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Flip kept his eyes on Brayden, who was across the room cleaning up the board game with Clara. “Dad. It’s a little soon—”

“Sweetheart,” Flip’s mother broke in, touching her husband’s elbow. “Let me handle this one.”

Irfan kissed her cheek and went to help pick up the games, and Flip’s mother led him away from the living area to her private office, where she sat him on the love seat.

The very first time she’d invited Flip in there, he was fifteen and suffering public heartache, debating whether he should return to boarding school.

Remembering those days didn’t do much for his composure now.

“Your father means well,” his mother told him. She took the seat next to him but angled her body toward him. “But you and I are wired differently from him. We’re quieter, less impulsive. More considered.”

Already Flip found himself nodding, relieved as the tension released from his body.

“And as much as your father loves us, as much as he’s part of our lives, he will never experience the stress that comes with being a country’s figurehead.”

It felt dishonest to agree to that—Flip’s dad experienced plenty of stress related to being a member of the royal family, doubly so because his skin color made him a prime target.

And every trial he and his mother went through, his father was there to lighten their burdens.

But perhaps his mother had a point. “Being prince consort has its own pitfalls.”

“I’ve done well in teaching you diplomacy.” His mother smiled at him and reached for his hand. “Flip. You are my son, and I am so proud of the man you’ve become. I know that one day you will be a kind, compassionate, strong king.”

His throat swelled with emotion, and he swallowed. Before he could answer, his mother went on.

“I have no doubt that whatever happens, you will be beloved by your people, and you will do right by them, and the country will be better for your guidance. I have never worried over your prudence or your judgment or your fairness in matters of state.” She squeezed his hand.

“But ever since you were a boy, I have worried over your happiness.”

Flip swallowed the lump in his throat. “Mom—”

She raised her hand. “Let me finish. I know that Miles hurt you deeply, though you tried so hard not to let it show. I know that since then, you have been meticulous in choosing partners who would be suitable, respectable members of the royal family, partners whose qualifications no one could criticize. But sweetheart, let me ask you something. Do you think your father and I are happy?”

Disoriented by the direction the conversation had taken, Flip blinked. “Of course.” His parents rarely fought, and most of their disagreements fell into the category of “playful.”

“Do you imagine that foremost among his qualifications was ‘suitable in the eyes of the tabloid press’?”

That brought Flip up short. “No, of course not.”

His mother raised an articulate eyebrow, and Flip knew he was about to be crushed under the weight of motherly logic.

“And yet you made it a qualification when you searched for a love of your own—to your detriment, I think. So you can imagine my joy when I realized you had set that expectation aside.” She paused. “You have set it aside, haven’t you?”

Oh. That was what she was getting at. Flip squirmed. “I don’t know. It’s—our relationship is so new. I didn’t intend for it to get so serious so quickly. I….”

She was smiling, which brought Flip up short. “What?”

“Nothing, sweetheart.” She let go of his hand, cupped his face for a moment, and shook her head. “Only that you remind me of myself thirty-some years ago, trying to make myself believe I was moving too fast when I knew exactly what I wanted.”

Flip’s throat went dry. “Mom?”

“People conveniently forget, you know, when they tell the story of how your father swept me off my feet—which he did. But people forget I was already queen then. Your father was hardly going to propose marriage.”

She paused to let this sink in.

The penny dropped. “ You proposed?”

Her lips curled into a satisfied smile that might have looked smug on someone with a less regal bearing. “Now, Flip, I know I’ve taught you about making assumptions based on gender.”

“Gender nothing!” he said. “I never thought you’d be so impulsive!” Such a move seemed completely out of character. “Why have I never heard this story?”

“You never asked. But maybe you should have. You know no one proposes to royalty unless they’re royal themselves.

” His mother shook her head. “And believe me, it wasn’t impulsive.

Sweetheart, I’m a smart woman prone to some amount of introspection.

I knew your father was the one for me, and I acted.

And all these years later, I don’t have a single regret. ”

He felt as though the earth had shifted on its axis.

Would he have behaved differently if he’d understood why he’d effectively been sabotaging every adult relationship he’d ever had? If he’d understood that he hadn’t needed to? Perhaps he’d cost himself a chance at happiness somewhere along the way.

Perhaps, a very insistent voice in his head told him, he had cost himself a chance at happiness with Brayden already, simply because he’d treated their acquaintance as a convenient sham relationship from the start.

But then again, even more terrifying, maybe he hadn’t ruined everything.

After all, he still had a little over two weeks before Brayden had to go home.

If his father could convince his mother they were meant to be in just three weeks, why not Flip?

“I can see I’ve given you something to think about,” his mother said, a trace of laughter in her voice.

“I… yes,” Flip admitted. “Thank you. I think.”

His mother shooed him away. “Good. Now go get your man.”

A visit to the diamond mine had been on Brayden’s Maybe list, but once the opportunity came up to visit it with the nation’s crown prince and get behind-the-scenes access, it jumped up several spots and landed firmly on his Must-see list instead.

Especially since, though Clara was lovely, Brayden would go nuts if he spent another day lazing around the palace.

What did spare royals do all the time, anyway? Surely they couldn’t all be knitting.

Monday morning, instead of lazing around in bed until Flip left and then meandering to the gym and then tracking down Clara for some company, he got up when Flip did and ordered them breakfast—still odd but becoming worryingly less so by the day.

He ate while Flip showered, and then they switched places.

Of course, everything became just slightly more complicated when Brayden realized that he’d have to dress with the assumption that he’d be in the public eye. People would critique his clothing. A telephoto lens might notice that bit of stubble Brayden hadn’t quite managed to shave off.

He went back into the bathroom and shaved again and only realized he was in danger of making them late when Flip knocked on the door as he was standing half-naked in front of the wardrobe. “Brayden? Is everything okay?”

Brayden threw open the door. “What do I wear?”

For a heartbeat Flip just blinked at him.

Considering their relationship was strictly, maddeningly fake, Brayden was spending a not-insignificant amount of time undressed in Flip’s presence, he realized as Flip carefully kept his eyes above Brayden’s nipples.

“Clothes?” he suggested. He indicated Brayden’s boxer briefs and socks. “That’s a good start.”

“Give me a hint, here. I’m not used to being important enough for people to care what I’m wearing if I’m not at work. Well, Grandma doesn’t care for plaid or T-shirts with profanity.”

“What’s wrong with profanity?” Flip approached the closet and sifted through it.

“This isn’t an official state visit, just a sort of business one, so the chinos will be fine.

The ankle boots—we’ll be out in the countryside, and there’s likely to be snow or mud, so that’s practical as well as fashionable. ”

Brayden filed these tidbits of information away as if he’d need them again beyond the next two weeks. “Okay, great,” he said. “And then?”

Flip turned and gave him a once-over that left Brayden feeling like his pants were about to shrink.

He shook them out and shoved one leg in immediately, hoping for some camouflage, as Flip reached into the closet and selected a shawl-neck sweater in heathered purple.

“This one, I think. You’ll be warm but not uncomfortable. ”

“I haven’t worn this much purple since I gave up being a twink,” Brayden half joked as he wiggled into the other pant leg. “But it’s like half the clothes Cedric picked out for me are….”

Flip was blushing, looking away. Because he was embarrassed Brayden had lost all his modesty by age fifteen? Or…?

“I suppose there’s some significance to the color?”

“It’s the traditional color associated with the heir to the throne,” Flip admitted somewhat sheepishly.

So essentially, Brayden had been walking around with a metaphorical “property of” sticker. He couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about it. “Ah. Fortunately I look great in this color.”

“Yes,” Flip agreed simply. “It suits you.”

They managed to make it to their appointment on time.

Brayden stared out the window of the car as they approached, expecting an immense ugly hole in the ground to dominate the landscape.

He knew the mine had been in operation for almost a hundred years.

But though the grounds lacked much in the way of tree cover, the surroundings fell short of his bleak expectations.

“Is the actual mine elsewhere?” he asked, pointing. “This seems… I don’t know, I expected something else.”