Page 28

I love him . Flip let himself consciously use the word for the first time. It felt right, as cozy and warm as the fire and the blanket.

“Zany, six letters?”

“Madcap,” Flip murmured, flexing his toes.

His mother had been right. He couldn’t let Brayden slip away from him. Flip would wait until Christmas was over, with all the negative associations it held for Brayden. And then he would do something the opposite of impulsive.

Christmas morning Flip woke Brayden with a soft kiss on the cheek. “Morning, love. Merry Christmas.”

Brayden was still mostly asleep, warm and happy to laze around in Flip’s bed. Better still if he could get Flip to laze with him. “Mmm. Happy Gita Jayanti. Come back to bed.”

Flip chuckled and ran his fingers through Brayden’s hair. “My father’s expecting me. But there’s breakfast in the family room in a few hours if you want to come.”

Brayden mumbled in agreement and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, his stomach was rumbling.

A glance at the clock showed he wouldn’t be late for Christmas breakfast if he hurried, and he wanted to be there when Flip’s family members opened their presents, so he brushed his teeth, put on his own nicest jeans and one of the beautiful amethyst sweaters Cedric had procured for him, and hustled off to the common rooms.

“Brayden!”

For a moment he almost didn’t recognize Queen Constance.

Today she wore her hair down instead of in a no-nonsense bun, and she’d eschewed makeup and her usual pristine suit, instead favoring flannel pajamas with reindeer on them.

She kissed Brayden’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, darling. Are you hungry? We’re making pancakes. ”

They did actually seem to be doing the work themselves—Ines and Clara stood in the kitchenette area of the suite, bedecked in holiday-themed aprons and wielding spatulas.

“Merry Christmas,” Brayden replied. He missed his own family, but he was profoundly glad to be included in this one. “Pancakes sound great.”

“Irfan and Flip should be along shortly.” Constance went to the cupboards and took down plates. “Not that they’re any better in the kitchen than these two,” she added conspiratorially and passed the plates to Brayden so he could set the breakfast table.

As she said that, Ines, at Clara’s urging, attempted to flip a pancake without a spatula. She managed to catch half of it, leaving the rest splattered down the outside of the pan, on the floor, and on their feet.

Brayden looked from the mess to Constance. “Maybe I should lend a hand.”

He ended up working three frying pans while his sous chefs transferred finished pancakes to a warming dish. Clara told silly jokes all the while, and Brayden laughed at every one.

He didn’t realize Flip and Irfan had come in until arms wrapped around his waist and a familiar mouth found his neck. Casual PDA in front of the family. Was that where their relationship was now?

Flip bestowed a quick, quiet kiss and then withdrew. “Can I help with anything?”

“No,” Brayden said wryly and warded him off with the spatula. “I’ve been warned about your kitchen skills. Go have your mother put you to work.”

They sat down to breakfast as a family, and then Flip and Irfan were directed to cleanup duty while Clara was finally allowed to begin sorting the presents under the tree into piles by recipient.

Constance made tea, and everyone gathered on the sofas.

It was nothing at all like Brayden’s typical family Christmases, but it felt homey and authentic, even though they were nestled in one of the grander buildings in the country.

Ines added a log to the fire and then settled in an armchair and looked at Constance. Before either of them could say anything, Clara piped up, “Can we open them now ?”

Now that refrain Brayden was used to hearing at family holidays. He pretended to scratch his nose to cover his smile.

It wasn’t until he was settling into bed next to Flip that he remembered that today was also the tenth anniversary of Thomas’s death.

He inhaled sharply at the realization and rubbed his hand over his breastbone until Flip reached up and gently clasped his wrist.

“Okay?” Flip asked quietly.

Brayden let the breath out again, slow and steady, and exhaled the worst of the pain along with it. It still hurt, but at some point over the past few weeks, he’d let go of the guilt. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

Flip kissed his forehead. “You’re welcome.”

Brayden was still in bed when Flip got up on the twenty-sixth, determined to accomplish as much of his lengthy to-do list as possible before noon so he could spend the rest of the day with Brayden.

They could have a long chat and still have plenty of time to celebrate if things went well, which Flip hoped they would.

First, though, he had to get through the morning.

Which meant putting on a very patient face for the cabinet minister in his public office, who was droning on about how much Flip’s support for his bill meant and never mind that Flip wasn’t supposed to have a public opinion on how the democracy worked.

“I really think that if you just talked to Counselor St. Louis and explained your position,” the man was saying, completely disregarding all of Flip’s diplomatic attempts to point out that he wasn’t going to do it.

For God’s sake, man, parliament isn’t even in session until January. Go away, I intend to propose to my boyfriend today and I don’t have time for this.

When, after nearly forty minutes, the man still hadn’t gotten the hint, Flip was forced to resort to less diplomatic tactics.

“Minister Bechard, I appreciate your dedication to your cause, but to intervene in the course of democracy is a serious breach of protocol and one that I will not be committing over a bill that defines how much pesticide can be used on organic produce.”

Minister Bechard looked taken aback. “Oh—well, of course, Your Highness, I wasn’t suggesting—”

Yes he was, and Flip was done listening to it. “I apologize for my bluntness, Minister, but I’m afraid I have a very busy day scheduled”—large portions of it in bed, with any luck—“and I really have to make my next appointment. I’m sure you have your own matters to attend to.” Read: fuck off.

Minister Bechard left in a bit of a huff, but Flip couldn’t bring himself to care.

He caught up to Brayden in his apartment, where Brayden was sitting at the breakfast table, idly tapping a pencil on a pad of paper.

He looked up with a smile when Flip came in.

“Hey.” The tension melted away from Flip’s shoulders and his incipient minister-induced headache receded, all because Brayden looked at him and smiled.

Oh God, what if he said no?

Flip pushed the door closed and let himself lean against it for a moment, for strength. Then he drew himself to his full height. “Good morning. I… wish to talk to you about something.”

Smooth. He grimaced at himself as the smile faded from Brayden’s face. “Okay. What’s up?”

Flip could do this. His palms were sweating, but how many times had he made a public address?

Hundreds since he was a teenager. He’d even insisted on speaking at the press conference after Miles’s account of their relationship was published.

“When we first began our arrangement, I needed your help, and you rose admirably to the task.”

Brayden said nothing, only tilted his head as though he were confused where this was going.

Flip pushed on. What was the saying? You couldn’t make a cake without breaking a few eggs, right?

“But very soon it wasn’t only my parents whose scrutiny we had to endure.

Once the media became interested in our story, everything became…

regretfully more complicated.” He wished for Brayden’s sake that they’d had more privacy to get to know one another, though in truth, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset at the outcome.

“If this is about my Instagram account being discovered,” Brayden ventured cautiously, “I just want you to know I deleted it. If I’d thought anyone would find it, I never would’ve….”

Damn it, Flip should have talked with him about that.

Now his train of thought had been derailed.

“This isn’t about that,” Flip said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

The whole conversation had gotten away from him.

He put his hand in his jacket pocket, closed it around the ring box, and clutched it like a talisman.

Just a few more sentences and they could celebrate.

He hoped. “Some more critical members of the press might have dubbed you unsuitable a match for me. But while you have conducted yourself well—”

Frantic knocking on the door at his back interrupted. Bollocks. Flip closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to let his agitation infect his voice. “Yes?”

“Sir, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.” Cedric’s voice put Flip instantly on alert, and he spun around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we’ve just gotten word—your uncle has been arrested. Your mother has requested your presence right away.”

Sod everything. Flip looked beseechingly at Brayden. “Brayden, I’m so sorry. I really do have to go.”

Brayden nodded, pale-faced. “Sure. I understand.”

“ Thank you ,” Flip said fervently. And with that, he hurried into the hall after Cedric.

When the door closed behind Flip, Brayden inhaled deeply. Or he tried, at least. The breath got stuck halfway and hitched, and he had to swallow down a wave of emotion.

He hadn’t expected their relationship to end like this. Though maybe he should have.