Page 55 of Fake Dating the Prince

His neighbor kept glancing at him from the corner of his eye and then texting frantically until the flight attendants asked that everyone put their phone in flight mode until they reached cruising altitude.

His stomach fell away along with the ground as the plane took off. That was it. It was done. He’d left.

Now he had another week and a half of his leave of absence to heal his broken heart before he had to go back to work, a thought that filled him with dread. What would Joanna and the others say? Luis? Would they ask about Flip? Would his passengers recognize him?

Maybe this was the kick in the ass he needed to finally quit his job. He’d spent enough of his life traveling. He’d gotten over Thomas’s death. He didn’t need an excuse to keep him from settling down anymore. He could get a regular nine-to-five, have a family, find someone to come home to every night the way he had for the past three weeks.

Compared to the way he’d felt in Flip’s arms, that was cold comfort. But it was all he had, and he clung to it as the plane swung north.

I’Mso sorry, read the paper, just one line among several disjointed ones, some crossed out, others underlined.

Flip’s stomach lurched as his father turned onto the highway. Their bodyguards usually kept his speeding to a minimum, but today they didn’t have any, and Flip couldn’t complain. The flight to Paris—the one Brayden would be on if he was going home—was scheduled to begin boarding in twenty-five minutes.

I should have been more careful about social media. I don’t want to—

Here several words had been scratched out and written over each other to the point of illegibility.

The past few weeks have been perfect. I hate that my actions led to more media garbage for you when

When what? The line ended without a conclusion. Flip rubbed his suddenly damp palms on his trousers and huffed in frustration.

“If you’re not going to read that out loud,” Irfan said, “stop making those noises. You’re making me curious.”

Flip flushed and consciously reined himself in.

I know I don’t belong in your world. I’m always afraid I’m going to embarrass you, and I hate the idea of disappointing you.

“For fuck’s sake,” Flip half shouted, and ended up reading that part aloud because he needed to vent about how stupid Brayden was.

“Is this a Hallmark movie?” Irfan asked as he took the exit for the airport. “I didn’t know he was such a hand-wringer. He’s perfect for you.”

Flip wasn’t sure whether to be insulted. “Hey.” But that reminded him. “What did you say to him, anyway?”

His father kept his eyes on the road and passed a slow car in the right-hand lane. “I perhaps… mentioned… that you were a good actor but not as good as me, and I knew you were lying.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Flip said impatiently. “That wasn’t all of it. There’s something else.”

Now he squirmed and flicked his gaze from the signage overhead to the one marking the nearest exit. He had to be feeling pretty guilty if he was betraying this much emotion. “Okay, so maybe I asked him what he was getting out of it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Flip repeated.

“In hindsight, it was not a good idea.”

“No shit.” Flip rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache. “What were you doing when this happened? Was this when you were shopping?”

Irfan took the exit for the airport, and his face went slack. “Oh—oh shit, we had just stopped to pick up the stupid tabloids—the one where some internet creep found his Instagram—”

Reflexively Flip crumpled the note. “That’s it, then. You were going for ‘maybe you should talk about your real feelings’ and he heard ‘someone’s going to use you to make Flip look stupid.’”

As if Flip cared about that. As if it mattered the slightest in the larger picture of things—the picture where Flip went to bed with Brayden every night and woke up with him every morning.

“Flip.” Irfan reached over and put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“You were trying to help.” And maybe, just maybe, Irfan’s interference would allow Flip to head this off early, before it became the issue that would destroy them. The flight to Paris hadn’t left yet. There was still hope.

He had to believe there was still hope.

They squealed into the airport departures lot with fifteen minutes to spare. Irfan pulled up in front of the main doors and slammed the car into Park. “Go get your man,” he said with gravitas.

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