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Brayden had to stop waking up like this.

Ever since Friday night, when it seemed like some kind of dam had broken between them, he and Flip had been behaving like heat-seeking missiles.

They went to bed firmly on their own sides, and then Brayden woke up clinging to Flip like an octopus, or, for a fun twist this morning, with Flip plastered against his back.

Brayden hadn’t ever spent a real morning after with a boyfriend—largely because he didn’t have boyfriends.

But that wouldn’t have been like this anyway—it wouldn’t have carried this sort of illicit thrill, seasoned with equal parts shame and self-indulgence and a liberal sprinkling of what do you think you’re doing .

What Brayden was doing was holding very still, hoping Flip didn’t realize he’d woken up.

What he wanted to do was wiggle around a little to see if he could get a better idea of what Flip was packing under those pajamas—though with the way Flip was pressed against him, his hips flush with Brayden’s ass, it wasn’t like he didn’t have some idea.

And it was a good idea.

Even if Brayden had wanted to go anywhere, he probably couldn’t have managed it without waking Flip, whose breath he could feel on the back of his neck and who had slung his arm around Brayden’s stomach to boot.

Brayden was so hard that if Flip moved his hand a half inch lower, he could steal third.

I guess I’ll just stay here, then. And think about… all the things he’d been avoiding.

About how easy it was to be around Flip, even though his life wasn’t easy. About how welcome Brayden felt in the palace, with Flip’s family. About how he fit into their lives just as seamlessly as he fit in Flip’s arms.

About how good it felt to be there.

You’ve been doing so well until now. Don’t fuck it up by falling in love, for the first time in ten years, with the prince you’re fake dating, you absolute idiot.

On the other hand, wasn’t it good penance? If Brayden fell in love with Flip and had to leave when his vacation was over and go back to his life, wouldn’t that heartache cancel out the one he’d caused when Thomas died?

The idea was stupid. Brayden knew there were no cosmic balances. Nothing he ever did would make up for Thomas being gone, and if he were honest with himself, he knew that it wasn’t his fault and that he had nothing to make up for. But knowing those things intellectually didn’t make a difference.

Brains were dumb.

“Stop thinking so loud,” Flip rumbled, an inch from Brayden’s ear, and Brayden’s upstairs brain went offline entirely.

That was just not fair . A handsome prince who wasn’t stuck-up, who danced like he’d been taught by Brayden’s grandmother, who had a sharp wit and a warm embrace and a frankly ridiculous body—maybe Brayden should join him and Irfan for yoga?

—and his morning voice promised exquisite debauchery of the slow and painstaking variety.

“Sorry,” Brayden rasped. “I was trying not to wake you.” He wondered how long Flip had been lying there and whether he’d been afraid to move too… perhaps out of politeness.

“Well, now that we’re both up—”

Brayden felt himself go scarlet. He thought he could feel the heat from Flip’s face too, as he blushed. “Nice choice of words,” Brayden managed.

“You’re a terrible influence,” Flip said, mostly into the pillow. Then he rolled away and left Brayden with a suddenly cold backside. He turned to face Flip.

“On the plus side, that was a great icebreaker. ‘Good morning, I’m definitely thinking about your dick right now.’”

Flip muffled something into the pillow that might have been a very quiet scream of frustration. Then he raised his head. “Good morning, Brayden. You’re in fine form this morning.”

“What can I say? You’re an excellent straight man.”

“I live to serve.” He slung his legs over the side of the bed, and Brayden didn’t bother to pretend not to watch. Flip was obviously still hard as he slid into his slippers and reached for his bathrobe. “You should get up and get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

“Oh yeah?” Brayden copied his actions, grateful for the bathrobe hanging on the hook on the side of the bedpost. The weather had turned cold—but not cold enough to dissuade his dick just yet. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to do something we haven’t done before,” Flip said a bit mysteriously. He reached into the wardrobe and withdrew Brayden’s rolling suitcase. “We’ll be gone two nights. Pack warm.” He slinked toward the bathroom.

Brayden’s jaw dropped. “But where are we going ?”

Flip turned from just inside the door and stuck his head out. “Sightseeing.”

Flip knew there was a slight chance he was about to fuck everything up forever. But he thought—he was pretty sure—Brayden really cared about him. Maybe it wasn’t love yet, but it could be.

Now that he was ready to make final decisions on the Crown Mining Co., he didn’t have to fly back and forth to Toronto anymore, and if he didn’t make a move sooner or later, he’d lose Brayden by default. That was unacceptable.

If things turned awkward, he could always claim he was making things up to Brayden by making sure he got to tick something off his bucket list.

“Private jet, huh?” Brayden said as they buckled themselves in.

This one had eight seats, but they were the only ones on board—an extravagant expense Flip wouldn’t normally have gone for, especially considering the environmental impact, but it was a special occasion. Or so he hoped. He simply nodded.

“Trying to impress me?” Brayden continued.

“If I wanted to do that, I could have let you stay home and play with the heated floor in the bathroom.”

“True.”

“There’s no flight crew, though,” Flip said apologetically. “Tough to get staff this close to a holiday, I suppose. So if you want anything from the minibar, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

Brayden rolled his eyes and then bent his neck to peer out the window as though he could divine their destination from their position on the tarmac.

Flip was pretty sure even a very seasoned traveler couldn’t do that.

“Sounds like work,” Brayden commented. “How long’s this flight?”

He was fishing, but Flip indulged him. “Two and a half, three hours?” Brayden hadn’t asked the aircraft’s top speed yet, so that information likely wouldn’t be enough for him to guess. “Are you going to ask questions the entire flight?”

“Would you prefer I put on my work uniform and serve you?” Brayden said wickedly.

Flip shuddered. “Lord, if the pilot ever spoke to the press, they’d have a field day wondering whether I’m an arsehole or if we’re just very into weird role play.”

Brayden fluttered his eyelashes. “What’s weird about it?”

“I can’t imagine it would be much fun for you role-playing your day job.”

“Eh.” Brayden shrugged, but he still had that gleam in his eye that foretold mischief. “I’ve never gotten to join the Mile High Club, for example. Lifetime regret.”

Oh God. In that moment Flip was deeply thankful for his years spent schooling his expression into something more neutral than—how had Brayden put it earlier?— good morning, I’m thinking about your dick . “Maybe on the way home,” Flip deadpanned.

Brayden’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, and for a second Flip wondered if he was going to have to clarify whether he was serious, which would be difficult, since he didn’t know. But then the pilot came on the speaker system and directed their attention to the in-flight safety video.

“Oh, man, I’ve seen this one.” Brayden sighed and shot Flip a sly smile.

Grateful for the reprieve, Flip rolled his eyes on cue.

For the first quarter of their flight, Brayden kept his nose pressed to the window. Unfortunately for him, today was the darkest day of the year—this close to the north pole, the sun’s light cast barely more than a match’s glow over the landscape, and it burned out nearly as fast.

Even if Brayden could have recognized landmarks by lit-up streets and buildings, there wasn’t anything to see. The plane was crossing the Baltic.

“The suspense is killing me,” Brayden grumbled, but he didn’t seem to have his heart in it. A constant smile played on his lips, and he jiggled his leg as they ascended to cruising altitude.

When the plane leveled off, he got up and went to the minifridge, laughed, and returned with three bags of peanuts for Flip, which he dropped in his lap.

“Individual servings of wine,” he commented as he set the tiny bottles on his seat so he could return for the glassware. “It’s just like I’m at home.”

“In that case, maybe I should pour.” He did, and they touched glasses.

“What are we toasting?” Brayden asked.

Good question. “Clear skies, I think.” Otherwise the whole trip would be—well, it would be a blatantly romantic overture but without the distraction of fulfilling an item on Brayden’s bucket list.

“To clear skies, then.”

Brayden took a picture of their glasses next to each other on their trays, presumably to post to Instagram later.

When they deplaned, the airstrip lights illuminated a little halo around them.

The wind whipped into Flip’s face and froze the hair in his nostrils, and his breath hung in the air.

He’d put on his gloves and scarf and changed into heavy boots on the plane.

Even so, he wasn’t used to weather this cold—even in Toronto.

“You weren’t kidding when you said to pack warm.” Brayden shivered despite the thick parka Flip’s stylist had picked out for him.

Flip wanted to put his arm around him. Soon. With a little luck, anyway.

Their SUV pulled up just a moment later, followed by another. The first driver handed Flip the keys to the Range Rover, loaded their luggage into the boot, and got into the second vehicle. All perfectly mysterious and designed to keep Brayden in suspense.

“I’m dying here,” Brayden said good-naturedly as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”