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The girl’s father looked over, startled at first and then visibly relieved. “Thank you, monsieur. You’ve saved us some very difficult nights.”

Brayden waved off his thanks as the gate attendant checked the flight ability. “You’re in luck—one seat left, in business class.”

Perfect.

Brayden waited for the paying passengers to finish boarding, and then he wheeled his suitcase down the jet bridge. Just two short hours and he’d be on the ground in Virejas, ready for his next adventure.

This flight was too small for a proper first class. Brayden had seat 3B—a slight disappointment, since he wouldn’t be able to check out his temporary home from the sky, but he’d live. He rolled his bag to his seat and lifted it into the overhead bin—

Only to realize the man in 3A looked very familiar.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Brayden smiled and folded himself into the chair. So much better than the jump seats. “Hope you don’t mind slumming it with me for a few hours. I promise I can occupy myself.” He held up his phone as if for proof.

“Well, that’s fortunate—these puddle jumpers haven’t been fitted with the full arsenal of in-flight entertainment options yet.” Antoine gave him a rueful smile. “No Dirk Gently .”

Brayden couldn’t help but smile back. Joanna had a point—this guy was handsome . “Oh God, a travesty. I’ll take it up with management. But not for another three weeks.”

“Vacation?” Antoine inquired. “In Lyngria? In the dead of winter?”

Brayden shrugged. “Most of my family is going on a Christmas cruise, but I get seasick, even on the biggest ones. Besides, I’ve always wanted to check out the winter markets and the light festival.

And I know it’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll even get lucky and catch a glimpse of the aurora. That’s bucket-list stuff, you know?”

“Fair enough. But I hope you packed your woollies.”

Brayden had a spare uniform, two civilian changes of clothes, a winter jacket, and some heavy boots. “I’m Canadian.”

Antoine smiled, a sly, knowing thing that reminded Brayden that as of twenty minutes ago, he was officially on vacation. “So you know about thermal underwear.”

Laughing, Brayden admitted, “Yes, but I’m too vain to hang up my Andrew Christians over a little cold weather.”

It was a perfect setup—Brayden could list five or six witticisms off the top of his head—but instead of choosing any one of them, Antoine briefly opened his mouth and then offered that reserved smile he used when Brayden asked if he wanted anything else, and said, “I see.”

Which was… weird. Then again, they’d just had a long flight, so maybe he didn’t want to talk.

Brayden could respect that. He buckled his seat belt, ignored the little frisson he felt when Antoine handed over the buckle, which had been tucked under his leg, and thumbed open his phone to his travel guide.

By beverage service Brayden had forgotten all about his seatmate’s hot-and-cold act. He looked up as the hostess parked her cart next to their row, but she looked right over his head at Antoine. “Welcome home, sir. I hope your flights have been agreeable?”

That measured, practiced smile again. “I’ve no complaints, Bridget, I assure you.”

Bridget poured coffee and handed it over with one cream and one sugar. “We’re all looking forward to the Night of a Thousand Lights. My nephew is one of the charity scholarships this year—fine arts. He’s studying in New York.”

Antoine set the coffee on his tray. “That’s wonderful. He must be very talented.”

Obviously Antoine wasn’t just some ordinary rich guy.

Not like Brayden’s uncle, who’d won the lottery this past April, but like, really rich—the kind of rich where you couldn’t ever spend all the money you had.

And important too, if he was somehow associated with the Night of a Thousand Lights, whatever that was.

“We’re all so proud of him,” she gushed, but she caught herself—Brayden could see it in her face as professionalism took over and her tone changed. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Antoine shook his head. “No, just the coffee, thank you, Bridget. Oh, but I don’t know about Brayden?”

“Also coffee,” Brayden said too quickly, a bit embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. “Thank you.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Both.”

Bridget left them after that, and Brayden turned his cup this way and that, watching the liquid slosh up to the rim, lost in thought, until Antoine cleared his throat. “Well. Now you know my secret.”

Brayden looked up. “Secret? What, that you’re the sort of posh person who attends fancy charity balls and who people recognize on international flights? I figured out most of that on my own, actually.”

“Touché.” Antoine shook his head and peeled back the corner of the creamer. “I meant that I’m….”

After a few seconds, when he still hadn’t finished the sentence, Brayden took a sip of his own coffee. “That you’re…?” he prompted.

Antoine sighed and shook his head, perhaps deciding he didn’t want to talk after all. But then a curious expression came across his face and he looked at Brayden, eyes narrowed in assessment. “Three weeks in Lyngria, you said? Any plans in particular?”

Flip couldn’t quite believe his own nerve. Then again, he’d been raised to weigh boldness and caution, and perhaps he’d been afforded a rare opportunity. He’d be a fool not to take advantage.

“You see,” he went on, when Brayden confirmed that he had no particular agenda, “you might have heard I’m hosting an event later this week. The Night of a Thousand Lights?”

Brayden’s generous mouth twitched in an aborted smile. “I think I heard something about that. Going to be on national TV and everything.”

Well, the crown owned the national TV station, so yes. Flip cleared his throat. “I find myself in the unenviable position of playing host without an escort of my own to pull me away when conversations become tedious.”

Brayden had been sipping his coffee, and he spluttered a bit and reached for his napkin. “Uh, when you say escort —”

Damn North American euphemisms anyway. “I meant a date,” Flip clarified quickly. “Not the other sort.”

“A date, huh? To a fancy dance?” He licked his lips, chasing away a stray drop of coffee. “To be clear, are you asking me?”

Flip nodded once and resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his suit pants.

Why was it suddenly so warm in business class?

“Yes, I—if you’re still available.” As though Brayden could have made plans in the three minutes since the conversation had begun, but Flip felt as though he owed the man a graceful exit.

“I know you’re only in town for a few weeks, but I would enjoy your company, and your presence would shield me from a number of well-intentioned matchmakers.

I would, of course, take care of all the details. ”

“Details?” Brayden echoed. “I, um. I’m flattered, and actually, rescuing you from people who want to bore you to tears sounds like it might be fun, but I definitely didn’t bring a suit, and I imagine this kind of event has a strict dress code.”

“Black tie,” Flip admitted as Brayden winced. “Don’t make that face. It was white tie last year. This was a major concession on the part of the royal tailor.”

“That is not a real thing.”

It was, but Brayden likely wouldn’t believe it until he met the woman.

“If you’re amenable to an evening of dancing and canapés, I will of course provide a suitable ensemble, including access to the royal tailor.

” Bernadette would love to get her pins on Brayden’s figure.

“No strings attached,” he added in an uncharacteristically desperate bid to secure Brayden’s agreement.

“Dancing and canapés and a free tux,” Brayden mused. “That does sound pretty awesome.”

Flip’s spirits lifted. “So you’ll come?”

He realized the innuendo too late, but Brayden took pity on him and didn’t comment. “Yes,” he said and held out his hand. Flip shook it eagerly. Brayden’s grip was strong and sure. “It’s a date.”

Oh bollocks . It really was.