Page 29 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

I’ve been so focused on Mirth, then distracted by Sully, that I didn’t feel the shift in the tenor of energy that threads between Bolan and Mirth.

It’s not the robust connection that anchored my parents together, and is therefore far easier to miss, even with my general sensitivity to essence.

But still, utter relief floods through me, cracking the numbness threatening to take up residence in my chest.

As erratic and self-centered as the rock star seems on the surface, I know now that he’s all in— to the bond group and to Mirth.

“Don’t run,” Bolan says.

Pure unfettered defiance brightens Mirth’s eyes. She raises her chin, then completely and utterly dismisses Bolan, taking a single step to the side and striding past him, past us all. As if none of us exist.

She heads straight for the door.

I expect Bolan to grab her. Sully was already pushing her around.

I’d have to stop him, I realize. I don’t want to get between them. Yes, each of us must navigate our own connections with the others, but we can’t force any of those connections, especially not physically. I should have curtailed Sully’s handling of Mirth earlier as well.

The princess lays her fingers across the handle of the door.

Bolan sinks to his knees. He doesn’t take a step first or make a sound. He simply kneels and waits, staring after Mirth. There is absolutely nothing playful in the gesture this time.

Mirth stills, staring at the door for a moment before she slowly looks back at him over her shoulder. Energy gently shifts between them. She pivots just as slowly, presses her back against the door, and closes her eyes. The backpack dangles from her fingers.

“I’m not playing games,” she murmurs, seemingly to herself.

Bolan doesn’t move a muscle. “I know.”

“You’re acting like I’m a game. Like this is a game.”

She means more than just Bolan kneeling or the bet. ‘Dibs.’ I didn’t realize that bothered her. I know Mirth isn’t the simple, perfect-princess persona she wears with seeming ease, but I had no inkling …

I tear my gaze off her, watching Bolan instead. Is it just his heightened senses that help him assess Mirth’s emotional state? Or is their bond growing stronger, even in this moment?

I want that connection so badly I can fucking taste it.

“It won’t happen again,” Bolan says, steady as a fucking rock while my heart still beats wildly in my chest. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.

Sully doesn’t give a fuck about a stupid fucking title.

His meds aren’t working well, and something pissed him off yesterday.

He’s not talking to me about it either. Elias isn’t fucking the shifter in the front office.

I would smell sex on them. You aren’t an inconvenience or an obligation.

To any of us. And Elias, specifically, wants any part of you that you’re willing to share with him. ”

Well, that was perfectly concise.

Maybe Bolan should speak for us all more often. Maybe I’ve completely underestimated the rock star.

Mirth raises her chin a little higher. Though her bright eyes betray the molten core of her emotional state, she’s all poised and cool toned as she says, “Elias can fuck whoever he wants. And Sully never wanted the title.” Her blazing gaze slides toward the devastated mage hanging on her every word, her every breath.

All three of us are desperate to move past this awkward, soul-wrenching moment.

Now who’s the dramatic one?

Bolan chuckles, dark edged. “Eli can fuck whoever, hey?”

Tension runs through Mirth’s jaw. Her gaze flicks to me, and she clarifies, “Whoever he wants.”

I smile tightly at that. Then I follow Bolan’s blunt lead. “I never really wanted, truly wanted anyone before. Before you, Mirth. Before this bond group. Sex was just a … necessity, not a desire. And companionship, deep friendship was … unnecessary.”

Mirth listens to every word, tilting her head in acknowledgment once she’s absorbed them. I hope. Then she flicks her gaze to Sully. He jerks as if meeting her gaze is like grabbing a live wire.

A perfectly understandable reaction.

“The title means nothing,” Sully says dully. “It was nothing to my mother. It was nothing to my father. And they ultimately were nothing to me, weren’t they?”

Mirth swallows. I feel the history between her and Sully yawn open. So much love and consideration. Acceptance.

“So … the title is nothing,” Sully whispers.

“The money is nothing. Except for what it might help secure. Because you mean everything. You and Armin …” His voice cracks.

“And even fucking Bolan are my entire fucking world. You took my hand, literally. Do you remember that first day, moving into the dorms? When I was a seven-year-old with an obscene expense account and a hired driver dropping me off with only the clothing on my back? My own mother’s blood on the cuffs of those jeans?

And you and Armin had all the books and boxes and guards, all the hushed whispers following you around.

You took my hand. And Armin figured out the way to the dining hall. Remember?”

Mirth nods.

“I say the wrong things. I don’t process information like other people. I —”

“I know, Sully.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I … saw Rian yesterday.”

Mirth steps away from the door, and all the tension in the room — good and bad — snaps into nothing. “What? When?”

“I went to him, to Rian. In Dublin. And now I’m pissed.

Or I was pissed. Now I’m just … numb. But I’m also still pissed, mostly at myself, because …

maybe … maybe I shouldn’t have gone.” He closes his eyes for a moment.

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Mirth.

But I think … I probably need to talk about it, don’t I?

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been … but it shouldn’t be with you.

Because what if I misunderstood? Or I’m just overwhelmed about everything else?

I don’t want to fuck up anything. Between us or in the bond group. Or with you and Rian.”

The rush of words stops, and Sully takes another shaky breath. His right hand smooths down his suit jacket, pausing at each button.

“Me,” I say after waiting a moment so I don’t interrupt him if he wishes to continue. “You’ll talk to me, Sully. And I’ll help you sort through your reactions. Then we take to Mirth whatever needs to be taken.”

Sully opens his eyes, raises his head, and looks directly at me. “All right.”

Mirth glances between us, reluctantly nodding though she looks as though she wants to protest.

“Good.” I reach for my phone. “I’ll order lunch in. While we’re waiting for it to be delivered, we’ll go over the bond group contracts, make any amendments needed, and sign them. If Bolan and Sully are still amenable. And whenever you want, we’ll discuss Rian.”

We all level our attention on Mirth. She presses her lips together, clearly wanting to push — though what subject still needs clarification, I’m not certain. Instead, she steps away from the door, crossing to thread her fingers through Bolan’s hair.

I suppress a moan of relief.

“Please order enough for Roz and Greg, Elias.” Mirth slides an arch look my way. “And Lia, of course.”

“Lia,” I say steadily, “doesn’t need to be here today. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the rest of the week off.”

“Find her a better placement,” Sully demands.

Mirth frowns at him. Bolan seems to have slipped into some sort of meditative state, likely from Mirth combing her fingers through his hair. He’s still on his knees, but not touching her in return.

“Do you have a personal issue with Lia, Salvatore?” Mirth asks.

Sully turns his sharp gray eyes on me, still riled despite his awareness that he’s taking it out where he doesn’t intend to. Though he honestly might be as pissed about Lia as he seems. “I do. No one fucks around outside the bond group. Not on Mirth … and not on me.”

“Fine,” I say, cutting off any possible extension of the argument. “Most bond groups are faithful to each other, whether or not that includes a sexual component. But I’ll add it to the bond group contract.” I look pointedly at Sully. “Just for your comfort, Salvatore.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“I’m thinking …” Bolan drawls, eyes still closed. “Pizza. With lots of meat and cheese.”

Mirth shakes her head and sighs. Then she twists her fingers through the back of Bolan’s hair, tugs his head back with a fair bit of force, and brushes a kiss across his lips.

If that’s supposed to be a punishment on her part, I’ll gladly be naughty enough to require it.

And I’ve never liked anyone’s fingers in my hair. In fact, I barely tolerate kissing.

“I don’t like it when you’re upset, Mirth,” Bolan murmurs. “I don’t like it when you’ve been crying. But if you need to do or be either of those things, let me at least be there with you? No more going off on your own.”

“Bolan …”

“Mirth,” he growls, “how many more trips with the ashes are you planning?”

“One more stop.”

“You will take me.”

“And me,” Sully interjects.

“All right. Anyone who wants to come with me can come. Okay? Yes.”

The promise is barely past her lips before Bolan is surging up, flipping her over his shoulder, and striding toward the door that leads to the connecting conference room.

“That room isn’t soundproof,” I say.

Bolan whirls around, surveying the office — and almost clipping Mirth’s forehead on the side of the bookshelves in the process.

She squeals, pummeling him with her fists. “Bolan! I can barely breathe!”

The rock star homes in on the other all-but-hidden door between the built-in bookshelves, striding toward it instead.

The bathroom. He flings open the door with Mirth still huffing in protest over his shoulder.

Then he strides in without turning on the light.

Just kicking the door shut behind him and once again owning everything and everyone around him.

All the energy drains from the room.

Sully and I just stare blankly at the closed door.