Page 17 of Fake Dating the Prince

Brayden raised an eyebrow. “Which will be what?”

Closing his eyes, Flip took a moment to center himself. “You’re not, I don’t know, shy of attention, are you?”

Brayden raised the other eyebrow, and Flip realized his mistake and laughed. “No, you’re right. Stupid question. Because my parents think we’re…. Anyway, you’re going to be formally introduced by the royal herald to everyone at the party as my date. Surprise!”

Brayden laughed. “God, you are so lucky you picked me up on that flight. No, you don’t have to worry about me being the center of attention. Shockingly, I enjoy that. The only part I’m worried about is making sure I don’t make you look like an ass by mixing up the titles for dukes and barons and—I don’t know, eating with the wrong fork.”

“‘Sir’ and ‘ma’am’ will work fine in a pinch. Most people don’t know that stuff these days. And you don’t need to worry about the forks—”

“It took me a year to figure it out,” said Flip’s father from the door to the main hall, where he and Flip’s mother had just entered. “And I had tutors. What do they say in North America? Fake it till you make it.”

A little on the nose, Dad.Flip cleared his throat and stood up straighter. He didn’t think about how easy it was to let instinct take over, to put his hand on Brayden’s back as they stepped forward to meet his parents halfway. “Because tonight is canapés only. Mom, Dad. This is Brayden. My boyfriend.”

Chapter Five

DESPITEhis assurances to Flip, Brayden blanked out most of meeting his parents and the introduction to a ballroom full of important people he didn’t know. The curved baroque ceiling went up three or four stories, with arched balconies on all sides. Brayden had never seen so much finery in one place.

But by the time he and Flip had descended the marble staircase arm in arm to the elaborately tiled floor below, he had a handle on himself. Sort of.

They waited to one side while the herald introduced Flip’s parents, Queen Constance and Prince Irfan—the only people important enough to be introduced after Flip and Brayden, which was, not to put too fine a point on it, a mindfuck.

Fortunately, once Flip’s parents had made it down the stairs, flowing like water in a way that must have taken years to perfect, Brayden felt some of the pressure leave his shoulders. In an unrelated incident, he noticed a passing waiter carrying a tray of lemon wedges and nudged Flip’s side. He gestured with his head. “Tequila shots?”

Flip turned to follow his gaze. “What—no, not tequila shots. Those are garnishes for the seafood frittura.” He’d gone a bit pink.

Something about the way he said it…. “You’ve never done a tequila shot,” Brayden said. That blew his mind almost as much as the opulence around him. “How old are you again?”

“Hey.”

“I’m just saying. You’re the crown prince. I bet if you ask nicely, one of the bartenders will find a bottle of tequila and a salt shaker.”

“We do them with orange and cinnamon here.”

“Excellent, we can do a taste test.”

Flip groaned and led Brayden by the hand farther onto the floor. “Maybe later. First I have to play host.”

“You never did get around to explaining that.” It was a little too easy to let his fingers intertwine with Flip’s. Maybe Braydenshouldhave been an actor. “I mean, I know the whole thing is a fundraiser slash showcase… deal. What does a host do?”

“My first duty is to introduce the first act. In this case, the orchestra that will play the majority of tonight’s music.” They had crossed the floor to a raised stage area where musicians in tuxedos sat at rest, eyes on the conductor.

“That seems easy enough.” Brayden didn’t know why he had to come along for that. “What’s the second duty?”

“Opening the dancing.”

Brayden looked up sharply and narrowed his eyes. “You could have mentioned that at some point a little earlier in the evening. For example, when I asked for a rundown on how the night was going to go. Or, you know, when you asked me to this thing in the first place.”

Flip grimaced. “I sort of forgot? If you’re not comfortable, I can dance with my mother. It won’t be a scandal. Do you even know how to waltz?”

Ugh.Brayden couldn’t help the face he made. “A waltz? Really? All the variety in the world and you want to dance the world’s most boring dance on national television. Are you trying to put your people to sleep?”

Flip started to smile. “So youdoknow how to waltz?”

Snorting, Brayden listed on his fingers, “Waltz, fox-trot, tango, salsa, cha-cha, swing, hip hop. I’m a passable belly dancer, but I never got the hang of the robot.” Off Flip’s incredulous look, he shrugged. “My grandmother owned a dance studio in Toronto. I taught there for the better part of a decade, until I finished university. Best after-school job ever. What, you think rich people are the only ones who can bust a move?” He still missed those days.

Next to them, a woman cleared her throat. “Your Highness… if I may?”

Oh Jesus, they’d been overheard and Brayden was already making Flip look bad. They both glanced over to see the conductor, who was smiling indulgently at them. “We have rehearsed a Viennese waltz, if that will suit.”

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