Page 30 of Fake Dating the Prince

Brayden raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? You don’t seem that tired.”

“I was raised not to show weakness,” Flip said with no small amount of sarcasm. It worked—Brayden flashed a tired grin.

“I don’t know, I think I’ve seen you fall asleep with your mouth open on the flight.”

Brat, Flip thought fondly. He could have been embarrassed, but if they were going to pretend to be a couple for the next two and a half weeks, it seemed prudent to get over that embarrassment now. Likely it wouldn’t be the last time Brayden found him catching flies. “Do I snore? I can send someone out for earplugs.”

“You’re good.” Brayden finished his water and set the empty glass on the cart that the palace staff would remove later on. “I don’t know about me, though. You might need them for yourself.”

“I’m sure I can make it through one night.” Most of the country’s shops would be closed tomorrow, but Flip would be able to find earplugs if absolutely necessary.

They returned their dishes to the wheeled cart, and Flip called for housekeeping to come fetch it while Brayden took his turn in the bathroom.

Housekeeping came and went. Flip sat on the couch, but he was restless and jumped up again a second later. It had been only a few months since he’d shared a bed with Adrian, but that was different. They had dated for a year, and they were comfortable with each other physically.

Of course, physicality aside, Flip felt more comfortable with Brayden than he had with anyone since secondary school, so that excuse didn’t hold water. He might as well admit to himself that he was attracted to Brayden—that he wanted their arrangement to grow beyond the charade they’d begun. He wanted to kiss Brayden, make him laugh, make him gasp, make him moan—

“Bollocks,” Flip muttered aloud. He’d chosen a poor time to consider that train of thought.

A second later he heard the water shut off in the bathroom, and then Brayden poked his head into the living room. “You’re up,” he said, voice a little softer than Flip was used to—an intimate voice, part of him noted, for an intimate time.

Damn it.

It turned out that left to his own devices, Brayden slept in boxer briefs and a long-sleeved T-shirt, faded with years of use, that readMaplewood High School Baseball Team. Flip tore his gaze away from the name emblazoned across those broad shoulders and removed his own favorite pajamas from the wardrobe. Then he closed the bathroom door behind him to have a private, if very brief, crisis.

What was he doing? He was about to get in bed with a man he barely knew because, at the end of the day, he was too much of a coward to tell his parents the truth—that Brayden had agreed to attend the ball as a favor and nothing more. Because it had been so long since his parents had been so full of anticipation, as though they’d known Brayden was special even before they met him. Because they were right, Braydenwasspecial, only now Flip had gotten tangled up in the lie and—

Brush your teeth, he told himself firmly.

His brain was still spinning when he left the bathroom. Brayden looked up from his cell phone and cracked a tired smile when Flip opened the door. “What happened to the fancy pj’s?”

Self-consciously, Flip glanced down at himself. These were his favorites, a decades-old set of flannel bottoms with holes in the hems and a college T-shirt. “They’re in pristine condition because I never wear them except on Christmas morning. Don’t tell my aunt. She gets me a new set every year.”

Brayden crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor.” He set his phone on the bedside table. “I never thought—is this side okay? I’m a left-side-of-the-bed guy, but it’s your bed, your rules.”

Flip’s brain took an abrupt turn into pornography, and it took him a split second too long to find his voice. “It’s fine. I don’t have a side preference, but I find it too drafty close to the windows.”

Brayden grinned. “Good thing you found a nice Canadian boy to take the cold side of the bed, then.”

“Nice? Is that what you are?” Flip slid between the sheets and automatically turned to face Brayden. He was right—there was plenty of room for two and little chance they would brush against each other by accident, never mind initiate anything inappropriate.

“Hey, I’m good enough to fake date you. What, Prince Antoine-Philippe doesn’t date nice boys?”

Flip honestly thought about it and had to wince. “Not historically.” He paused. “Actually, as a family, our track record for nonscandalous relationships is fairly terrible.”

Brayden snuggled down across from him and faced Flip. “Oh?”

“Well, I told you about my parents. And my mother’s younger brother—Clara’s father—he’s worse.”

Now Brayden raised his eyebrows. “Present tense? I sort of assumed he was dead.”

“No, just removed from the line of succession and banned from the country.” Off Brayden’s look of surprise, he elaborated. “He never approved of my father, but he didn’t try to do anything about it until he had an heir of his own. His failed power grab coincided with the discovery of his affair with Clara’s nanny.”

“Jesus. Your family doesn’t do anything by halves.” His expression turned soft but still shrewd. “Clara said your exes were boring. She didn’t mention any inherent evil…?”

He was fishing, but somehow Flip didn’t mind. “The ones she’s met weren’t evil. She maybe had a point about the boring thing, though.” He sucked in a breath and debated how much of the truth to give away. But then he decided that Brayden could find out nearly anything he withheld on the internet anyway. “Before Clara was born, though, when I was still at boarding school in the UK, myfirstboyfriend, he was a piece of work.”

Brayden tucked his hands under his pillow. “Yeah?”

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