Page 8 of Fake Dating the Prince

“Count on it, Mr. Wood,” Bernadette answered in a voice that certainly meantshewould be doing the choosing.

“I’ll send Celine back to get you once she’s dropped me off, and she can take you to lunch wherever you want to go. Are you available Thursday? I’d like to make it up to you.” Even a single, simple date with no romantic intentions was impossible to accomplish uninterrupted. Perhaps Adrian had been right to break up with him.

“I think I can work you into my busy sightseeing schedule,” Brayden said with a shake of his head. “Go on, get on your white horse and get out of here.”

“Put your regular clothes back on first,” Bernadette said. “If you get horsehair on those trousers, I’ll make sure Clara’s your only option for the line of succession.”

Chapter Three

BRAYDENfilled his Wednesday with cultural experiences—a morning at the national museum, a boat ride through the city’s canals, and then a guided walking food tour. The food tour was his favorite. The guide pointed out well-kept local secrets and places that didn’t make TripAdvisor lists, and recommended specialty dishes in each restaurant or café. And at the end, he mentioned he was celebrating his first anniversary of starting the company, and he bought everyone a round of drinks.

Brayden clinked glasses of lingonberry beer—apparently a Christmas specialty—with his fellow travelers and didn’t think at all about the country’s crown prince or what he might be up to.

Well. Notmuch, anyway. Not until he got back to his hotel and found a neatly wrapped parcel waiting for him at the foot of his bed. Curious, he removed the lid of the box and brushed aside a sheet of tissue paper to reveal—

Underwear—basic black underwear in a boxer-brief cut. One pair, with a smooth, satiny sheen along the waistband.

Brayden didn’t know what these very normal-looking underwear had done to warrant the fancy presentation until he lifted them from the tissue and realized they were made of some kind of space cotton or something, because no material made on earth had ever felt so soft and smooth. The legs had no visible hem, but the fabric seemed unfrayable.

James Bond underwear.

He couldn’t decide whether to be amused, flattered, or offended. Maybe he should try them on and decide afterward.

But no—integrity first. He took out his phone and composed a text, taking a moment to appreciate how completely absurd it was that he had a mobile number for the crown prince of a European nation.I know I have to let you buy me a tux, he wrote,but the underwear are more an escort thing than a date one. FYI.

He didn’t expect a reply—for all he knew this wasn’t even Flip’s direct line, and oh God, maybe he’d just aired the crown prince’s dirty laundry to some poor PA or something and Flip would be mortally embarrassed… if embarrassment happened to royalty. But his phone chimed a moment later and answered almost all of his questions.Bernadette sends a pair with every suit purchase to ensure we don’t ruin the lines of her art. I’m sorry. I should have warned you.

Well, that made Brayden feel better, but also worse because he’d bugged Flip about something when the guy was obviously busy.I feel so important—the royal tailor micromanaging my underpants.He paused and debated whether to continue. What the hell. Flip wasn’t obligated to respond.Hope whatever damsel you rescued yesterday appreciated your intervention.

He set the phone on the nightstand and went to clean up before bed, because he still had jet lag and that lingonberry beer had him feeling warm and drowsy. When he returned, his phone flashed with a few new messages.

The first was a picture of Flip sitting in an armchair with a lapful of child, probably a girl from the length of the blonde hair. Based on her pose and the hour, Brayden guessed she was fast asleep.

The royal etiquette handbook frowns on selfies, but I had Johan take this one, so it doesn’t count. Princess Clara thanks you for yielding your claim on my time.

Brayden went warm at being trusted with the photograph. Maybe this date was just a favor and a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but still. He’d earned the trust and friendship of a prince. That was pretty special in itself… and a prince who was sweet with kids too. Brayden was soft for that.Etiquette handbook, eh? You can give me the cliff’s notes tomorrow. Bedtime for me. Good night to you and Princess Clara.

Good night, Brayden.

HEwoke up to an email from his sister. Part of him wanted to avoid opening it, but if he did, she’d just message him on WhatsApp or stalk his Instagram.

Apparently she’d already been stalking his Instagram, because she opened withHey little brother, that’s a nice tux you’re wearing… what’s up with that?

Sometimes Brayden needed to use his brain before his phone.

Lina went on with:

Everyone’s getting really excited for the cruise. Mom and Aunt Pat have been on the phone for an hour every day planning all the stuff they want to do. Me, I’m going to take my Kindle full of pulpy historical romances, park my butt on the sun deck, and do as little as possible for ten glorious days. In the Caribbean.

I get why you’re not coming. I do. But I’m going to miss you. Uncle Walt sprung for king rooms for all of us (though everybody else is doubled up—guess we’re the only two bachelor(ette)s left), so if you change your mind, you can bunk with me. I barely even kick in my sleep anymore. Seriously, anytime. I’m attaching the cruise schedule. I know you can get a flight. Meet us in Nassau. I don’t care.

If not, I hope you’re having fun in Lyngria… and that you didn’t just spend your travel budget on formal wear (seriously wtf).

Your big sister,

L

Brayden had plenty of time before he had to meet Flip for lunch, so he rolled over in bed and debated his reply.

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