Page 46 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

“You’re always wearing it, Mirth,” Christoph says, completely serious.

“A wreath of purple vines and flowers across your brow, little goddess. Myrtle, I think. Like the first-century fresco they uncovered in Pompeii.” He notices me staring up at him, mouth unbecomingly agape.

“Is it the art reference that’s throwing you, or … ?”

My breath rushes out of me, and for a moment, I can’t get it back. “You can see … essence?”

“I can see essence,” he says, as if it’s a regular everyday thing. “I just couldn’t see yours until …”

Until I unleashed my power in the theater. “My mother can see essence,” I say, feeling weirdly hollow in my core, yet perfectly stable on my feet.

I catch Christoph’s confused frown in the reflection of the mirrored elevator doors right before they whoosh open. Roz and another royal guard whose name I haven’t retained precede us within.

“Anne?” he says. “Is that a cath palug trait?”

“No. My birth mother,” I murmur as we step into the elevator. Greg follows us, pressing the button for the upper level. “She … named me. Insisted on it. I thought it was just some odd family thing, even though I was … you know, bred for a purpose.”

“Ah …” Christoph tucks me tighter against his side in the somewhat crowded elevator. “Euphrosyne … the goddess of joy. Or mirth.”

“One of the Greek Charites,” I murmur.

“Maybe it is a family thing,” Christoph says, still perfectly matter-of-fact about it all. “Maybe it runs in your blood or comes with the purple eyes.”

“Please.” I laugh, a little sharply. “If my father thought my mother’s bloodline was descended from …”

I trail off, mind whirling. Because my father had always been clear about what was expected of me, from me. And when my power manifested … I refused it. I refused it so utterly that I lost access to most of my secondary abilities as well. “But … my mother is no great power.”

Christoph shrugs. “These things skip generations.”

The doors whoosh open. I didn’t even notice the elevator moving.

Christoph twitches right before the three royal guards step around us and into the quiet corridor beyond.

The twitch was subtle — just him stopping himself from stepping out and pulling me with him — but I squeeze his elbow, reminding myself that I’m not the only one currently navigating life-changing events … hour by hour.

Situated behind a dark wooden lectern emblazoned with the Racetrack logo, the host glances up from her tablet in the barest of acknowledgments. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No,” I say, already glancing behind her into the crowded dining room.

“I’m sorry, we’re very full —”

“Not to worry,” I say. “We’re meeting someone.”

A brown-haired woman in a pale-blue dress straightens from a table next to the windows overlooking the track below, raising her hand to wave. Her hair is smoothed back into a pretty French twist today, makeup flawless and covering her previously-more-obvious ski tan, bright-blue eyes welcoming.

Isla Merton.

A dark-blond, slim, tan-skinned male in a light-gray designer suit sits on her left. Isla and Archie’s chosen, Noah.

Every patron between Isla and me pivots to see whom the Merton heir has waved to so enthusiastically.

I raise my own hand in acknowledgment. Just not as high.

“Name?” the host asks, getting just a touch irritated.

A hush begins to muffle the vigorous chatter that normally fills the clubhouse dining room, radiating out from Isla into the far corners.

“That’s not for you to ask,” the royal guard whose name I still don’t know snaps.

The young woman’s head jerks up, eyes flashing with ire. Her reply dies on her lips, face paling as she truly looks at me. She gasps, then starts to stutter. “I … I … I’m … so … sorry …”

I sigh, though only inwardly. Then I turn, remove my sunglasses, and deliberately make eye contact with Roz.

Roz, who should be the guard standing just ahead to my left, no matter how pissed she is at me for sneaking out last night.

I deserve her ire, of course. But the host doesn’t deserve to be put in her so-called place this way.

Roz actually flinches under my look. Then she tilts her head pointedly toward the offending guard. He, looking completely confused, switches places with her.

I slide my sunglasses back on, facing the host with a perfectly pleased smile in place. “Not a concern. I see my friend Isla.”

I don’t wait for her to recover. She can do that far easier without me standing in front of her. I stride around the lectern, sliding my hand down Christoph’s arm until I’m holding his hand. He keeps pace with me unquestioningly.

The other patrons start removing their napkins from their laps, trying to hastily rise from their seats.

“Please,” I say pleasantly, but projecting my voice through the room. “Don’t let me disturb your lunch.”

Most of the patrons settle back into their chairs. A whisper of conversations start behind us as we pass.

Isla remains standing, with Noah rising to her side as I near. Lots of questions about who Christoph is float around us, but the duke at my side doesn’t acknowledge any of them. His expression is once again forbiddingly inscrutable.

One of the staff attempts to dart ahead to pull out a chair for me, only to be deftly intercepted and redirected by Roz — no snapping needed. Christoph pulls the chair out for me instead.

I pause to smile at Isla, then Noah. “Thank you for accommodating me.”

Noah just flashes me a saucy grin, but Isla clasps her hands tightly. “We were so pleased that you even wanted to see us …” Her gaze flicks to Christoph, but she quashes the question she obviously wants to ask.

“It’s never a problem to ditch the oldies,” Noah drawls, his accent still flavored by that hint of non-European French. The light gray of his suit brings out the awry purple in his dark-blue eyes.

“Father wasn’t planning on attending anyway,” Isla says.

“I imagine not,” Christoph mutters under his breath, pressing a hand to the small of my back to encourage me to sit down.

Isla hesitates at the comment, then ignores it. “Though if we’d known one of your horses was racing, Mirth, all of us would have happily attended. It was just announced.”

I slide into my seat. Christoph steps around me and takes the chair between me and Noah. Isla and the other awry both sit as well.

“Perseus,” Noah says. “That’s the magnificent beast you were riding the other day, yes?”

“Armin’s newest horse,” I say. The pinch of pain that accompanies the mention of my brother is just a tiny touch of agony today. “It’s the first race for the new … team.” Not proudly mentioning, acknowledging, Rian is a different sort of discomfort. “We wish them well, of course.”

“Of course,” Isla murmurs, smoothing her napkin over her lap.

Servers step in around us in a flash, filling the tall crystal tumblers with water and setting champagne down for Christoph and me.

“I ordered ahead,” Isla says. “As your guard prefers.”

“Thank you.”

An amuse-bouche is placed in front of the four of us, the servers’ moves coordinated and swift. They withdraw the moment the plate settles before me. The bite-sized appetizer appears to be tiny cubes of seared ahi tuna arranged on a single leaf of Belgian endive.

Isla plucks up her knife and fork, opening her mouth to continue the conversation.

Christoph scoops up the amuse-bouche with his fingers and pops the entire thing in his mouth, barely chewing and quickly swallowing. Then he flashes me a grin and holds his hand out for my plate.

Isla’s mouth drops open, her eyes wide and aghast.

If that shocks her, then this conversation isn’t going to go at all smoothly.

I pass my plate to Christoph. He eats the second amuse-bouche, then drops the fine china onto his empty plate.

Noah is struggling not to smile. Though when his gaze settles on Isla, it becomes somewhat wary. The Merton heir appears to be slowly melting down internally.

Isla’s nostrils flare as anger and frustration overtake her manners. “I selected that dish based on Her Highness’s preferences. You cannot —”

Christoph interrupts smoothly. “Mirth doesn’t eat in public.” He flicks his golden eyes between Isla and Noah. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Maybe Christoph isn’t as coolheaded as I presumed. That was the primary reason I asked him to join me.

Unsurprisingly, Isla gets huffy. “We are not public,” she snaps.

Christoph leans back in his seat, then deliberately casts his gaze around the room.

Isla dismisses the duke with an offish tilt of her chin, turning to me. “I know I owe you an apology, Your Highness. I just … when you asked to join us for lunch … I thought … and now …” She looks pointedly at Christoph.

“You would have preferred Sully or Bolan, no doubt,” Christoph says.

Isla’s shoulders stiffen, but she keeps her gaze on me. “It’s true that, during the picnic, I didn’t express myself terribly well —”

“You mauled Mirth’s soul-bound mate,” Christoph says flatly, derisively. “In front of her. And that’s the least of your family’s indiscretions.”

Isla takes a shaky breath. “Soul bound … Bolan … but … I mean, it was obvious that …”

“That what?” Christoph snaps.

I reach over and lay my hand on his wrist. The tension threaded under his skin instantly eases. He turns his hand over, offering me his palm.

“Apologies, Mirth,” he whispers, his gaze on our hands. He twines his fingers through mine, then draws our clasped hands under the table, under the cover of the white linen tablecloth. His dark-golden eyes meet mine. “I did listen to some of Elias’s protocol notes. Some.”

“I needed that remedial course at Lake Thun myself,” Noah says, trying to lighten the mood. “Too many years playing around with Archie behind the scenes, as it were. Not enough time managing public-facing relationships.”

“You’ve chosen, then,” Isla whispers tonelessly.

“It wasn’t a choice,” Christoph says, his gaze still on me. “The universe tells me I belong to Mirth.”