us. Even prime ministers and royalty become a small footnote if we’re lucky.
But to spend a lifetime beside someone I love. Waking up next to him every day. Seeing his smile. Getting to kiss him.
All those small moments will add up to so much more than a footnote.
Besides, there are many different ways to serve. Callum has shown me that.
There’s a noise in the doorway.
Callum, the Prince of Wales, is standing there, holding a cup of coffee and some newspapers. And along with relief, there’s another look in his eyes, a look that no one else but Callum has ever given me. Simple, straightforward happiness that I exist.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Toby says as he gets up to leave.
I nod wordlessly, my gaze not leaving Callum’s. He gives Toby a brief smile as he slips past him, then steps hesitantly into my room.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I swallow, trying to get some moisture in it. “Hey.”
Callum comes towards me, his gaze not leaving mine. He puts his coffee cup on my table, then perches on the edge of my bed.
“So, we made the papers,” Callum says, spreading a swathe of newspapers on the crisp white sheets. He gives me a small, uncertain grin. “I don’t know if we can do the headline contest though. We’re both getting an equal share.”
I laugh, but it hurts, so I stop abruptly.
“That’s good to know,” I say.
“Even The Corporate Times is calling you a hero.”
“I guess miracles do happen,” I say.
I glance at the headlines.
Unprecedented Bravery: PM Saves Prince of Wales from Death
Assassination Plot Against Prince of Wales Thwarted by Prime Minister
The Romance that Shocked the World: Inside Prince Callum and Oliver Hartwell’s Secret Love Affair.
When I read the last one, my eyes fly to his.
“How…?”
Callum grimaces. “When you were dying in front of me, I may have displayed slightly more emotion than a Prince of Wales would normally have in the situation. I’m pretty sure the fact I was yelling ‘I love you’ over and over tipped off the press.”
A flare of happiness blooms inside me, so sharp it’s almost painful.
I make my voice light. “You mean to say the whole world heard you say those words before I did?”
Callum’s mouth quirks. “I was trying to tell you. You just happened to be unconscious. That’s not my fault.”
I gaze down at the headlines about our relationship.
There’s a lot of surprise and shock, but nothing seems to have a negative slant.
That will come later, I’m sure. When the ramifications of what it actually means for the Prince of Wales and the prime minister to be in a relationship are realized.
When people remember that the royal family is supposed to be politically neutral and the crown and the government need to operate independently of each other.
When I look back up, Callum is staring at me.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice shaky. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I say hoarsely.
A muscle works in his jaw. “Well, you did call a referendum that will potentially get my family and me kicked out of our jobs. But then you literally took a bullet for me, so I guess those things cancel each other out.”
I try to rummage a smile but don’t manage more than a slight upturn of my lips.
We simply stare at each other for a few heartbeats.
“I’ll give up my place in succession,” he says quietly. I can see how much these words are costing him, how they’re being chipped off his soul.
“Callum.” My throat is so thick I can hardly force the word out.
“You were prepared to die for me. The very least I can do is give up my crown for you.”
“I don’t want you to do that.”
He studies my blankets. “When it boils down to it, I realized that my titles, your job, they are all just distractions from the thing that matters. We’re in love. And that’s most important of all.”
I let out a shuddering breath and force my words out.
“You don’t have to step down. I’ll resign.”
His eyes fly to mine. “You can’t. You love your job.”
“I do love my job,” I say. “But I love you more.”
It’s such a basic truth. There’s nothing in this world I love more than Callum.
Callum shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you resign for me. You’ve got so much you want to achieve.”
“You’ve taught me there are other ways to do good in the world,” I say. “My job was always going to be temporary, there are other people who can do it. Yours is for life.”
“I’m replaceable too.”
“No, you’re not, Callum. You bring something extra no one else will ever be able to replicate. You are the light for so many people. Including me.”
Callum just stares at me, his eyes shimmering.
I take a deep breath before continuing. “It’s impossible for me to be in this world and not love you. I’ve spent so long fighting that reality. But it turns out my love for you trumps everything else.”
Callum swipes at the corner of his eyes. “Oliver, I can’t let you do this,” he says.
“Hey, don’t argue against the revelations a man has when he almost dies.”
Callum’s face pinches for a second. Then he meets my eyes.
Something wordless, deep, and heavy passes between us as our gazes lock together.
An acknowledgment of what we are to each other, a soul-level connection which will enable me to sacrifice for him without feeling like I’m sacrificing anything at all.
“Okay,” he says. Weirdly, a lightness starts to grow inside me. The decision is made. This man is my future.
“I’ll need to formally tender my resignation to the Queen,” I say.
Callum’s forehead creases. “You don’t want to wait until the referendum? To make sure I’m still the Prince of Wales? Otherwise, you might be giving up your job for nothing.”
“No, this way, I can campaign with you. I’m an excellent campaigner.”
The smile on Callum’s face is more beautiful than the most incredible sunrise. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that I’m determined will never fade.
“Oh god, is the monarchy prepared for Oliver Hartwell?” he asks.
“I guess we’re about to find out.”