Page 52 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

Sully’s gray eyes continue to hold mine as he sucks the chocolate into his mouth … and then … continues to … suck … on it.

He hums.

Like I hummed?

The noise shivers through me.

“Such a brat,” Elias murmurs.

He clearly means Sully. But quite suddenly, I find myself wondering … wanting … to be a brat myself. If only when in Elias’s presence.

A curl of a smile full of anticipation and something … naughty slips through my poised princess facade.

Sully’s eyes glint with amusement. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“You love it,” he whispers back to Elias.

“Not even remotely,” Elias says coolly, settling back into his chair.

I turn my smile on the earl, taking another truffle off the plate — for myself. His gaze is far warmer and more … interested … than his tone implies .

Isla claps her hands together, actually causing me to wince as she pulls all of our attention to her. She spins, practically throwing herself onto the arm of Bolan’s chair. The sullen rock star moves his arm at the last moment, though his gaze stays intently pinned to me, Sully, and now Elias.

Actually, everyone is watching the three of us now.

The gentle simmer of warmth in my face and chest cools.

Sully huffs quietly, straightening so only his shoulder brushes my legs.

Crossing her legs at the ankle, Isla leans onto her hip. She’s not quite crowding Bolan, but is near to it. Bolan flicks an annoyed gaze her way, then ignores her. As is typical for the perpetually pissy rock star.

Smiling, Isla lifts her chin almost affectedly before she speaks. “Now dish, Mirth. The staff is all abuzz about what happened, but are annoyingly close-mouthed —”

“Loyal,” Elias interjects, still all icy toned.

Isla sniffs in his direction. “Yes, yes. Protective of the family, as they should be.”

On my right, Noah shifts forward in his seat, then stills. As if he was going to interject, perhaps even redirect Isla, then stopped himself.

Isla continues, ignoring whatever signal Noah is trying to impart. “There is no way Tereza chose to walk away from the chance of injecting pure royal blood back into the line of Landenberg.”

Silence falls around us. Nary a clink of china on china or a shift of fabric.

Isla doesn’t miss that cue. “What?” she exclaims prettily. “I’m not the only one wondering.”

“The Mertons would also benefit greatly should Her Highness choose them,” Elias says silkily .

“As would you, Lord Hereford,” Isla snaps snottily. “You’re even farther away from the line of succession than the Landenbergs.”

“Succession?” Elias asks mockingly. “You want to be a princess, Isla?”

Isla’s shoulders stiffen. “Who wouldn’t want to be a princess, councilor?”

“Mirth,” Bolan interjects sullenly.

Before anyone else can interrupt, including me, Isla brushes her hands together. “We’ve strayed off topic. I was simply being nosy, Mirth. My apologies.” She grins at me. Suggestively, I think. “Though now I know that truffles are the way into your … heart, not champagne.”

She means my bed, not my heart.

I know I should say something, redirect the conversation. But I’m a little … flustered from the interaction with Sully and Elias, and trying not to show it. I want … time, need time. To process everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

And maybe, just maybe, to start to figure out where I fit. And who I fit with.

Noah shifts in his seat again, laying his hand palm up on his knee in a subtle invitation for Isla to join him.

Instead, Isla holds my gaze as she reaches to the side and slides her hand over Bolan’s shoulder, trailing her fingers up his neck to weave into his hair at the back of his head.

My chest goes tight.

Sully stiffens against my legs.

“I’m just saying …” Isla’s voice is huskily suggestive. “We all know you have favorites, Mirth. And we don’t all have a problem with that.”

Bolan clenches his hands into fists, tension stretching through his neck and jaw. His gaze is actually hot on me.

But he doesn’t pull away .

“I ached for a taste of Ollie while we were all in school,” Isla smirks prettily, her gaze also fixed to me.

It feels like she’s still flirting with me— but her words also sound a little like …

taunting? “And Sully … yum. I was surprised they’d been invited to court you.

Because they aren’t already bonded. But I understand now.

You did share these two with Armin, didn’t you? ”

Isla smiles brightly. Even though she’s asked me and I already denied it, she’s maybe a bit proud at what she thinks she’s figured out.

Armin’s name slices through me, along with the inference that we shared Sully and Bolan sexually. For a moment, I’m so pained, literally breathless, that I can’t answer her. Not that I’m entirely certain what I’d even say.

Everyone is staring at the Merton heir now, looking as if they’re also frozen in place. Eager for her to continue …?

Isla grins at me saucily, shrugging one shoulder. And still caressing the back of Bolan’s neck. “You are planning to invite them both into your chosen bond group, yes?”

“Isla,” Noah murmurs.

Smile dimming slightly, she casts her chosen an annoyed look.

“It’s just us here, Noah. We don’t have to sit on ceremony.

Mirth already knows who she’s choosing.” She flicks her fingers offishly.

“It’s either the Mertons or the Hernandezes.

And … no offense …” She angles a slight smile toward Diaz and Caden, who are staring at her in open disbelief.

“But the Mertons are the strongest choice —”

“Why?” Elias interrupts. “My estate, title, and seat on the World Council make me your father’s equal.”

Isla sniffs. “Mirth isn’t choosing my father. Ugh, please. That’s just …” She curls her upper lip but doesn’t further articulate her obvious dismay.

“Not everything is about sex,” Elias says stiffly.

Isla snorts. “It should be about sex! And sexual compatibility! Why should Mirth not have that on top of …” She waves her hand.

She’s still touching Bolan. Petting his hair, teasing her fingers across the back of his neck.

“Not all members of a bond group are required to sleep with each other,” Diaz says quietly.

Isla huffs, playfully peeved. “You’re all deliberately misinterpreting what I’m saying. Mirth has established relationships. I want her to know that she doesn’t have to lose those connections to join the Mertons.” She levels a look of utter triumph on Diaz.

Diaz smirks at her knowingly. “And I’m certain it doesn’t hurt that you want to fuck both of them yourself.”

“Jealousy is an ugly emotion, Diaz,” Isla says archly. “With your job, I’d be careful of such —”

I stand. I’m on my feet before even making the decision to move. Not certain why I feel the need to … flex. Though perhaps my father’s scathing commentary about my abilities is still twisting through me, through my very bones, through my psyche.

But for whatever reason, I reach up and slowly pull off my sunglasses.

I might not easily wield the power that my purple eyes portend, but when I smile, Isla yanks her fingers free from Bolan’s hair. Then she presses that same offending hand protectively against her chest.

Diaz swallows the retort she was primed to fling back at Isla.

Everyone else is watching me. Though Christoph shifts slightly, drawing my attention to the grin he’s attempting to hide behind a sip of his coffee.

“Lunch has been lovely,” I say smoothly, calmly. “But tensions appear to be high …”

Isla opens her mouth, to interrupt, to apologize .

I tilt my chin in her direction.

She closes her mouth, dropping her gaze.

“Which is perfectly understandable,” I continue, plastering on my perfect-princess persona again.

It doesn’t fit well in the moment, feeling a little ragged around the edges.

“The situation is intense. But lest it turn untenable, I suggest that we spend the rest of the day, perhaps even through dinner, on our own.”

A disconcerted energy runs through the group. Bolan looks livid, eyes narrowed on Isla, then glancing to me. Elias brushes a nonexistent piece of lint from his knee.

Noah slowly rises from his seat. His gaze is on Isla, but his body is tense, stressed. As if he’s waiting for me to flatten them all, priming himself to grab and shield his chosen— that is his primary ability — before I ignite.

I’m not that kind of awry, though.

Sully, not looking up at me, wraps his hand around the back of my knee. Again.

“I must take my leave,” I say. “I trust the cars are ready to escort you back to the castle.” I brush my fingers against the back of Sully’s head, then step away from his hold.

Isla scrambles to her feet, distress etched across her face.

But I just maintain my pleasant smile, slide my glasses back on, and pick up my pace. I’m only a few steps away from climbing onto Perseus’s back — the young groom, Bev, has anticipated me and is holding him ready — when whispers explode behind me. Still loud enough to hear, though.

“What the fuck, Isla?” Noah snarls.

“I just … I just … I thought … she did that thing with the peach at breakfast, and … then the truffle … I wanted her to know that it’s not about money or position with us either. ”

“Bullshit, Merton,” Elias drawls. “Her Highness isn’t an idiot. She understands the benefits she brings to any of her potential chosen. She just also now knows that you’re more interested in who she might be fucking than in taking care of her.”

“Fuck you!” Isla cries, though without much heat.

“Thank you,” I murmur to Bev as I swing up into the saddle. “You’ll head back in the cars?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she says evenly. Then she angles her head back toward the group with a wicked grin, though she doesn’t quite meet my eye. “Get real riled real easy, don’t they?”

And I laugh. Completely inappropriately, I laugh, and as though he instantly picks up on my energy, Perseus dances underneath me playfully.

Bev steps back, still grinning.

I let Perseus have his way for a moment, just enjoying holding my seat.

I glance back at the group. Noah has Isla bundled under his arm, and they’re already halfway back to the vehicles. The three Hernandezes— Caden, Diaz, and Miller— have gathered together, heads bowed in conversation. Christoph and Elias are talking as well.

Bolan watches me, arms crossed and face impassive — at this distance at least. Sully raises his hand, then twists just his wrist in a royal wave, clearly both mocking and celebrating my snotty departure.

I flash my teeth in response, urging Perseus into a full-on run back through the field. A moment later, the forest closes in around us.

But I’m not fleeing. I’m not running.

I’m in motion.

Nothing is yet sorted in my mind. Beyond my perpetual understanding of my duty. But even I know that forward motion is an improvement to being perpetually stuck, lost in grief.