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Brayden filled his Wednesday with cultural experiences—a morning at the national museum, a boat ride through the city’s canals, and then a guided walking food tour.

The food tour was his favorite. The guide pointed out well-kept local secrets and places that didn’t make TripAdvisor lists, and recommended specialty dishes in each restaurant or café.

And at the end, he mentioned he was celebrating his first anniversary of starting the company, and he bought everyone a round of drinks.

Brayden clinked glasses of lingonberry beer—apparently a Christmas specialty—with his fellow travelers and didn’t think at all about the country’s crown prince or what he might be up to.

Well. Not much , anyway. Not until he got back to his hotel and found a neatly wrapped parcel waiting for him at the foot of his bed. Curious, he removed the lid of the box and brushed aside a sheet of tissue paper to reveal—

Underwear—basic black underwear in a boxer-brief cut. One pair, with a smooth, satiny sheen along the waistband.

Brayden didn’t know what these very normal-looking underwear had done to warrant the fancy presentation until he lifted them from the tissue and realized they were made of some kind of space cotton or something, because no material made on earth had ever felt so soft and smooth.

The legs had no visible hem, but the fabric seemed unfrayable.

James Bond underwear.

He couldn’t decide whether to be amused, flattered, or offended. Maybe he should try them on and decide afterward.

But no—integrity first. He took out his phone and composed a text, taking a moment to appreciate how completely absurd it was that he had a mobile number for the crown prince of a European nation.

I know I have to let you buy me a tux , he wrote, but the underwear are more an escort thing than a date one. FYI.

He didn’t expect a reply—for all he knew this wasn’t even Flip’s direct line, and oh God, maybe he’d just aired the crown prince’s dirty laundry to some poor PA or something and Flip would be mortally embarrassed…

if embarrassment happened to royalty. But his phone chimed a moment later and answered almost all of his questions.

Bernadette sends a pair with every suit purchase to ensure we don’t ruin the lines of her art. I’m sorry. I should have warned you.

Well, that made Brayden feel better, but also worse because he’d bugged Flip about something when the guy was obviously busy.

I feel so important—the royal tailor micromanaging my underpants.

He paused and debated whether to continue.

What the hell. Flip wasn’t obligated to respond.

Hope whatever damsel you rescued yesterday appreciated your intervention.

He set the phone on the nightstand and went to clean up before bed, because he still had jet lag and that lingonberry beer had him feeling warm and drowsy. When he returned, his phone flashed with a few new messages.

The first was a picture of Flip sitting in an armchair with a lapful of child, probably a girl from the length of the blonde hair. Based on her pose and the hour, Brayden guessed she was fast asleep.

The royal etiquette handbook frowns on selfies, but I had Johan take this one, so it doesn’t count. Princess Clara thanks you for yielding your claim on my time.

Brayden went warm at being trusted with the photograph.

Maybe this date was just a favor and a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but still.

He’d earned the trust and friendship of a prince.

That was pretty special in itself… and a prince who was sweet with kids too.

Brayden was soft for that. Etiquette handbook, eh?

You can give me the cliff’s notes tomorrow.

Bedtime for me. Good night to you and Princess Clara.

Good night, Brayden.

He woke up to an email from his sister. Part of him wanted to avoid opening it, but if he did, she’d just message him on WhatsApp or stalk his Instagram.

Apparently she’d already been stalking his Instagram, because she opened with Hey little brother, that’s a nice tux you’re wearing… what’s up with that?

Sometimes Brayden needed to use his brain before his phone.

Lina went on with:

Everyone’s getting really excited for the cruise.

Mom and Aunt Pat have been on the phone for an hour every day planning all the stuff they want to do.

Me, I’m going to take my Kindle full of pulpy historical romances, park my butt on the sun deck, and do as little as possible for ten glorious days. In the Caribbean.

I get why you’re not coming. I do. But I’m going to miss you.

Uncle Walt sprung for king rooms for all of us (though everybody else is doubled up—guess we’re the only two bachelor(ette)s left), so if you change your mind, you can bunk with me.

I barely even kick in my sleep anymore. Seriously, anytime.

I’m attaching the cruise schedule. I know you can get a flight. Meet us in Nassau. I don’t care.

If not, I hope you’re having fun in Lyngria… and that you didn’t just spend your travel budget on formal wear (seriously wtf).

Your big sister,

L

Brayden had plenty of time before he had to meet Flip for lunch, so he rolled over in bed and debated his reply.

Hey sis.

I can’t come.

For a moment he just left it at that and squirmed. He’d lied when he told Flip he got seasick, but the truth was too complicated to explain to a near stranger. Even his family only mostly got it.

Next year we’ll do Christmas in November like we usually do, and I’ll be there. I promise.

That would satisfy her… he hoped.

As for the tuxedo, well, you know how I am about experiencing new things. Turns out someone I know from my flights needed a date to a fancy event here in town and was so desperate he promised to spring for a tux!

Wow, that sounded way different written out than it did in Brayden’s head.

WE ARE NOT HAVING SEX (I totally would, but he’s not interested, and he’s so far out of my league no one would even believe I was his sugar baby). It’s just a favor that sounds fun. Get to see how the other 1 percent lives, you know? Besides, it’s good to have a local guide to recommend things.

Tell everybody I say hi, and don’t you dare forget to bring them my presents.

Brayden

He hit Send, and then he lay in bed for a little longer, staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for himself. He missed his family, but he couldn’t spend Christmas with them… not yet.

Maybe next year.

Eventually he noticed the time and had to hustle into the shower, where he let the water wash away most of his thoughts. Then he shoved his feet into his boots, wrapped up in his jacket, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand so he could flip open the directions Flip had sent yesterday.

Outside, the sun was out and the sky was a rich, deep blue, as though it knew it had only a few hours to lift people’s spirits and was making the most of them.

Brayden checked his map and the time and then stopped for a mug of mulled wine from a vendor, which he sipped as he walked along the cobbled streets.

He turned left to go toward the main square and then took the middle street of three that branched off it in the direction of the water. A few feet later, he was there—a two-story café in a bright pink building. The brass plaque outside read TEMMEL EIS.

Flip’s instructions said to come up to the second floor, so Brayden ducked inside.

He noted the cheerful glass display cases and the black-and-white checkered floor as he walked through the café and took the worn stone stairs at the back.

Celine, Flip’s driver from yesterday, waited at the door in a smart suit.

“I’m not late, I hope,” Brayden joked as he got to the top of the stairs. Unless his phone was lying to him, he wasn’t.

“His Highness insisted we arrive early,” Celine replied, expressionless. She pulled open the door for him and let him through. “Have a pleasant lunch, sir.” Then she let it fall closed again.

Flip sat at a table by the window, evidently engrossed in something on his tablet. He didn’t seem to register Brayden’s presence until Brayden took the seat opposite him.

Flip looked up with a start, and the tablet clattered to the table. “Brayden. I’m sorry. I was off in my own world. Obviously.” He looked a little upset with himself, and his fingers convulsed into fists and loosened a few times.

“Do you want me to stand up and come back in so you can pull my chair out?” Brayden guessed, and Flip flushed guiltily. “No, that can’t be it. A crown prince can’t be pulling chairs out for plebs like me. And a handshake is too formal, so we’ll have to deal.”

Flip visibly, consciously relaxed. “I suppose you’re right. Did you have a good day sightseeing yesterday, Bernadette’s surprise notwithstanding?”

Brayden gave him a quick rundown of the day, with special emphasis on the lingonberries, and finished with, “How was your commitment on Tuesday? I hope everything turned out okay.”

“Ah, well.” Flip offered a tight smile. “I actually went to visit my cousin. She’s nine. Minor crisis about her wardrobe for tomorrow night, and she needed my backup against her mom and royal tradition.”

Brayden thought about Princess Clara asleep in Flip’s lap, and warmth suffused him. Flip would be a great king one day. “A true hero.”

Flip’s cheeks went a bit pink. That was cute too, that Brayden could make a crown prince blush, when he must be used to flattery. “Even if I did leave the horse in his stall this time?”

“If Clara can forgive it, I can as well.”

“Excellent. With the forgiveness out of the way….” Flip brandished the tablet. “Shall we order lunch?”

Brayden took it and glanced down at the screen to find it was a menu—a strange one, with pictures that looked like familiar dishes, but off somehow. After a moment he realized. “Are these all ice cream?”