Page 48 of Fake Dating the Prince

Now everyone was going to think Brayden was a gold digger—he’d as good as implied it in his own words. Now the whole world knew he and Flip had gone on a quiet retreat together, and they’d assume—well, most of the truth, that they’d spent a great deal of time naked in bed together.

He needed to be more careful. What would Flip think? Brayden hadn’t asked his permission to post those things—he’d figured that since Flip wasn’t in them or mentioned by name, it wouldn’t matter. He’d been naïve.

“What’s this?” Irfan asked, stepping away from the shopkeeper. He plucked the paper from Brayden’s grasp. “Oh, I have that one already.” He gave it back and patted the paper bag he held. Not a single comment about the contents of the article. “Ready for the next stop?”

Brayden took a deep breath and replaced the paper on the rack. “Yeah,” he said, trying for unconcerned. He missed by several tones. “Let’s go.”

They walked side by side, flanked, preceded, and followed by bodyguards. “So, Christmas shopping,” Irfan said. “Last minute. I like your style.”

“I bought my family’s gifts at the beginning of November,” Brayden confessed.

Irfan chuckled and gestured to his right. “Let’s go in here.”

From outside appearances, the shop seemed to be a bookstore. But inside, Brayden also found shelves of toys and board games—the old-fashioned kind that didn’t need batteries. Some of them were not just old-fashioned butold. Secondhand, maybe, but in good condition.

He glanced at Irfan. “I don’t suppose you know which games Clara already has in her cupboard?”

Irfan held up his phone. “I have a picture.”

That was as far as they got before someone recognized them—or at least recognized Irfan, who seemed happy enough to pose in a few selfies. Brayden mainly managed to escape notice, perhaps due to Gilles the bodyguard, who was almost seven feet tall, had the most intimidating resting bitch face Brayden had ever seen, and was sticking close to Brayden’s elbow. Considering Brayden’s extremely recent brush with internet fame, he was grateful.

Finally Irfan disentangled himself from his admirers and made his way over to Brayden, who held up an ancient English version of Clue. “Think she has this one?”

“I think that’s perfect.”

Brayden paid for his purchase and they moved along, wandering in and out of various shops. Clara turned out to be the easy one. Brayden tried not to wonder what each shop’s employees might say about him after he left or whether they’d read that tabloid article. Maybe they were now following his Instagram.

Surreptitiously, he took out his phone and deleted the account.

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” he asked Irfan finally as they continued down the street, needing something to distract himself. “I know Flip said the two of you are going to spend the day meditating because it’s Gita Jayanti, but I mean usually.”

Irfan popped a handful of candied nuts he’d bought from a street vendor and chewed before replying. “I’m not a Christian. But I like Christmas as a secular tradition—charitable acts, time with family.” He shot a sideways look at Brayden. “Presents.”

Brayden mentally put him on the Yes list for gifts. No big deal. Just find a suitable gift for a reigning monarch, her husband, a crown-prince boyfriend, and his aunt. Also maybe Celine. All while not panicking about being accidentally famous.

Easy.

He took a deep breath. “So. Any hints?”

They chatted idly as they shopped. Brayden picked out a colorful silk scarf for Aunt Ines and, when Irfan wasn’t looking, a set of knitting needles and yarn in Constance’s favorite blue.

Three down.

They were meandering through a department store when inspiration struck—except there were enough people around to make Brayden nervous. He stood staring at a purple plaid flannel pajama set, high-quality material, softer than a kitten.

Irfan must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, because he said, “Ines gets him pajamas every year, you know.”

Brayden caught the slightly wry note to his voice and lowered his own. “Yes, fussy silk ones, and instead he wears the ones he must’ve had since he was a teenager. A few more washes and they’ll disintegrate.”

Irfan laughed. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.” He looked around. “But, uh. How do I buy pajamas for the crown prince without the whole country finding out about it?” And putting it on the internet?

“Leave that to me.”

In the end Brayden picked out a pair of slippers too, on a whim—in a matching amethyst, with removable inserts that could be microwaved. Irfan gave him a bemused smile, but he spoke quietly to one of the shop attendants, who nodded and took Brayden’s credit card. They wandered over to a display of sweaters while a different attendant boxed up the appropriate-sized gift and bagged it, and then the package, receipt, and credit card were delivered to them as they left the store.

“Buying underwear must be hell,” Brayden observed.

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