Page 26

“Yeah. Uh, it’s not every day you not only have to meet your boyfriend’s parents, you have to meet your boyfriend’s parents, who govern a small European nation.”

“We do okay.” Irfan preened.

Brayden held back a smile. “Sorry, that should be ‘your boyfriend’s mother, who governs a small European nation, and her husband, who used to be a movie star.’”

“I’m like Grace Kelly.”

Why had Brayden been nervous about this outing, again? “Exactly.”

Lyngria didn’t have much in the way of shopping malls, having escaped the widespread damage of World War II that paved the way for such developments in neighboring countries.

Instead, Irfan parked in an underground lot, and their security detail led them to a set of pedestrian-only streets with small shops lining each side.

“First stop,” Irfan said with his characteristic cheer. But instead of entering one of the shops, he walked up to a small newspaper stand run by a smiling woman with a bindi.

Oh God, Brayden realized as Irfan and the woman exchanged words in Hindi.

Irfan had come to collect gossip rags and newspapers.

The racks at the stand were full of them—English, German, French, Polish, even a couple with writing systems Brayden couldn’t identify.

He ran his fingers over the covers and front pages of a few and marveled at the absurdity of it all while Irfan talked to his friend.

UFOs on this one. Bigfoot on that one. Speculation as to the true parentage of some Greek aristocrat.

The next rack over was a bit more tame, featuring nonbonkers headlines about the financial market, a jewelry heist that got busted, the latest of various political goings-on.

And then he saw his own face. He tilted his head, and his heart sank as he read the headline.

Glass Houses—Inside Prince Flip’s Secret World

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Brayden hastily looked around, but the street seemed miraculously empty.

Maybe Irfan’s guards had cleared it out prior to their trip, or maybe people had deduced that the thick gray clouds overhead portended a thick, fierce snowstorm.

Either way, Irfan was busy, and there was no one else to watch him as he discreetly reached for the tabloid and flipped through it so he could read the article.

Could Prince Flip’s new suitor be offering a window into the private life of Lyngria’s most (in)eligible bachelor?

It certainly seems that way. Savvy Instagram users have ferreted out the secret handle of Brayden Wood, Flip’s brand-new beau—so new, in fact, that as recently as October, Wood tagged a picture of a drink at a Paris establishment well-known for its hookup culture with #noboyfriendnoproblems.

Brayden’s stomach dropped. How had they found him?

He didn’t use his real name on Instagram, and he certainly hadn’t taken any pictures of the royal family or used them in hashtags.

His handle was @whatwoodbdo. A little corny, maybe a bit suggestive…

but not something that should’ve been picked up unless someone was specifically looking for it.

Of course someone went looking for it.

Since his arrival in Lyngria, Wood has treated his followers to a unique glance inside the world of our future monarch—and it looks a lot more familiar than one might think.

The collection of Lyngria-based photographs includes a shot of poutine ice cream from Virejas’s own Temmel Eis (aptly captioned “lunch fit for a king”), one of Wood’s ensemble for the Night of a Thousand Lights Ball (“#notasugardaddy”), and a set of wineglasses from what seems to be a surprise romantic getaway.

Brayden felt sick. On the one hand, he hadn’t posted anything damning. On the other, the idea that he might have inadvertently allowed the whole world to spy on their intimate stay in Finland made him want to throw up and then toss his phone in the canal.

The tabloid had run a few of the pictures as well and included a note that it had archived them on its own site in case he locked down his Instagram. Which he should have done two weeks ago, clearly.

While little is known about Brayden Wood aside from his occupation and his skill on the dance floor, it seems his social media may have much to tell us. We can only hope that his future posts will be as enlightening as these.

Brayden put the newspaper down, his ears hot with shame and his stomach a burbling mess. The tabloids they’d read the day after the ball had made him laugh. But back then there’d been no stakes. Now?

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 na?ve.

“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 but old . 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.

Irfan waved this off. “We just buy them online like everybody else.”

Brayden wondered about the name on Flip’s credit card. Would it say Antoine Philippe like the entry on the passenger manifest? Or maybe Antoine-Phillipe of Lyngria? That probably wouldn’t fit on a single piece of plastic. “The royals,” he mocked, referencing a hundred memes. “They’re just like us.”

“Only when we’re not swimming in piles of money.”

“Or holding audiences with—who was Flip off to talk to today?”