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“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant,” Flip said as though it had just occurred to him. “I know it’s silly, but I try to come here every time I’m home, even in the winter. This is my first chance now that I’ve moved home permanently. Usually I just come by myself, eat, and leave, but….”

Brayden tapped to flip the menu to the next page.

Was that poutine? Stark yellow ice cream shaped into french fries, smothered in caramel sauce and flakes of white chocolate.

The next page had “pizza”—a crepe covered in a red jelly, with ice cream mozzarella and circlets of chocolate that looked like olives.

He was six pages deep before he realized Flip had trailed off and was waiting for a response, and it took another twenty seconds to realize Flip must have just shared something with Brayden that he rarely did with anyone else.

Pushing the tablet away, Brayden looked into Flip’s eyes. “This is the best lunch ever. What’s good?”

The tablet apparently could send their order through for them, and a few moments later Celine entered with—

“That ice cream is bigger than my head,” Brayden said faintly. “I think I’m in love.”

“Taste it first, before you propose,” Celine admonished, but she set their plates down, returned to her post, and closed the door behind her.

Flip met Brayden’s eyes across the table and quirked his lips in a smirk. “Not bad advice.”

Brayden lost half a second wondering if that was an innuendo before he shrugged it off and reached for his spoon—and his phone.

This masterpiece needed to be documented.

Lunch fit for a king! he wrote, amused at his own joke, even though no one would get it.

He caught Flip looking at him as he put the phone away, and shrugged sheepishly.

“I don’t Instagram all my food or anything.

But I travel a lot, and my family likes to know what I’m up to.

It’s an easy way for them to follow along without me spending hours on the phone every night. ”

Nodding, Flip picked up his spoon to dig into a bowl of “spaghetti.” “Do you have a big family?”

“Kind of.” He shoveled in a scoop of ice cream, delighted to find the “fries” were a rich vanilla, the caramel sauce a lovely complement.

He made an involuntary noise of delight, closing his eyes as he savored it.

When he opened his eyes again, Flip was busily arranging his chocolate “meatballs” on one side of the plate, his cheeks flushed.

Maybe Brayden shouldn’t make sex noises while at lunch with a prince.

“In my immediate family, it’s just my grandmother, my parents, and my sister.

But my dad’s brother, Walt, has a blended family, and there’s seven kids, and they’re all partnered off, and a lot of them have kids. ”

“I’d call that a big family.” Flip’s voice took on a wistful tone as he spooned up a chocolate chunk.

“I’m something of an anomaly—a royal only child.

Tradition dictates you need an heir and a spare”—he rolled his eyes as he quoted that—“but it wasn’t in the cards for my parents.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like. ”

“I mean, speaking mostly from secondhand experience? Chaos.” He scooped up another half french fry and toppings and gestured automatically with his spoon.

“Uncle Walt’s family is so big we usually do Christmas in November.

This year they’re doing that cruise because he won a couple million on a scratch-off ticket and wanted to treat everyone. ”

Flip nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing, and then said, “Didn’t you go on a boat tour yesterday? I thought you were here because you get seasick, so no cruise?”

Shit. Brayden fumbled his spoon and almost dropped it into his plate.

“That, yeah, I….” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart.

He hated that Flip caught him lying, and he hated even more what he’d lied about.

Most of all he hated that he was about to explain something he never talked about to anyone outside of family.

“The seasickness thing, I just said that because the real story is sordid and I didn’t want to get into it with someone I didn’t know very well. ”

For all that Flip probably had professional schooling in how to maintain a neutral expression, he looked as though Brayden had slapped him. “Oh. I apologize. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Interesting—whenever Brayden said something to put Flip on his guard, he reverted to formality.

But to hell with it. He wasn’t going to let his weird friendship with Flip—who was not only a goddamn crown prince, but a nice person Brayden connected with despite their vastly different experiences—get screwed up over something that happened almost ten years ago.

“No, it’s fine, it’s a fair question. I…

.” Brayden frowned at what he was about to say, realizing it was true.

“I think it’ll be good to get it off my chest, actually.

Though like I said, it’s not a nice story.

” He shoveled in another bite of ice cream to fortify himself, but it tasted like ash, so he put down the spoon.

“When I was sixteen, my best friend and I were inseparable. We arranged our school schedules so we’d be in the same classes, we joined the soccer team together.

We even had a band, though Thomas couldn’t carry a tune in a basket and I was dubious at best on guitar. But we had killer dance moves.

“Obviously I was in love with him.” Proud when his voice didn’t crack, Brayden took another cleansing breath and kept going. “I finally figured out he might feel the same, so on Christmas Day, between breakfast and dinner, I invited him over. I was gonna come clean.”

Flip had stopped eating too, though he was still holding his spoon loosely in his right hand. He didn’t say anything, just waited with bated breath for Brayden to finish.

“He never made it.” There it was—the crack he’d been expecting. “Four-car pileup on the 407. He died instantly.”

If he expected Flip to offer platitudes, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, he was disappointed. “That must have been awful.”

Brayden jerked his head in agreement. “I don’t much feel like celebrating on that anniversary, so.

” He usually spent the day consumed by guilt that Thomas’s family would never be whole.

But that was definitely too much to saddle Flip with when they’d only really known each other a few days.

And a prince would probably think Brayden’s problems were pretty dumb compared to the scale of issues he had to deal with.

“No, I imagine not.” He pushed his plate away. Evidently he’d lost his appetite too. “Do you travel every year on Christmas?”

“Nah. Couldn’t afford it until I became a flight attendant.

But my family understood—they all knew how I felt, even if I never said anything, and they leave me alone for the most part.

Usually early in the evening my sister shoves a plate of leftovers in my hand and puts on the stupidest comedy she can find. ”

“Not a bad tradition, if a little unorthodox. Does she have a favorite?”

Brayden snorted and then admitted, “Actually, these past two years it’s been Thor: Ragnarok. ”

Flip coughed to conceal a laugh. “Well, I can’t fault her taste.”

“Right?” Brayden found himself grinning too. He still felt a little raw, but he felt lighter too. “What about you? Any weird holiday traditions?”

“Define ‘weird.’” He twisted his mouth in a wry expression. “Every country in Europe has their own holiday traditions. And in our family, there’s an added spin since my dad is Hindu and we celebrate those holidays too. Sometimes we have to compromise.”

Brayden set his plate aside and found himself leaning in over the table automatically. “Like how?”

“Well, the traditional Christmas meat pie is never made with beef, for one thing.” Flip shrugged.

“And this year Gita Jayanti falls on Christmas—that’s the Hindu celebration of the Bhagavad Gita.

So Mom will do her usual Christmas address for the public, and Dad will be there, but he’ll spend most of the day fasting and reciting verses. ”

“What about you?” Brayden propped his chin on his hand. “What do you do? Or, what will you do, I guess?”

As soon as he said it, he wondered if it weren’t too personal a question. But Flip didn’t bat an eyelash. “The same as my father, probably—meditate in the morning, then presents with Clara and my aunt and mother. And then Dad and I will listen to a webcast from India, probably.”

That sounded nice. Different than what Brayden was used to, but nice. And…. “You’re really close to your dad, aren’t you?”

Flip flushed. “When you’re the only two brown people in the entire European royalty collective, you share a lot of experiences that others don’t understand.”

“I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, obviously, white commoner over here. But that makes sense. It seems like it’s more than that, though. You look up to him.”

This time Flip did seem taken aback. He paused completely and tilted his head as though reassessing Brayden’s motives. “He’s happy. Considerate. Kind. He and my mom, they’re… I guess you haven’t heard the story.”

“The way you say that, I’m the only person in the country who hasn’t.” Brayden batted his eyelashes. “You want to fill me in, or should I google it?”

“God, no. Promise me you won’t google. I’ll never live it down if I get the details wrong.” Flip shook his head. “My parents met at the Night of a Thousand Lights some—I guess it has to be thirty-five, thirty-six years ago now. Have I explained what it’s about? It’s… actually kind of terrible.”

Brayden had his elbows on the table; he couldn’t help it. “I feel like I need popcorn. Tell me.”

“My mother’s… ancestors is too far back, but some of her relatives were British nobility who went on, let’s generously call it a colonization tour. And they were so consumed with white guilt they began a scholarship program.”