Page 32 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

I gently tug my hand free, folding both hands in front of me. As they should be. Because of my station, and also because of the essence that simmers in my veins even as it radiates from my gaze. The awry don’t touch easily. Or rather, aren’t touched easily.

The truth is that most awry are just as dangerous from a distance as they are up close. Myself included, no matter how useless my power is.

“Just as much in private,” I murmur quietly as I turn at Taylor’s approach.

The model-actress has removed her sunglasses, revealing crystal-blue eyes and sharp cheekbones that have graced hundreds of fashion spreads and movie posters.

Taylor is in her late twenties, but looks to be twenty-four at most. Her white teeth are perfectly straight, her lips plump.

As far as I can tell without staring, she isn’t wearing any makeup, but her skin looks airbrushed. She’s also a shifter.

Taylor hands Lee a glass of champagne and tries to pass me the second flute.

Eleanor intercepts, taking the drink.

“We’re all friends here,” Taylor says, flaring her nostrils prettily.

Eleanor pivots with deliberate intention as she sets the glass on the nearest side table. “You are not friends with Her Royal Highness. Not until she invites you to be.” She pins Lee with a look. “You were sent a guide.”

“Yes,” William interjects. “Of course. But we assumed —” He gestures around the mostly empty space .

“No public area is truly private,” Eleanor says brusquely. She partially turns toward the elevator, as if contemplating grabbing my elbow and hustling me away.

“Eleanor,” I say quietly.

She stiffens, turning to me but keeping her gaze on the Hernandez group.

Is something twigging her senses? Or does she really not want to be here?

“I didn’t get much lunch …” I start to say.

Eleanor’s now-outraged gaze snaps to mine. “You should have eaten before we —” She snaps her mouth closed on the rebuke. Then, nodding her head, she stiffly crosses to the small buffet set on the high counter that fronts the kitchen area.

I turn back to the Hernandezes, who are all watching me with expressions that range from wary to amused to admiring. I cross into the seating area, selecting a chair near the center of the grouping. “We’re missing the game.”

William settles across from me on the couch. “They’ll limit Caden’s time on the field. It’s a charity game, not a thrashing.”

Lee perches next to William, and Diaz takes her other side. Miller takes the separate chair, with Taylor, still stiff and casting glares at Eleanor’s back, sitting on the arm next to them. It’s circumspect, but I catch Miller brushing their knuckles across the back of Taylor’s hand.

At first glance, an actress and a tech genius seem like an odd pairing.

It takes me longer than it should, but I eventually piece together the interaction.

Admittedly, I haven’t made a study of general shifter behavior, preferring to build my friendships on an individual basis.

But Taylor wanting to be the one to feed me — as prompted by Diaz — makes sense.

As does her seeking stability from Miller, rather than Lee, who I’d assumed was the central bond.

The crux of the group, as my father is for his bond group.

Our attention is drawn to the screens as a replay highlights a goal from the opposing team. William mutters something about Caerdyf playing with their backup goalkeeper.

Eleanor crosses into the seating area, handing me a small plate piled with food. I give her a look. I rarely eat in public if I can help it, and I certainly don’t risk balancing a plate this full on my lap when wearing light pink.

I take the plate and the napkin underneath it. Aware that all eyes have turned to me again.

Eleanor makes a show of holding her hand over my plate, then snapping her fingers to dispel the tamperproof charm she’s placed over the food. She would have tested for poisons in the kitchen area.

Taylor snarls under her breath in response.

Lee tenses in her seat, William settling a hand on her knee.

Eleanor steps around my chair to hover behind me, which she knows I hate.

Maybe it’s me she’s trying to irk? I rack my brain as I survey the items she’s brought me, trying to remember how I’ve pissed her off recently.

Best guess? She’s just generally peeved at the circumstances that have brought us to this point. With me needing a babysitter, a buffer, at all.

That makes two of us.

I eye caviar on a cracker, which I’m sure is the best that can be sourced at what I assume was fairly short notice.

Then I opt instead for the tasty-looking curl of lox secured to a square of toasted pumpernickel with a swirl of fluffy cream cheese.

I shift my gaze to the game being played out on the screen overhead, painfully aware of how closely I’m being watched as I pop the entire square in my mouth.

It’s slightly too big to eat whole, but my experience with lox tells me that trying to bite it in half might ultimately be more unseemly.

Covering my mouth with a perfectly fucking manicured hand, I chew, smiling. The lox is fantastic, of course. But I feel like I’m coming out of my skin with so much intense focus on me.

I’m just not used to being the center of attention. I was happy that way. Now I feel slow, stupid, and clumsy. Dull, dour.

“Oh, my favorite,” Diaz says, taking a sip of her champagne. “The lox, I mean. There’s this adorable sustainable fishery on the west coast of Salish Nation. We buy shares every year.”

“It is annoying that they won’t let us buy more,” Lee huffs.

“I do believe that’s the point, darling,” William says, amused. “It’s not always about money.”

For some reason, that statement draws everyone’s attention back to me.

I’m not certain if they’re looking for me to weigh in on money not being everything, or on resource sustainability, but I pick the safer topic.

“The best grilled sockeye salmon I ever had was at a restaurant in Whistler. A little out-of-the way place. We were the last table of the evening. We’d been night skiing, and came off the hill still in our … boots … and …”

Grief, tinged with some sort of compressed guilt, hits me in the gut. Actually taking my voice, my words, with it.

I almost lose hold of the plate, but somehow Diaz’s hand is there to take it from me and set it on the low table standing between us.

“A ski trip?” she asks gently. “With Armin?”

I nod, swallowing. “It was rather amazing, actually. A group of us, including friends who are even more recognizable … and by the end of the meal, they were treating us like pa rt of the staff, closing up and pulling out cigars and scotch and …”

Eleanor’s hand settles on my shoulder.

I compose myself. Then, casting a general smile around the room, I say brightly, “The best salmon I’ve ever had.”

“You’ll have to send me the name of the restaurant,” Diaz says.

“Of course.” I don’t pick up the plate. I can actually feel what little I’ve eaten settle uncomfortably in my stomach.

All of this is a mistake. I’m not ready to be … normal. I’m not sure I understand what my normal is anymore. “Will you … you are all mostly based out of California?”

Lee swoops in to expertly redirect the conversation. “Since Caden joined us, after meeting Taylor and Diaz at a charity event, we’ve divided our time between the UK, Wales mostly, and San Francisco. We’d … we’re very open to relocating … redistributing our time to be more European based.”

William clears his throat quietly, then smoothly takes over for Lee. “We were surprised, happily, to receive your invitation to … court you.”

“The list of potential suitors was compiled for Their Royal Highnesses by their closest advisors,” Eleanor coolly interjects. “Your invitation wasn’t personally sent by Princess Euphrosyne.”

“As we clearly understand,” Lee says smoothly, responding to Eleanor but keeping her gaze on me. “We weren’t actively looking to expand our bond group when Caden joined us. Yet we’ve been even more settled and content since he chose us. We are open to the process.”

“Oh,” Diaz interjects with a playful shrug. “And here I was hoping you were pining after me, Your Highness.”

Eleanor’s hand on my shoulder twitches. I pat her, grinning at Diaz. Eleanor withdraws her hand as if she’s forgotten she was still holding me.

The other missing piece clicks together in my mind. Eleanor isn’t angry at me. Or at the situation. She’s … protective. She might not have raised us in the same sense that Anne did. But she’s grieving my brother, just as I am.

And now I’m the heir. Keeping me alive — alive, even if not happy — is now everyone’s primary concern.

I look down at my folded hands set on my knee above my perfectly crossed ankles. But before I can continue the conversation, Miller’s soft tone fills the growing silence.

“The grief comes in waves.”

I glance up, meeting their bright-green eyes. “Yes, still … even after months.”

“After years,” Miller says.

Taylor twines her fingers through Miller’s.

“Years,” I murmur. “I need to be functional … now.”

Lee leans forward. “No. You need to be taken care of, cherished. To rebuild from a safe, comforting space. Then you can decide what functional means to you.”

I inhale, not certain how to respond. The conversation has taken an intimate twist, and I suddenly have so many questions. About how their bond group works. And what they would expect of me within it.

William smiles, just a bit smugly. “I believe you’ve actually made a princess speechless, Lee. Just by offering her safe haven.”

In an attempt to simplify all the thoughts running through my head, I say, “Will you tell me how you all met? I’d like to know —”

The elevator doors sweep open. The guards don’t react, so they were aware of the newcomer. But the energy in the room shifts in focus so abruptly that I actually feel the weight of it lift off me .