Page 51 of Fake Dating the Prince

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 themnow?”

Nowthatrefrain 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.”

BRAYDENwas 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?”

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