Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Oliver
How had I not realized this would happen?
Callum is the future king. An important part of his job, of all kings’ jobs throughout history, is to produce an heir.
To produce an heir, he needs a wife, and it appears Calista Podmore is a candidate for the job.
Callum and Calista. They’re a perfect alliteration. Even the alphabet is conspiring in their favor.
And I’m so bloody jealous.
I’m a seething, frothing mess of jealousy.
I can’t drag my eyes away from where they’re dancing together. Where she’s touching him. She’s getting to do what I want to do—put her hands on Callum. Not a single person in the room thinks anything is wrong when a woman lightly grazes her hands across a man’s waist to draw him closer to her.
Callum raises his eyes to mine, and our gazes lock.
I can’t break free. It’s an invisible thread, tugging, pulling, binding us in this silent torment. Staring at him while he’s got someone else’s arms wrapped around him.
I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating under the weight of my want for Callum, how much I crave the thing I can’t have.
I tear my gaze away and turn towards the door, desperate for fresh air.
The balcony I find myself on is thankfully empty.
The cool night air wraps around me like a blanket, and I shiver involuntarily.
My heart is still thudding, but here in the dark, my emotions feel slightly more contained.
The chill is a soothing balm against the fever within me.
I lean against the stone railing of the terrace, the coldness seeping into my bones, grounding me.
The door opening behind me shatters my reverie. I turn, my heart leaping into my throat.
It’s Callum.
Right here. As he comes towards me in his kilt and suit jacket, the memory of him on the riverbank yesterday fills my mind. How he soaked up the sun, water drops on his skin, almost glowing with light.
Callum stops next to me at the stone railing, and his eyes are hesitant, watching.
“Having a good night?” I ask inanely when I can bear the silence no longer.
“Not really,” he replies.
I fold my arms across my chest, my jaw tightening as I force myself to speak again. “You and Calista seem to be getting on well.”
“She’s a lovely person,” he says. He stares out at the perfectly manicured castle grounds, the wildness beyond, before glancing back at me. “There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s not the person I want.”
There’s longing in his gaze, so much longing.
And hope.
It’s the hope that defeats me. It lassos my heart out of my chest.
I can’t resist anymore.
One step. That’s all it takes. One step closer, and as if compelled by some unseen force, he moves towards me too. It’s as though we’re two magnets, pulled together by some impossible, irresistible force.
And finally, finally, I’m kissing Callum again.
Actually, I’m not sure if it can be classified as just kissing.
We’re kissing with an intensity that leaves me breathless, our tongues sliding against each other in a wild, passionate dance.
I bury my hands in his hair, tugging him closer. Like I can meld our bodies together, fuse his soul with mine, if I kiss him hard enough.
All these feelings I have for Callum now have an outlet in this kiss. Every bottled emotion, every unspoken word.
I find both meaning and redemption in Callum’s lips.
Callum gives a small moan, and I chase the sound as we kiss fiercely.
The hard planes of his body press against me. He stumbles back against the stone balustrade of the balcony, parting his legs slightly, and I take the opportunity to move even closer, sliding my thigh between his, desperate for more contact.
My hands move from his hair to his waist under his shirt, feeling the heat and texture of his bare skin. He groans again as I slide my hand up his skin, tracing the contours of his back.
His own hands, strong and secure, clutch my hips tightly against him.
Heat radiates from his body and the scent of his cologne, and something else, something primal, makes my head spin.
A door opening somewhere close by brings me to my senses.
I release Callum, staggering back.
We’re both panting, our shirts untucked. Callum looks totally debauched, lips bee-stung, pupils wide, face flushed.
Oh, holy fuck.
I do the only thing I can.
I walk away.
Back through the ballroom full of swirling bodies and laughter.
Along the hallway and up the stairs to the sanctuary of my room.
Once there, I try to run my hands through my hair and find myself clutching at the end of the strands like I’m trying to yank my hair from its roots. As if that will wrench these thoughts from my head.
Oh, holy fuck. Holy fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?
I can’t settle. I pace around. It feels like my skin is too tight. Or maybe it’s just that the feelings inside me are too big.
There’s a knock on the door.
My heart is in my throat.
Hope and panic wrestle for control of my body.
My legs tremble as I walk over and open the door.
I lean on the heavy oak door of Balmoral Castle for support as I drink in the sight of the Prince of Wales standing in the hallway.
I need…” His voice chokes off. His eyes are wide, pleading. “I need…this.” His voice is raw like his words are being ripped from somewhere deep inside him.
“I know.” My own voice is equally hoarse.
I open the door to let him in.
My knees buckle as an overwhelming sense of relief flows through me, and I shut the door behind him.
“Oliver,” he says.
And I kiss him.
Everything my mouth has done in life is irrelevant compared to this. All the words spoken, food eaten, lovers kissed.
None of it matters compared to this kiss.
This beautiful, soul-shattering kiss.
There is still no future for us. There can never be a future for us.
But there can be a now.
Callum kisses me desperately, hungrily, a continuation of the urgency from our kiss earlier.
Despite the need rising inside me, I force myself to slow down.
If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to make this unbelievable, epic mistake that could ruin us both, we will do it properly.
I’m going to savor every sliver of each second, imprint it on my mind forever, memories to counter every moment of regret and recrimination to come.
But not doing it feels impossible. I can no sooner turn Callum away than I can summon the sun.
I push him back on my bed, and he goes willingly.
Then I touch him the way I’ve dreamed of touching him, trailing my fingers along his skin, eliciting gasps and shivers from him that rachet up my desire.
I kiss his collarbone, the indent at the base of his throat, and feel his pulse thrumming under my lips.
I press my nose into his neck, inhaling his scent, absorbing his warmth.
I slide my hands under his kilt, up his thighs, brushing my fingers across his hardening cock.
“Kilts are such amazing inventions,” he chokes out, and I pull back so I can laugh while looking at him.
The look in his eyes causes my breath to hitch.
He’s watching me with those peridot eyes, and there’s desire there but also such utter, utter trust.
And so my next words slip out of me, unprompted, unscripted, and potentially devastating to both of us.
But I say them regardless.
“I love you.”
I’m certain no truer words have been said in the history of humanity.