Page 22 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

Rian takes a deep breath. But instead of voicing any of whatever has to be whirling around in his mind, he crosses his arms, looking away from his mother.

Trina’s face crumples. She opens her mouth to say something, her hand twitching as if she wants to reach out to her son. She does neither.

My own chest is aching. And I’m getting itchy again, from so much secondhand emotion, from being surrounded by people.

I’m way out of my comfort zone. I want to pull out my phone and text Mirth.

Bolan needs to hear Trina’s version of what went down, because I have no doubt that Adeline isn’t going to confess to even half of it.

And maybe the real truth lies somewhere in the middle.

But I just sit. I sit and weather that silence with my bond mate and his mother.

Trina sighs softly, taking a sip of her cappuccino. Her hand is steady, as is her voice, when she asks, “Now … who is Mirth?”

I can see where Rian gets his composure from. I open my mouth, already grinning madly, just at the chance to —

Rian, expression placid though he’s still got his arms crossed, throws me a quelling look.

I raise my hands, playfully placating. But still pouting about it, of course.

Rian shifts in his seat— the first sight of blatant discomfort I’ve seen from him. “My … potential … bond group is the next conversation we will have.”

And my stomach squelches at the implied rejection.

The disconcerting feeling resolves into a level of disappointment — it scrapes at my insides — that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I don’t get invested in people, in relationships. Certainly not this quickly. And in a single sentence, Rian has reminded me why.

“Potential?” Trina echoes, glancing toward me, then at her son, brow furrowed. “You’re still … courting?”

Rian looks at me. Guiltily, I think.

I glance away, out the rain-speckled window. The building across the street is slightly blurry. A light fog clings to the brick.

This isn’t about me. Rian has already made that clear. He goes where Mirth goes. He’s not choosing the bond group per se.

Maybe he and Adeline have more in common than I would have thought.

I shouldn’t have come to Dublin. I have a list of things that Eli needs me to do. That, and wooing Mirth, is where I should be focused.

“Some of us are courting,” I say into the silence that has once again stretched over all of us, smoothing my hand down my suit jacket as I stand so it doesn’t drag across the table. “Please excuse me. I’m wanted elsewhere.”

Rian half rises out of his chair. His hand shoots across the table to grasp my wrist. “Sully —”

I still at the contact, partially turned away from the table. I can feel Rian’s warmth — and his shifter energy — even through the two layers of fabric between us.

In my peripheral vision, Greg lurches into motion, as surprised as I am. The royal guard crosses the space between us with that shifter swiftness.

A hush falls over the other customers, with us as the epicenter. I raise my free hand to stop Greg’s advance.

I twist my wrist to break Rian’s easy hold.

Trina, now all but pinned to her chair with the three of us looming around her — Greg at her back, Rian and me to either side — flinches and swallows a disconcerted cry.

“You do not touch a member of the royal household without permission.” The quiet but coldly delivered command rumbles through Greg’s chest as he looms over us.

“And even courting …” He sneers the word rather unprofessionally, clearly implying he heard every word of our conversation. “You certainly don’t do it in public.”

Rian swallows, looking young and unsure of himself for the first time since I’ve known him. Which, granted, is all of three meetings now, and only two of those in person.

I tug down my sleeve, smoothing out any hint of crease in the jacket cuff with a touch of my essence.

Trina’s nostrils flare. She leans slightly away from me.

She can scent or sense my power. And I’m an unknown mage to her.

I could be deadly.

I can, in fact, be deadly.

I just never choose to be so.

“My apologies,” Rian says — to me, not Greg.

I interrupt before he can continue. “I’m the one who foisted myself upon you,” I say coolly, even though I don’t feel at all steady or poised. “I’ll leave you to your conversation. It was lovely to meet you, Trina. Though I’m sorry about the circumstances.”

See? I can remember some of my fucking etiquette lessons. Enough to get me out of this very public and very uncomfortable situation.

“Sully,” Rian says, pained.

But I’m pissed now — whether or not it’s appropriate to be mad — so I just lift my chin and smirk at the wolf shifter. “Your mother is right, Rian. I have courting to do. And you’ve already made your intentions clear.”

“But I haven’t made … Mirth is my choice.”

I just nod stiffly, turning away. Greg steps just ahead of me to clear a path through the still-quiet cafe. A light murmur of voices rises behind me. I think Trina says something to Rian, but I don’t hear the exact words.

The glass door swings shut. The cool, damp air is a welcome relief on my face.

Greg glances back to see if I’m still following him like a good boy. His eyes glow softly with his essence.

“What did Trina say?” I ask despite myself. Despite me hating this sort of drama, mostly because I don’t know how to navigate it without tearing out hunks of my own soul.

“She said, ‘Oh, Rian. That’s not how bond groups work. You can’t just choose whoever this Mirth is.’ ”

“And what did he say?” I sound like a lovesick schoolboy, even though I have no romantic interest in Rian at all. Or attraction, for that matter.

Greg frowns slightly. “He didn’t answer.”

I nod. “Right. Let’s get home to Mirth.”

He nods in agreement, directing us toward the SUV waiting around the side of the building. The cobblestones are slick underfoot. I also should have worn a coat.

The driver steps out to open the back passenger door for me.

“Greg,” I murmur, slowing. Thinking suddenly about something I should have thought about much earlier.

The royal guard shakes his head once, still scanning the immediate area for threats even as he anticipates me. “Your conversations are private.”

“You don’t include them in your reports?”

“No.”

“And Mirth? You’re friendly with Mirth.”

Greg glances at me. “I know my duty, Lord Savoy. I protect you. And Her Royal Highness.”

His implication is clear. Mirth doesn’t need to know even a hint of any doubt Rian might be navigating. We’re in agreement on that.

I climb into the car. Greg takes the front passenger seat after a murmured conversation with the driver.

I glance back toward the cafe as we pull away.

Rian is outside, standing in the rain. Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.

We didn’t get around to exchanging numbers. Or making plans to introduce him, formally, to the others.

Maybe that was the way he wanted it all along.

I have no idea what I’m going to tell Mirth. Or Bolan, for that matter. Maybe it’s not my place to say anything at all.

Except my bond group is fundamentally mine to protect. Even from someone who is supposed to be ours. Supposed to want to be ours.