The Heir And The Spare

#7

SEVEN

'No friendship is an accident.'–O. Henry

"Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath and my fingers sweep along the steering wheel until I grip it so tight my knuckles turn white.

"I don't think Jesus has anything to do with this," Mike bites back, leaning back against his seat. Now we've arrived at the address Charlotte gave me, I'm not sure we've made the right decision. I'm also acutely aware of the not-so-indiscreet security presence setting up a perimeter around this back-alley pub in the middle of bustling London nightlife.

"Maybe we should go in with a disguise?" I offer lamely.

"Oh, and shall I pluck this disguise out of my arsehole?"

I swat my brother. "I don't know what else to suggest."

"We could just walk in and—"

"This was a shockingly bad idea," I cut him off. "Everything can go wrong. You're the next bloody king of England."

Mike smirks and if he wasn't my brother, I would smack that smirk right off his face. The same face is going to be printed on all currency eventually. The same face that will be connoted with long live the king speeches. I used to find there was genuinely nothing more annoying than when people used to tell me Mike and I was born into our job roles, that we were made for what we were to do. The life of royal service to the people. And then my brother become eighteen and he started becoming an active member of the royal family, dutifully doing his responsibilities above and beyond what has been asked of him. And here's the thing. Not once, not even for a second have I doubted Michael's ability to be a great king.

Mike unbuckles his seatbelt. "You do happen to be the Crown Princess of collateral damage, so I say let's embrace it."

My phone buzzes and I see Charlotte's name pop up once, twice, three times and without one more debilitating thought, I grab the keys for the car and swing the door open. I watch Mike tug on a dark baseball cap he finds shoved into the glove compartment over his hair as if that will do anything to hide his identity.

"You do realise that one day your face is going to be on every pound note in the country?" I stop outside the pub door. I don't need to elaborate more to tell him what I think of his failed attempt at disguise.

Mike snorts defensively. "It suits me,"

I roll my eyes and turn back to the pub door and with one sharp inhale of nervous breath, I step inside.

*

I don't know exactly what I was expecting but for a weekday, this pub is bustling. I tug on my brother's sleeve, and we arm our way through the crowd gathered near the door, beer sloshing onto the hideously patterned carpet. I'm trying to search for our cousin's familiar strawberry blonde hair but being my height and in a room with no less than a hundred people, she might as well be an ant.

"Hey, I recognise you!"

Oh god, that didn't take long. I spin around and see my brother has been held up by a middle-aged man wearing a red football shirt. He's got his pint of Fosters in one hand and his wallet in the other. "You at Gavin's last Monday?"

Mike smiles but shakes his head. "Afraid not."

I pull on my brother's sleeve again and watch as the man disappears into the crowd. I begin to move, pulling my brother with me.

"Okay, so much for going incognito—"

"Well fuck me,"

I stop short and my brother stumbles into my back which causes a repercussion of people to spill their overfilled drinks onto the floor in front of us. The girl in front of us clasps her hands over her mouth and looks between Mike and me with a startled expression. "I can't believe I just said fuck in front of a prince and princess."