Page 19 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

Rian rolls his eyes at me. “Really?”

Greg huffs, muttering under his breath, “Really.”

“You’ve only been with me for a few hours,” I say snippily to the cat shifter.

“You think you don’t have a reputation among the royal guard?” Greg snips back. Well, as snippy as he gets. “Think of the insanity of you, Bolan, Armin, and Mirth all in one place at a time.”

I’ve never really thought about it before. But I never really had any sort of infamy until after leaving school anyway. I stayed until I was twenty-one because Mirth stayed. I can barely remember what advanced degrees I accumulated enough credits to complete.

“It’s not going to get easier now,” I say. “But there will be more expendable bodies between an attacker and Mirth, so that’ll make you happy.”

“None of you are expendable,” Greg practically growls.

I’ve finally managed to piss him off.

Rian knocks my shoulder with his — a little harder than is polite — grabbing his triple espresso and crossing toward the table. The women cleared their plates and mugs, which is cool of them.

Just like that, the wolf shifter has put me in my place. Normally, I’m not a fan of being managed by anyone but Mirth. But Rian feeling comfortable enough to make an attempt at it is more amusing than annoying.

We sit. Me with my back to the rest of the cafe and Rian across from me. Greg removes the two extra chairs, placing them along the far wall, where they’re certain to be a tripping hazard on the way to the washrooms until someone else steals them for their own tables.

Only then does the cat shifter step back to the counter and order himself a drink.

Rian eyes me over the lip of his mug.

“I don’t do it deliberately,” I say, speaking in generalities because I’m not certain what to read from his expression.

“Sure you don’t,” he says. But then he flashes me another of those sort-of-sad grins, so I get that we’re being friendly.

My phone vibrates in my suit pocket. I fish it out just in case it’s Mirth.

It’s Eli.

Just checking in.

“I’ve never had anyone check up on me as many times as Eli has in the last forty-eight hours,” I grouse. Then I dutifully send back a mini report.

In Dublin. With Rian. Waiting on his mom.

“You don’t seem to actually mind,” Rian says.

It isn’t a question. And he’s right.

Another text pops up.

Ah, good. I didn’t think of that after Bolan’s revelation. Thank you, Salvatore.

I stare at that message for a bit, mostly at the thank you, and slightly displeased that I’m feeling a little flushed at the praise. I didn’t think that was a kink of mine.

“Anything wrong?”

I shake my head, passing the phone over to Rian so he can read it for himself. He does, then he taps the screen with two fingers, as if thinking about what he wants to say.

“Just ask.” I take a sip of my latte. It’s good. Sweet and creamy, with just the right level of bitter.

“You’re forming a bond group. So you can … ask Mirth to join you. Like, all of you.”

“And you.” My heart thumps a little, as if I’m about to ask him to be exclusive and I’m still just a little uncertain about the answer.

An odd reaction because I’ve never wanted to be exclusive in my life.

Not sexually, at least. My heart always belonged to Armin and Mirth — as has my soul, apparently.

Which explains a lot about my lack of interest in exclusivity. “We need you as well.”

Rian glances out the window. He could be keeping watch for his mother, but I think he’s conflicted in multiple ways right now.

“You love Mirth,” I say.

Rian looks at me sharply, as if I’d made that a question. I hadn’t. Then he nods.

I shrug, taking another sip of coffee. “So what is the issue? Me? The rest of us? Or is it just your long-lost half-brother, Bolan?”

“Was he born with that name? Bolan?”

“No. He was Oliver for the first seventeen years of his life. Ollie Yates.”

“And you’re just Salvatore. No last name either.”

“My birth name never meant anything to me, though I suppose it must be on some early school records. If you wanted to go digging.”

“Your mother was that famous model, Zsa.”

“Murdered by my father. For trying to leave him, I think. My memory is rather hazy about it all. A few months before his past caught up to him. I was seven. Armin and Mirth made me theirs, and I never gave a shit about anything or anyone else.”

Rian blinks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I can’t figure out if you’re a brilliant liar or …”

“Utterly truthful all of the time?”

“Yes.”

“Your nose should tell you.”

“Your essence … cloaks you. And … you smell a bit like Mirth now.”

I raise both eyebrows at that. Because no matter how much I hated doing so, I very deliberately washed Mirth off me before leaving the apartments.

Rian clears his throat. “I think … it might be in the same way I occasionally smell of Mirth now.”

“Soul deep,” I whisper, smiling a little to myself.

“Stronger. On you.”

I shrug. Mirth and I have known and loved each other for two decades. Having sex just formalized and strengthened a bond that already existed.

“And you and Armin?” Rian asks, slightly hesitant.

“On and off. Mostly off.” I smirk at him, already knowing the answer to my next question but wanting to nudge him a little in the direction I think is worrying him. “And you and Armin?”

“Business. Horses. And barely that before …”

“The skiing accident.”

“Yes.”

“But he made an impression,” I say. “Eli says you were being wooed from multiple directions. But Armin felt … right?”

Rian regards me steadily.

For a moment, I think he’s trying to see beneath my skin. Into my soul. Into the truth of me. Or …

“Can you feel that between us?” My voice is a little thin, my heart thumping again.

He nods, just once. “Like I’ve known you for a lot longer than I actually have. Like it’s … easy between us.”

Relief steadies my heart. “Yes. Same. So ask me everything you’re worried about asking Mirth.”

He flushes a little, eyes on his neglected espresso now. “I don’t … I’ve been surrounded by shifters my entire life. And sex with multiple partners is just either fun or a biological impulse.”

“But not with Mirth.”

“No. It’s different with Mirth.” He finally meets my gaze. “I want to know how it’s supposed to work in a bond group. Some shifters are polyamorous, but I never saw that as … never thought of it —”

“Are you worried that you’re going to have to suck dick? Or that you’re going to have to share Mirth?”

Rian reels back a bit at my bluntness. But then he just grimaces and nods. “The jealousy.”

“Listen, I don’t come from a bond group. Not like Mirth does, with her father having multiple chosen mates. Neither does Bolan, Eli, or Christoph.”

Rian shifts in his seat, then takes a deliberate sip of his triple shot. Presumably because I just outlined the full extent of the bond group for the first time. I should have left this all to Eli. But I followed my impulses, and here we are.

“But I do know that Mirth is our crux,” I say, quietly but with utter resolve. “We revolve around her. Our only true role within the relationship is to love and balance Mirth. It doesn’t have to be sexual. This isn’t about incest, if that has you worried?”

“I’m not that much of an idiot,” Rian says, clearly feeling like a complete idiot. “Siblings are bonded by blood and sometimes … soul.”

So it’s the soul bond he’s questioning. If he’s been skin-to-skin with Mirth, as I know he has, I have no idea how he can question that connection.

I can’t fix that for him. All I can do is address the concern he’s outlined for me.

“Right. So, say if Armin were still …” Grief cracks through my voice, but I get it under control quickly. “There’s a good chance it might have been on and off again between Armin and me for our entire lives together, even as I’m full on with Mirth.”

“And the others?”

“Am I fucking them?”

Rian huffs, then exasperatedly asks, “Am I expected to fuck any of them? Or you?”

I bark out a laugh, drawing even more attention than before. Greg, leaning back against a standing-height table, sipping a coffee, straightens warily as if I’m about to be assaulted.

Rian grimaces. “I just want Mirth.”

“Right. Well, you understand consent, right?”

“Of course.”

“The rest of us understand it as well. No one is going to be grabbing your cock or sticking a thumb up your ass without you asking.”

Rian blushes deeply, taking another sip of his coffee. “That wasn’t actually my concern, really.”

“Jealousy.”

He nods, gaze downcast.

“Is it all of us? Or just Bolan who worries you?”

“Well, I don’t really know the rest of you.”

I nod. I don’t have a concise answer for him. “That’s something we work through. Together. If it comes up. And we keep it away from Mirth.”

“Will Bolan keep it away from Mirth?” Rian asks wryly.

I lean over the table toward him, smirking. “Bolan has been pressed against a reinforced glass barrier of his own making for over a decade. If he finally breaks through to the other side, he’s doing nothing, absolutely nothing, to jeopardize it.”

“How do you know?”

“Are you willing to walk away?”

“No.”

“But you’ve only known Mirth for a few weeks.”

“No,” he says again.

I shrug. That’s his answer, then. “Tell me about this shit with your mom. Is she dodging your calls?”

“All after the first one.”

“Pretty sure Bolan’s about to be in the middle of it with his mother as well. Mirth has gone to their place to scatter some of Armin’s ashes.”

“And Bolan?”

“I gave him a heads-up.”

“For Mirth.”

I nod. “Maybe you and he can compare notes.”

“Yeah. Though … I have to decide if it even matters.”

“You have a half-sister as well. Olivia, Livi. She’s, like, a famous dancer.”

Rian looks surprised, then pained all over again.

“So some part of it matters.”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to be with you for the conversation with your mother? I can wait here. Just, you know, be here.”