by Ashlyn Kane
“Taste it first, before you propose,” Celine admonished, but she set their plates down, returned to her post, and closed the door behind her.
Flip met Brayden’s eyes across the table and quirked his lips in a smirk. “Not bad advice.”
Brayden lost half a second wondering if that was an innuendo before he shrugged it off and reached for his spoon—and his phone. This masterpiece needed to be documented. Lunch fit for a king! he wrote, amused at his own joke, even though no one would get it. He caught Flip looking at him as he put the phone away, and shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t Instagram all my food or anything. But I travel a lot, and my family likes to know what I’m up to. It’s an easy way for them to follow along without me spending hours on the phone every night.”
Nodding, Flip picked up his spoon to dig into a bowl of “spaghetti.” “Do you have a big family?”
“Kind of.” He shoveled in a scoop of ice cream, delighted to find the “fries” were a rich vanilla, the caramel sauce a lovely complement. He made an involuntary noise of delight, closing his eyes as he savored it. When he opened his eyes again, Flip was busily arranging his chocolate “meatballs” on one side of the plate, his cheeks flushed. Maybe Brayden shouldn’t make sex noises while at lunch with a prince. “In my immediate family, it’s just my grandmother, my parents, and my sister. But my dad’s brother, Walt, has a blended family, and there’s seven kids, and they’re all partnered off, and a lot of them have kids.”
“I’d call that a big family.” Flip’s voice took on a wistful tone as he spooned up a chocolate chunk. “I’m something of an anomaly—a royal only child. Tradition dictates you need an heir and a spare”—he rolled his eyes as he quoted that—“but it wasn’t in the cards for my parents. I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”
“I mean, speaking mostly from secondhand experience? Chaos.” He scooped up another half french fry and toppings and gestured automatically with his spoon. “Uncle Walt’s family is so big we usually do Christmas in November. This year they’re doing that cruise because he won a couple million on a scratch-off ticket and wanted to treat everyone.”
Flip nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing, and then said, “Didn’t you go on a boat tour yesterday? I thought you were here because you get seasick, so no cruise?”
Shit. Brayden fumbled his spoon and almost dropped it into his plate. “That, yeah, I….” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He hated that Flip caught him lying, and he hated even more what he’d lied about. Most of all he hated that he was about to explain something he never talked about to anyone outside of family. “The seasickness thing, I just said that because the real story is sordid and I didn’t want to get into it with someone I didn’t know very well.”
For all that Flip probably had professional schooling in how to maintain a neutral expression, he looked as though Brayden had slapped him. “Oh. I apologize. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Interesting—whenever Brayden said something to put Flip on his guard, he reverted to formality. But to hell with it. He wasn’t going to let his weird friendship with Flip—who was not only a goddamn crown prince, but a nice person Brayden connected with despite their vastly different experiences—get screwed up over something that happened almost ten years ago.
“No, it’s fine, it’s a fair question. I….” Brayden frowned at what he was about to say, realizing it was true. “I think it’ll be good to get it off my chest, actually. Though like I said, it’s not a nice story.” He shoveled in another bite of ice cream to fortify himself, but it tasted like ash, so he put down the spoon. “When I was sixteen, my best friend and I were inseparable. We arranged our school schedules so we’d be in the same classes, we joined the soccer team together. We even had a band, though Thomas couldn’t carry a tune in a basket and I was dubious at best on guitar. But we had killer dance moves.
“Obviously I was in love with him.” Proud when his voice didn’t crack, Brayden took another cleansing breath and kept going. “I finally figured out he might feel the same, so on Christmas Day, between breakfast and dinner, I invited him over. I was gonna come clean.”
Flip had stopped eating too, though he was still holding his spoon loosely in his right hand. He didn’t say anything, just waited with bated breath for Brayden to finish.
“He never made it.” There it was—the crack he’d been expecting. “Four-car pileup on the 407. He died instantly.”
If he expected Flip to offer platitudes, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, he was disappointed. “That must have been awful.”
Brayden jerked his head in agreement. “I don’t much feel like celebrating on that anniversary, so.” He usually spent the day consumed by guilt that Thomas’s family would never be whole. But that was definitely too much to saddle Flip with when they’d only really known each other a few days. And a prince would probably think Brayden’s problems were pretty dumb compared to the scale of issues he had to deal with.
“No, I imagine not.” He pushed his plate away. Evidently he’d lost his appetite too. “Do you travel every year on Christmas?”
“Nah. Couldn’t afford it until I became a flight attendant. But my family understood—they all knew how I felt, even if I never said anything, and they leave me alone for the most part. Usually early in the evening my sister shoves a plate of leftovers in my hand and puts on the stupidest comedy she can find.”
“Not a bad tradition, if a little unorthodox. Does she have a favorite?”
Brayden snorted and then admitted, “Actually, these past two years it’s been Thor: Ragnarok.”
Flip coughed to conceal a laugh. “Well, I can’t fault her taste.”
“Right?” Brayden found himself grinning too. He still felt a little raw, but he felt lighter too. “What about you? Any weird holiday traditions?”
“Define ‘weird.’” He twisted his mouth in a wry expression. “Every country in Europe has their own holiday traditions. And in our family, there’s an added spin since my dad is Hindu and we celebrate those holidays too. Sometimes we have to compromise.”
Brayden set his plate aside and found himself leaning in over the table automatically. “Like how?”
“Well, the traditional Christmas meat pie is never made with beef, for one thing.” Flip shrugged. “And this year Gita Jayanti falls on Christmas—that’s the Hindu celebration of the Bhagavad Gita. So Mom will do her usual Christmas address for the public, and Dad will be there, but he’ll spend most of the day fasting and reciting verses.”
“What about you?” Brayden propped his chin on his hand. “What do you do? Or, what will you do, I guess?”
As soon as he said it, he wondered if it weren’t too personal a question. But Flip didn’t bat an eyelash. “The same as my father, probably—meditate in the morning, then presents with Clara and my aunt and mother. And then Dad and I will listen to a webcast from India, probably.”
That sounded nice. Different than what Brayden was used to, but nice. And…. “You’re really close to your dad, aren’t you?”
Flip flushed. “When you’re the only two brown people in the entire European royalty collective, you share a lot of experiences that others don’t understand.”
“I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, obviously, white commoner over here. But that makes sense. It seems like it’s more than that, though. You look up to him.”
This time Flip did seem taken aback. He paused completely and tilted his head as though reassessing Brayden’s motives. “He’s happy. Considerate. Kind. He and my mom, they’re… I guess you haven’t heard the story.”
“The way you say that, I’m the only person in the country who hasn’t.” Brayden batted his eyelashes. “You want to fill me in, or should I google it?”
“God, no. Promise me you won’t google. I’ll never live it down if I get the details wrong.” Flip shook his head. “My parents met at the Night of a Thousand Lights some—I guess it has to be thirty-five, thirt
y-six years ago now. Have I explained what it’s about? It’s… actually kind of terrible.”
Brayden had his elbows on the table; he couldn’t help it. “I feel like I need popcorn. Tell me.”
“My mother’s… ancestors is too far back, but some of her relatives were British nobility who went on, let’s generously call it a colonization tour. And they were so consumed with white guilt they began a scholarship program.”
“I feel like this is definitely more colorful than the Google version.” He really wanted that popcorn, though. “What kind of scholarships?”
“Arts—music, theater, drama, dance, and later cinema.” Cinema. God, he was so unbearably posh. “All ages—children, teens, young adults—in the UK but also here in Lyngria. But of course all the recipients of these scholarships in non-European countries went abroad to train.”
Brayden didn’t bother fighting the eye roll. “Oh, of course.” Because how could a worthy school exist in a place like India.
“Obviously my parents and I have made some fundamental changes to the scholarships. But that’s how it used to work, in a nutshell. And every year there’d be a Night of a Thousand Lights, and top students and alumni from all over the world were invited to attend and perform and rub elbows with various important people.”
By that Brayden inferred directors, conductors, choreographers, producers, and the rest of the -ers and -ors. “I’m with you so far.”
“Well, imagine this—it’s the 1980s. My mother has just assumed the throne at the young age of twenty-seven, after her parents stepped down due to my grandmother’s ailing health. It’s her first time hosting this huge event all by herself. She’s nervous, but she’s faking it really well.
“Before the event opens, it’s traditional for the host to meet all the scholarship recipients in attendance for the event. So Mom put on her tiara and her gown a little early and went down to the ballroom to meet everyone, only she was so nervous she was actually really early—like an hour early. And she decided a queen couldn’t be so indecisive as to go back upstairs thirty seconds after she’d just come down, so she was stuck there when my father came in, lost and looking for a restroom.”
“And he couldn’t leave once he’d seen her either,” Brayden guessed.
“It would have been a bit rude to try to escape the hostess of the party that raises money for the scholarship that gave you your livelihood,” Flip agreed. “Though he readily confesses he didn’t want to escape. Well.” He smiled so broadly the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Brayden was glad he was sitting down so he didn’t swoon. “He did really have to pee by the time the party started.”
Brayden snorted in surprised laughter—not just a little one either but a great piglike honk. He should probably have been mortified, but he caught Flip’s eyes at exactly the wrong moment and saw the humor register there before Flip’s good manners could cover it up. That only made him laugh harder. He snorted again and dissolved into giggles. Across the table, Flip had his hand over his eyes and his shoulders were shaking in silent mirth.
The first time Brayden caught his breath—“Okay, come on, it wasn’t that funny”—Flip hiccupped, and that set them both off again. They had a few more false starts before they managed to get themselves under control, and Flip wiped tears from the corners of his eyes as Brayden clutched his stomach. “I think I have a cramp,” he admitted.
Flip cleared his throat once and then grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and blotted his face. “I haven’t laughed like that in years.”
Something warm and sweet and possessive swept through Brayden—a sense of accomplishment that he could bring that kind of joy to someone who had everything. It left him feeling tender under the ribs. “Me neither.”
“No?” Flip cocked his head. “I would’ve thought…. You seem like the kind of person who lives every moment to the fullest.”
“I am.” Brayden shrugged, suddenly self-conscious, the back of his neck prickling. He smoothed a hand over it. “I do. But I guess….” He frowned, suddenly realizing the truth. “I’m alone for a lot of that. Hard to make yourself belly laugh.”
“I suppose so.”
“Anyway.” Brayden pushed that tender, raw feeling to the side and centered himself. They’d been talking about how Flip’s parents met. “The royal meet-cute. Your mom’s the queen, and your dad—a scholarship kid, you said.”
“He was thirty when they met, and well established in his career. But yes.” When Flip talked about his parents, his eyes took on a kind of dreaminess. Obviously they were all very close. “Mom had never seen any of his films, of course.”
Brayden sat up straighter. “Films?” he echoed. Something in his brain clicked into place. “Your dad’s a movie star?”
“He was, in India in the seventies and eighties. Now he’s prince consort of Lyngria.” Flip gave him a strange look. “You didn’t know any of this? Really?”
Okay, so most people would have googled, but…. “I didn’t want to read up on you and come off like a creeper or embarrass myself reading some fake website.” Brayden’s ears went hot. “Besides, I figured it was just as easy to get the information right from the source.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that my father’s entire body of work is available on Netflix in this country.”
That sounded dangerous. Brayden had sights to see, and he didn’t mean a television screen. “Maybe if we get a rainy day.” Besides, a movie star with a son who looked like Flip? 1970s Flip’s Dad was probably super hot, and lusting after him would be super weird, especially since he was likely to meet the man tomorrow. No, thank you.
“Fair enough. The day must be seized.” Flip straightened his posture and folded his hands neatly on the table. “Anything else you need to know for tomorrow?”
Brayden thought for a moment. “Yeah, just one thing. What exactly are you doing, flying back and forth between here and Toronto every month?”
“My second job.” Flip looked around as though to verify they were alone, which seemed ridiculous, but maybe he was about to divulge a state secret. “The crown owns a diamond operation here in Lyngria. I’ve been setting up a satellite office in Toronto because we’re looking to break into the Canadian market. The plan is to turn the company public so that it will directly fund a universal childcare initiative, but letting go of control means I have to trust the people in charge, and I’m… having trouble with that part.”
“Understandable.” Brayden wondered if that meant that Flip would stop being on his flight a couple times a month. “Sounds like my job will get a lot less interesting soon.”
He must have sounded more bitter than he meant to, or else something showed on his face, because Flip cocked his head. “You don’t like your job?”
Brayden shrugged. “It’s complicated.” It provided a great excuse when his mother asked when he was going to settle down—Mom, I’m never home. Who’d want to date me?—and that’s exactly why he chose it.
Perhaps Flip understood, if the wry smile he gave was an indication. “Isn’t it always.”
Brayden supposed being a prince would have a lot of its own pitfalls. “I guess so.” God, when had the conversation gotten so heavy? They needed to get back on some lighter topics. He pulled the tablet toward himself and forced some brightness into his voice. “So… dessert?”
They chatted a little more about tomorrow and about Brayden’s plans for that evening. Tonight was the light festival, when the people of Lyngria gathered in the streets with candles and sang to welcome the dark in hopes that it would take their troubles with it when it receded. Brayden didn’t put much stock in that, but it was as unique a festival as he’d ever heard of. Just the description gave him goose bumps.
“You’ll enjoy it,” Flip promised. “Just make sure you get an electric candle, or else one of the no-drip ones so you don’t end up with a burn. Ask me how I know.”
Brayden smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”
Before he co
uld say anything else, there was a knock at the door and Celine poked her head in. “Your Highness, I hate to interrupt….”
Flip didn’t sigh, though his expression suggested he might want to. “No, you’re right. Thank you, Celine. Brayden, I hate to leave in the middle of our conversation again….”
Brayden waved him off. A real-life crown prince had taken time out of his day to eat lunch with him. He could hardly complain. “Go on, I know you have important things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Flip smiled. “Yes, you will.”
Chapter Four
FLIP didn’t realize how late it had gotten until the light came on in the hallway, startling him into nearly falling out of his desk chair.
He must have startled his mother too, because she pressed a hand to her breastbone and shook her head. “Flip. I didn’t expect to see you in this part of the palace so late. Don’t tell me you’re working.”
“All right, I won’t tell you.” It was an old joke between them, one they’d each been on both sides of. He glanced at the clock and wished he were surprised by the late hour, but he was exhausted. He’d intended to go to bed hours ago to be well rested for tomorrow, but he had a few things he wanted to accomplish first. And then he kept getting distracted wondering how Brayden was faring at the light festival, whether he’d gotten swept up in the moment or if he felt like an outsider. Probably the former. Brayden seemed to fit in pretty seamlessly anywhere. He took things in stride in a way totally unfamiliar to Flip.
He was probably having a lot more fun than Flip was with the personnel files of everyone who worked in management at the Crown Mining Co.
His mother sighed and came into the library. She leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I wish you hadn’t inherited my work ethic.”
Inherited? His years of tutors and lectures on the responsibility of privilege had drilled it into him. But maybe that was the same thing. He’d inherited the title, at least. “I want to get this proposal ready.” He slid his laptop away and closed it, resisting the temptation to knuckle at his eyes. “I think I’m almost done.”
