The Unlikely Heir (Unlikely Dilemmas, #1)

by Jax Calder

This is an unfortunate personality trait of mine. I will discover a random thing I find interesting, learn everything I can, and then want to share my newfound knowledge with everyone around me.

“You don’t have to change; you just need to find someone who loves you exactly how you are.”

Oliver reaches out and takes my hand in his. And my world tilts off its axis.

Now I’ve met him, I know the photo doesn’t do Callum Prescott justice. It doesn’t show how his hair flops perfectly over his forehead, how his eyes are such an unusual shade of green, reminding me of a peridot gemstone of perfect clarity.

I have no idea why I find Oliver’s asymmetrical smile fascinating, but it appears I want to study it more than anything I’ve studied in my life. Perhaps I should enroll for a Ph.D. in Oliver Hartwell’s Lopsided Grins.

Because I suddenly realize my problem isn’t that I’m attracted to Callum. My problem is I’m charmed by him. And that feels like a much more dangerous proposition.

“Look me in the eye when you’re telling me. Not looking me in the eye makes me think you’re ashamed. And you should never be ashamed of who you are.”

‘To catch a glimpse of the beauty and magic of this world, you simply need to look at everything through the lens of wonder.’”

“Did you know that the handshake evolved from an ancient custom of showing open hands to prove you don’t have a weapon?” I ask. Because, you know, reminding Oliver of my weirdness is a great way to make him want to talk to me again. “I promise I’m not armed or dangerous,” Oliver replies. That’s a pity. Because I’d really like to see what kind of weapon you’re packing.

He grins at me, and the delight on his face causes an extra beat of my heart. I have my own definition of a thing of beauty.

He turns his head to face me, giving me a genuine, happy smile. It’s like sunshine, lighting up his whole face. Oh, holy fuck. The realization strikes me like one of the surrounding mountains has just fallen down on me. I’m in love with him.

I love every single thing about Callum Prescott. Everything.

He smiles at me, one lip quirking up. My breath leaves my body. How can a smile be a weapon? How can it be a knife straight through me?

But even as I’m laughing at her stories, I can’t help sliding a look across the room to where Oliver is leaning against the far wall in all his kilted glory. Our eyes meet. The brooding, handsome prime minister is watching me. And the truth engulfs me. There’s a very simple reason why I will never be interested in Calista. She’s not Oliver.

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.

He gets a pillow to hit me over the head, and I wrestle with him, and then suddenly, I’m underneath him, and he’s laughing down at me, and holy hell, seeing Oliver like this, his hair mussed up, eyes sparkling as he laughs, is the most amazing thing ever. It’s beauty hidden in the most unlikely place. It’s the definition of magic.

Love isn’t always beautiful. It’s not always caviar and champagne and beautiful sunsets. Sometimes it is simply a familiar voice when your world is darkened by pain.

“The universe never quite made sense to me until I got to touch you,” he whispers.

“You don’t think falling in love with me is falling on your feet?” I ask. Oliver’s dark eyes find mine. “It’s more like being swept off my feet.” “Because I’m like the tide, salty and unpredictable?” “Because you are like a force of nature, unspeakably beautiful and impossible to resist.”