Fake Dating the Prince

by Ashlyn Kane

  Flip licked his lips and swallowed. Then he looked up, trying desperately to suppress his laughter. “Sorry?” he echoed, getting unsteadily to his feet.

  “Shut up, Your Highness,” Brayden said, taking him by the elbows and pushing him against the wall.

  But Flip couldn’t help himself, and the laugh started to take over. “That’s so Canadian—”

  Brayden cut him off with a kiss and a hand around his cock, sliding the foreskin forward and back, and Flip had a bright, heart-stopping moment of clarity that this was it, this was the man he would spend the rest of his life with, before pleasure took over.

  They dressed in their pajamas and went to sit on the couch in front of the fire, Flip with his tea and a paperback he’d been meaning to finish for months, Brayden with one of Flip’s mother’s crossword books. Flip tucked his feet under Brayden’s thigh when they got cold, and Brayden put the throw blanket from the back of the couch over Flip’s lower legs without looking up.

  I love him. Flip let himself consciously use the word for the first time. It felt right, as cozy and warm as the fire and the blanket.

  “Zany, six letters?”

  “Madcap,” Flip murmured, flexing his toes.

  His mother had been right. He couldn’t let Brayden slip away from him. Flip would wait until Christmas was over, with all the negative associations it held for Brayden. And then he would do something the opposite of impulsive.

  CHRISTMAS morning Flip woke Brayden with a soft kiss on the cheek. “Morning, love. Merry Christmas.”

  Brayden was still mostly asleep, warm and happy to laze around in Flip’s bed. Better still if he could get Flip to laze with him. “Mmm. Happy Gita Jayanti. Come back to bed.”

  Flip chuckled and ran his fingers through Brayden’s hair. “My father’s expecting me. But there’s breakfast in the family room in a few hours if you want to come.”

  Brayden mumbled in agreement and went back to sleep.

  When he woke again, his stomach was rumbling. A glance at the clock showed he wouldn’t be late for Christmas breakfast if he hurried, and he wanted to be there when Flip’s family members opened their presents, so he brushed his teeth, put on his own nicest jeans and one of the beautiful amethyst sweaters Cedric had procured for him, and hustled off to the common rooms.

  “Brayden!”

  For a moment he almost didn’t recognize Queen Constance. Today she wore her hair down instead of in a no-nonsense bun, and she’d eschewed makeup and her usual pristine suit, instead favoring flannel pajamas with reindeer on them. She kissed Brayden’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, darling. Are you hungry? We’re making pancakes.”

  They did actually seem to be doing the work themselves—Ines and Clara stood in the kitchenette area of the suite, bedecked in holiday-themed aprons and wielding spatulas.

  “Merry Christmas,” Brayden replied. He missed his own family, but he was profoundly glad to be included in this one. “Pancakes sound great.”

  “Irfan and Flip should be along shortly.” Constance went to the cupboards and took down plates. “Not that they’re any better in the kitchen than these two,” she added conspiratorially and passed the plates to Brayden so he could set the breakfast table.

  As she said that, Ines, at Clara’s urging, attempted to flip a pancake without a spatula. She managed to catch half of it, leaving the rest splattered down the outside of the pan, on the floor, and on their feet.

  Brayden looked from the mess to Constance. “Maybe I should lend a hand.”

  He ended up working three frying pans while his sous chefs transferred finished pancakes to a warming dish. Clara told silly jokes all the while, and Brayden laughed at every one.

  He didn’t realize Flip and Irfan had come in until arms wrapped around his waist and a familiar mouth found his neck. Casual PDA in front of the family. Was that where their relationship was now?

  Flip bestowed a quick, quiet kiss and then withdrew. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No,” Brayden said wryly and warded him off with the spatula. “I’ve been warned about your kitchen skills. Go have your mother put you to work.”

  They sat down to breakfast as a family, and then Flip and Irfan were directed to cleanup duty while Clara was finally allowed to begin sorting the presents under the tree into piles by recipient. Constance made tea, and everyone gathered on the sofas. It was nothing at all like Brayden’s typical family Christmases, but it felt homey and authentic, even though they were nestled in one of the grander buildings in the country.

  Ines added a log to the fire and then settled in an armchair and looked at Constance. Before either of them could say anything, Clara piped up, “Can we open them now?”

  Now that refrain Brayden was used to hearing at family holidays. He pretended to scratch his nose to cover his smile.

  It wasn’t until he was settling into bed next to Flip that he remembered that today was also the tenth anniversary of Thomas’s death.

  He inhaled sharply at the realization and rubbed his hand over his breastbone until Flip reached up and gently clasped his wrist.

  “Okay?” Flip asked quietly.

  Brayden let the breath out again, slow and steady, and exhaled the worst of the pain along with it. It still hurt, but at some point over the past few weeks, he’d let go of the guilt. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

  Flip kissed his forehead. “You’re welcome.”

  BRAYDEN was still in bed when Flip got up on the twenty-sixth, determined to accomplish as much of his lengthy to-do list as possible before noon so he could spend the rest of the day with Brayden. They could have a long chat and still have plenty of time to celebrate if things went well, which Flip hoped they would.

  First, though, he had to get through the morning. Which meant putting on a very patient face for the cabinet minister in his public office, who was droning on about how much Flip’s support for his bill meant and never mind that Flip wasn’t supposed to have a public opinion on how the democracy worked.

  “I really think that if you just talked to Counselor St. Louis and explained your position,” the man was saying, completely disregarding all of Flip’s diplomatic attempts to point out that he wasn’t going to do it.

  For God’s sake, man, parliament isn’t even in session until January. Go away, I intend to propose to my boyfriend today and I don’t have time for this.

  When, after nearly forty minutes, the man still hadn’t gotten the hint, Flip was forced to resort to less diplomatic tactics. “Minister Bechard, I appreciate your dedication to your cause, but to intervene in the course of democracy is a serious breach of protocol and one that I will not be committing over a bill that defines how much pesticide can be used on organic produce.”

  Minister Bechard looked taken aback. “Oh—well, of course, Your Highness, I wasn’t suggesting—”

  Yes he was, and Flip was done listening to it. “I apologize for my bluntness, Minister, but I’m afraid I have a very busy day scheduled”—large portions of it in bed, with any luck—“and I really have to make my next appointment. I’m sure you have your own matters to attend to.” Read: fuck off.

  Minister Bechard left in a bit of a huff, but Flip couldn’t bring himself to care.

  He caught up to Brayden in his apartment, where Brayden was sitting at the breakfast table, idly tapping a pencil on a pad of paper. He looked up with a smile when Flip came in. “Hey.” The tension melted away from Flip’s shoulders and his incipient minister-induced headache receded, all because Brayden looked at him and smiled.

  Oh God, what if he said no?

  Flip pushed the door closed and let himself lean against it for a moment, for strength. Then he drew himself to his full height. “Good morning. I… wish to talk to you about something.”

  Smooth. He grimaced at himself as the smile faded from Brayden’s face. “Okay. What’s up?”

  Flip could do this. His palms were sweating, but how many times had he made a public address? Hundreds since
he was a teenager. He’d even insisted on speaking at the press conference after Miles’s account of their relationship was published. “When we first began our arrangement, I needed your help, and you rose admirably to the task.”

  Brayden said nothing, only tilted his head as though he were confused where this was going.

  Flip pushed on. What was the saying? You couldn’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs, right? “But very soon it wasn’t only my parents whose scrutiny we had to endure. Once the media became interested in our story, everything became… regretfully more complicated.” He wished for Brayden’s sake that they’d had more privacy to get to know one another, though in truth, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset at the outcome.

  “If this is about my Instagram account being discovered,” Brayden ventured cautiously, “I just want you to know I deleted it. If I’d thought anyone would find it, I never would’ve….”

  Damn it, Flip should have talked with him about that. Now his train of thought had been derailed. “This isn’t about that,” Flip said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. The whole conversation had gotten away from him. He put his hand in his jacket pocket, closed it around the ring box, and clutched it like a talisman. Just a few more sentences and they could celebrate. He hoped. “Some more critical members of the press might have dubbed you unsuitable a match for me. But while you have conducted yourself well—”

  Frantic knocking on the door at his back interrupted. Bollocks. Flip closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to let his agitation infect his voice. “Yes?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.” Cedric’s voice put Flip instantly on alert, and he spun around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we’ve just gotten word—your uncle has been arrested. Your mother has requested your presence right away.”

  Sod everything. Flip looked beseechingly at Brayden. “Brayden, I’m so sorry. I really do have to go.”

  Brayden nodded, pale-faced. “Sure. I understand.”

  “Thank you,” Flip said fervently. And with that, he hurried into the hall after Cedric.

  WHEN the door closed behind Flip, Brayden inhaled deeply. Or he tried, at least. The breath got stuck halfway and hitched, and he had to swallow down a wave of emotion.

  He hadn’t expected their relationship to end like this. Though maybe he should have.

  The press have dubbed you an unsuitable match for me, Flip had said. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Brayden wasn’t exactly bred to be a royal. He’d thought maybe that didn’t matter to Flip, but obviously he was wrong. Brayden couldn’t even blame him, considering Flip’s history with the press. Brayden wouldn’t want to be reminded of his past indiscretions every time his current relationship was mentioned either.

  Everything became regretfully more complicated. Yeah. Brayden agreed with that too, but he couldn’t fully bring himself to regret the past few weeks. Even if it wasn’t going to work out between them, at least he knew now, and he could move on with his life. He could fall in love. He could be brave.

  It would take him some time to work up the nerve to try it all again, though.

  In the meantime, he should pack. He didn’t really want to wait around for Flip to come home and finish breaking up with him. Brayden could spare them both that. Flip had obviously been uncomfortable. He’d reverted to the stilted, formal language he used whenever something had him wrong-footed.

  Brayden left his pencil on the table. Quietly, he packed up his things and tried not to look at the bed they had shared. But he couldn’t just stop breathing, and the room smelled a little like Flip—warm and woodsy from the fire, crisp and clean under that. It smelled comforting and welcoming and familiar. Maybe one day it might have smelled like home.

  Goddammit.

  Brayden put on his boots and coat and slipped out of Flip’s rooms and into the palace corridors.

  Louisa’s tour had been informative. He’d learned that a driver was always on duty to take the royal family and their guests anywhere they wanted to go. And since a taxi would certainly not drive through the gates without attracting undue attention, he trudged across the frozen crushed gravel to the drivers’ lounge next to the garage.

  Brayden knocked, and when someone called out in French for him to enter, he pushed open the door to a well-appointed area filled with comfortable overstuffed couches, a desk and computer, a TV showing soccer highlights, and Flip’s driver, Celine, looking up from a tablet with a dumbstruck expression as Brayden came in.

  “Uh,” Brayden said. “Hi.”

  Damn it. He hadn’t expected her. He’d been sure she had the seniority to merit the day after Christmas off. Not that a driver he didn’t know would have been much better.

  Celine scrambled to her feet and dropped the tablet onto the couch. “Sir. Does His Highness need something?”

  If Flip had needed something, they could have called the lounge extension to ask. Brayden shook his head. “No.” And then he lied, and the words fell as smoothly from his tongue as anything he’d ever said. “There’s been a family emergency at home. I was hoping you could drive me to the airport.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Of course. We’ll leave right away.”

  If she thought it was odd that Brayden was leaving alone, without Flip for moral support, she didn’t mention it. Perhaps she knew Flip was dealing with a family emergency of his own or thought Flip too important to be whisked away from his country at a moment’s notice to comfort a man he’d been seeing just a few weeks.

  Brayden sat in the back seat and traced his fingers over Flip’s monogram. It was for the best. Sooner or later things would have ended. Brayden couldn’t play house with a prince forever.

  He wondered where his family was. Would they be in Aruba by now? Or maybe they were still in Kingston. He couldn’t remember. But maybe if the flights worked out, he really could meet them in port somewhere.

  Then he thought about their questions, their pity, the inevitable whispers and walking on eggshells they’d do if he showed up now. Yeah… maybe not.

  Brayden closed his eyes and imagined he was curled up next to Flip. His eyes burned.

  At least he could tell Lina the truth. He settled back against the seat and counted the miles to the airport.

  FLIP returned from police headquarters exhausted, with a splitting headache and a heavy heart. He hated seeing the toll dealing with her brother took on his mother, and he was glad he didn’t have to explain the man’s sudden reappearance to Clara. It would be up to Ines to decide what to tell her.

  All he wanted was to relax by the fire with Brayden and maybe a stiff drink. Never mind the proposal for now—after the day he’d had, the mood hadn’t just been killed, it had been hanged, drawn, and quartered. He could try again tomorrow.

  But when he pushed open the door to his apartment, something felt off. “Brayden?”

  No Brayden on the couch, by the fire, or at the table. Flip left his shoes on and ventured into the bedroom to change—no Brayden there either. His parents had both been with him deciding what to do about his uncle. Ines and Clara wouldn’t want company.

  Maybe he’d decided to try out sightseeing on his own?

  In his socks and underwear, Flip dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and turned it on for the first time in several hours. Nothing from Brayden… but he did have a message from Celine.

  Taking Brayden to airport. He says family emergency. Everything okay?

  Oh God. That didn’t sound good. Why hadn’t Brayden called him?

  He had wandered back out to the living room to check if he’d left a note when the next message, timestamped a few minutes later, pinged on his phone—Something seems off, though. Too quiet. Why aren’t you with him?

  And finally—Did you break up?

  Flip’s heart hit the floor. He could feel the blood rushing from his face, and he dropped onto the couch before he could get lightheaded. Had Brayden guessed that Flip was going to propose and decid
ed to spare him the indignity of refusing to his face? But that seemed unlike him.

  Perhaps he really had an emergency and had to leave. But if so, why no message? He must know how important he was to Flip. Flip had been in the middle of telling him as much when he had to leave.

  Ignoring the pit opening in his stomach, he started a new text message to Brayden. Where are you? He should get all the facts before he started to panic. That seemed like the rational thing to do.

  So, of course, that was when his father dashed into the room without knocking, breathing hard, the suit he’d worn to the police station in disarray—jacket open, tie flung over his shoulder. “Flip! I made a— What are you doing? You have to get dressed.”

  Flip stood, knowing he needed to act, but something in his father’s tone made him suspicious. “You made a what?”

  Irfan waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter right now. Brayden’s gone and you have to go after him.”

  “Yes, I know. Celine messaged me. But I don’t know where, or why, or what any of it means—”

  His father pushed him into the bedroom. “He asked Celine to take him to the airport. He said he had a family emergency.” Irfan made a scoffing noise. “An obvious lie. If he’d had an emergency, you’d have gone with him.”

  “Yes, I know,” Flip repeated, automatically putting on the sweater his father thrust at him. “How do you know? And what else do you know that I don’t?”

  I should have talked to him. Something must have spooked him. Flip had been so sure Brayden felt the same way he did. He didn’t think that had changed, not judging from how sweet Brayden had been since they returned from their trip, how tender. “Why would he…,” he mumbled, half to himself, as he put on the trousers Irfan held out.