Page 3 of Fake Dating the Prince

“Well, that’s fortunate—these puddle jumpers haven’t been fitted with the full arsenal of in-flight entertainment options yet.” Antoine gave him a rueful smile. “NoDirk Gently.”

Brayden couldn’t help but smile back. Joanna had a point—this guy washandsome. “Oh God, a travesty. I’ll take it up with management. But not for another three weeks.”

“Vacation?” Antoine inquired. “In Lyngria? In the dead of winter?”

Brayden shrugged. “Most of my family is going on a Christmas cruise, but I get seasick, even on the biggest ones. Besides, I’ve always wanted to check out the winter markets and the light festival. And I know it’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll even get lucky and catch a glimpse of the aurora. That’s bucket-list stuff, you know?”

“Fair enough. But I hope you packed your woollies.”

Brayden had a spare uniform, two civilian changes of clothes, a winter jacket, and some heavy boots. “I’m Canadian.”

Antoine smiled, a sly, knowing thing that reminded Brayden that as of twenty minutes ago, he was officially on vacation. “So you know about thermal underwear.”

Laughing, Brayden admitted, “Yes, but I’m too vain to hang up my Andrew Christians over a little cold weather.”

It was a perfect setup—Brayden could list five or six witticisms off the top of his head—but instead of choosing any one of them, Antoine briefly opened his mouth and then offered that reserved smile he used when Brayden asked if he wanted anything else, and said, “I see.”

Which was… weird. Then again, they’d just had a long flight, so maybe he didn’t want to talk. Brayden could respect that. He buckled his seat belt, ignored the little frisson he felt when Antoine handed over the buckle, which had been tucked under his leg, and thumbed open his phone to his travel guide.

By beverage service Brayden had forgotten all about his seatmate’s hot-and-cold act. He looked up as the hostess parked her cart next to their row, but she looked right over his head at Antoine. “Welcome home, sir. I hope your flights have been agreeable?”

That measured, practiced smile again. “I’ve no complaints, Bridget, I assure you.”

Bridget poured coffee and handed it over with one cream and one sugar. “We’re all looking forward to the Night of a Thousand Lights. My nephew is one of the charity scholarships this year—fine arts. He’s studying in New York.”

Antoine set the coffee on his tray. “That’s wonderful. He must be very talented.”

Obviously Antoine wasn’t just some ordinary rich guy. Not like Brayden’s uncle, who’d won the lottery this past April, but like, really rich—the kind of rich where you couldn’t ever spend all the money you had. And important too, if he was somehow associated with the Night of a Thousand Lights, whatever that was.

“We’re all so proud of him,” she gushed, but she caught herself—Brayden could see it in her face as professionalism took over and her tone changed. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Antoine shook his head. “No, just the coffee, thank you, Bridget. Oh, but I don’t know about Brayden?”

“Also coffee,” Brayden said too quickly, a bit embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. “Thank you.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Both.”

Bridget left them after that, and Brayden turned his cup this way and that, watching the liquid slosh up to the rim, lost in thought, until Antoine cleared his throat. “Well. Now you know my secret.”

Brayden looked up. “Secret? What, that you’re the sort of posh person who attends fancy charity balls and who people recognize on international flights? I figured out most of that on my own, actually.”

“Touché.” Antoine shook his head and peeled back the corner of the creamer. “I meant that I’m….”

After a few seconds, when he still hadn’t finished the sentence, Brayden took a sip of his own coffee. “That you’re…?” he prompted.

Antoine sighed and shook his head, perhaps deciding he didn’t want to talk after all. But then a curious expression came across his face and he looked at Brayden, eyes narrowed in assessment. “Three weeks in Lyngria, you said? Any plans in particular?”

FLIPcouldn’t quite believe his own nerve. Then again, he’d been raised to weigh boldness and caution, and perhaps he’d been afforded a rare opportunity. He’d be a fool not to take advantage.

“You see,” he went on, when Brayden confirmed that he had no particular agenda, “you might have heard I’m hosting an event later this week. The Night of a Thousand Lights?”

Brayden’s generous mouth twitched in an aborted smile. “I think I heard something about that. Going to be on national TV and everything.”

Well, the crown owned the national TV station, so yes. Flip cleared his throat. “I find myself in the unenviable position of playing host without an escort of my own to pull me away when conversations become tedious.”

Brayden had been sipping his coffee, and he spluttered a bit and reached for his napkin. “Uh, when you sayescort—”

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