Page 1 of Fake Dating the Prince

Chapter One

FLIPhad toggled his phone screen on and off so many times that the battery had run down even though it was still plugged into the charger in his armrest. That didn’t stop him from pressing the button again, scanning his thumbprint, and reopening the same message he’d been stewing over for the first two hours of his seven-hour flight from Toronto to Paris.

You are cordially invited….

He reminded himself he was too well-bred to sigh.

Just in time too—the flight attendant trundled by with his cart of champagne and spirits, and Flip would’ve hated to be maudlin. God forbid he evokepity. His great-grandmother would turn in her grave.

“Your usual, sir?” Brayden asked with characteristic cheer.

Flip wouldn’t have admitted it to a tabloid, but his mood lifted too. “Yes, that would be lovely.” A thought occurred to him. “Perhaps a double? I’m feeling self-indulgent.” An extra helping of Macallan would do him far more good than a gusty exhale.

Brayden grinned, showing off a deep dimple that measurably improved Flip’s mood. “My kinda guy.” He poured the drink and set it on Flip’s tray table with a serviette. “Would you care for a snack as well?”

His laughing blue eyes twinkled as he said it, perhaps because Flip had guiltily asked for the same snack on every flight they’d shared—twice a month for the past six months while Flip was setting up the office in Toronto. Around him, other passengers picked at the cheese-and-fruit plate the airline deemed as appropriate snack fare in first class, but….

“Yeah, silly question, I know,” Brayden said before Flip could ask, and he stealthily delivered three packets of economy-class peanuts to Flip’s tray. “The heart wants what it wants.”

Flip’s lips twisted into an involuntary smile. “You take good care of me.”

“You’re easy to please. I like that in a man.” If only that were true. Brayden provided a hot towel for Flip to wash his hands. The little things made flying first class a worthwhile expense. “Do you need anything else at the moment?”

Flip shook his head. “Thank you, Brayden.” High-class booze and a couple hundred bags of peanuts. He was set for an hour at least.

“Send up the Bat-Signal if you change your mind.”

Flip absolutely did not watch as Brayden rolled his cart down to the next row, but he imagined it in great detail—another harmless indulgence, like his second helping of Macallan. Anyway, it kept him from brooding on weightier topics.

Almost automatically, he flicked his phone screen on.

You are cordially invited to the Night of a Thousand Lights hosted by His Highness Prince Antoine-Philippe of Lyngria.

Flip had originally intended to bring a date, of course. He could host a charity ball without one—if his parents hadn’t met at the same charity ball thirty-odd years ago when his mother was hosting, or if he didn’t mind that every introduction made over the night would sound like a singles ad. But Adrian had broken up with him when Flip refused to give up travel and work… or maybe Adrian had broken up with him when Flip hadn’t put a ring on it quickly enough or taken him on enough vacations in the Maldives.

Anyway, Adrian had broken up with him months ago, the ball was in less than a week, he couldn’t back out because it was the biggest royal charity in Lyngria, and the press would have him married off to six different people or suffering a psychotic break by Sunday.

Maybe both.

He could’ve had his mother arrange someone, but that seemed pathetic. He could’ve asked his Lyngria-based bodyguard, Celine, whom he’d known since they were in diapers, but that seemed worse. And he could have asked any number of friends and acquaintances, except most of them weren’t single—and they’d do it anyway and have their names dragged through the mud for their trouble.

If only he weren’t completely pants at meeting people.

Days like these, he envied his cousin Clara, who didn’t have to worry about any of this nonsense despite her place in the line of succession. Of course, she was nine.

Maybe she could host next year.

Flip put his phone away again. He had a briefing and a subsequent press conference to prepare for, and the remainder of this flight plus his puddle jumper to Virejas to do it in. But if he started reviewing international policy now, he’d need an Ativan and a lot more of that Macallan to keep him sane for the next ten hours.

He cracked open the first of the illicit peanut packages and unfolded the entertainment screen to peruse the in-flight menu.

By the time Brayden came around to collect trash, Flip had found exactly nothing that he could convince his brain sounded appealing.

“Five hundred channels and nothing’s on?” Brayden asked sympathetically as he retrieved the peanut bags with gloved hands.

“I think I have decision fatigue.” Flip rubbed his forehead. He’d spent most of the past week doing the last round of employee evaluations, trying to decide who was the most trustworthy to handle the company. He wanted to sleep, but he knew he didn’t have the self-discipline to clear his thoughts; his mind was always too busy on these returns to Lyngria. “Choosing what to drink was the last straw.”

“Gotcha.” Brayden perched on the armrest of the empty seat opposite him. “Mindless but cute, or zany but riveting?”

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