Page 48 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

“Your father and at least two of your elder bond mates,” I say, “are directly involved with kidnapping and trafficking children with powerful potential.”

Christoph adds, “As well as black-market art and antiquities.”

“No,” Isla says, swallowing a whimper.

“It’s possible … by the way he positioned himself last night,” I say, just trying to get it all out now, “it’s possible your father is actually the head of the European chapter of the Mobius Group.”

“The United Kingdom at least,” Noah mutters.

“You can’t be believing any of this?” Isla cries, helpless but clearly beginning to believe it herself. “Noah?”

He leans in and gently kisses her, murmuring against her lips, “We need to listen now, dou-dou. Mirth is giving us a chance to salvage as much as possible.”

Isla leans into her chosen for a moment, then nods.

They both turn back to me.

“Archie will have to take the seat on the council,” I say steadily.

“Father will never give it up, Mirth.”

“You will force him out. You’ll bring in a forensic accountant.”

“I’m perfectly qualified to —”

“There are other people involved now, Isla.”

“You need to clean house,” Christoph says.

“And reparations will have to be made,” I say. “Large, public displays of philanthropy.”

Isla opens her mouth again, but I keep going.

“Every stolen piece of art,” I say. Then, more darkly, “Every child sold into slavery at your father’s behest.”

Isla presses a shaky hand over her mouth.

“I’m not the only one watching,” I say. “And I can’t guarantee that I can control what this other party will do if they aren’t satisfied that the rest of you aren’t involved. Though the wanton destruction of anything accessible through tech comes to mind.”

Isla meeps in terror behind her hand.

I try to soften my tone. “The realm needs stability. What else are we here for, born into all of this … the money and the titles … but to protect everyone else? That’s why I’ve come to you, Isla. That’s why I’m asking you to accept responsibility. To do what needs to be done.”

Isla’s hand falls to the table. Her eyes, wide and filled with tears, lock to mine. “You’re right, Mirth.”

Noah tugs his phone out of his pocket. He presses a single button, then holds it to his ear.

He then clearly interrupts whoever answers.

“We need you. Meet us in the Racetrack box. It’s easier for you to come to us and …

easier to secure that space.” He pauses for a moment, his tone softening.

“I’m sorry. We’ll explain. Come now. Don’t speak to anyone else. ” He hangs up the call.

“But …” Isla’s hand flutters over the silver cutlery set to the side of her plate, fingertips plucking at the edges of the napkin there. Her eyes are an even brighter blue than usual, flushed with unshed tears. “I’m not … I’m not certain I’m absorbing this …”

Noah takes her hand, leaning close enough to press it to his chest, over his heart. Her gaze crashes into his. But instead of completely melting down, Isla’s back straightens, and her breathing steadies.

The connection between them is real. No matter that it’s been forced along by the matchmaking event and Lord Merton’s attempt to woo me into his bond group through the younger generation.

Isla’s thumb brushes against Noah’s shirt, offering comfort even while taking it.

Then she abruptly leans into her chosen — as if something has just become perfectly clear to her. Her voice is low but fierce. “I’ll fight, Noah. You’re not … you’re not just a prize to me, to be wooed or won or even bought. I’m … I might be overwhelmed, but if this is who my father truly is …”

“It’s okay,” Noah says soothingly.

“It’s not okay!” Isla snaps. “None of this is okay. What if Mirth never found out any of this? What if she did but never came to us? I would have just continued to … to … I’m not my father! If this is who he truly is … I’m … sickened … and …”

“I know.”

“You don’t, really. We barely know each other. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, Noah. I don’t give a fuck what color your eyes are or what power you wield. I love you.”

Noah’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open slightly.

“I love you, Noah,” Isla repeats firmly. Then, seeming to realize that fierce declarations of love are a little out of place in the clubhouse dining room, she tilts her head prettily to the side and smirks. “And not just because of that thing you do so well with your tongue.”

Noah laughs, still slightly overwhelmed. “Well, keep that on the list because it’s also a favorite of mine.”

With a blush warming her cheeks and still quietly smirking, Isla angles her gaze back to catch mine. “May I ask for … this is going to sound like I’m doubting you, but I’m not.”

“Proof?” I offer her a smirk of my own. “How much do you want?”

“All of it.”

“That can be arranged,” Christoph says. “As quickly as you need. Likely on a secure hard drive, by courier. Mirth cannot be further involved.”

I chafe at that last bit, but he isn’t wrong. No matter what I did last night to secure the children, my position doesn’t really allow for such vigilante justice. I’m supposed to forever be a neutral unifying figurehead, in fact.

“Understandably,” Isla says.

“We’ll be in the Merton box,” Noah says, glancing at his phone screen. “Please give your contact my details. If I’m understanding the dynamics here, I might be the best point of contact for them?”

Awry to awry, he means. Noah knows enough about the Mobius Group to know that our contact is very likely awry. He’s right, of course. I don’t need to see Coda’s purple eyes to know that definitively myself.

“Thank you, Mirth.” Isla, hesitating for just a moment and giving me plenty of time to pull away, touches the back of my hand lightly. “Thank you for trusting us, trusting me.”

I nod, squeezing Christoph’s fingers under the table just a little.

“The impulsive destruction of anything and anyone connected to this group would be easier, even more satisfying, than prioritizing stability and slow, steady change.” My voice hardens.

“But please don’t doubt that I am more than capable of indulging my inner need to destroy anyone connected to this Mobius Group.

I could do it while I sat here and sipped my tea. ”

Isla’s fear curls around me. And for one of the only times in my life, I don’t hate that reaction.

“You don’t even like tea, Mirth,” Christoph says.

I flick my gaze to meet his. His eyes are warm, inviting — and maybe laughing at me, just a little. “The next time I’m in a great-and-terrible princess mindset, perhaps I won’t invite you along.”

“Archie’s parking,” Noah says quietly, placing his napkin next to his untouched plate. “You don’t mind if we leave you to your lunch, do you, Mirth?”

“Of course not.”

Isla straightens from her chair. “We’ll do a proper lunch next?”

“Just to check in,” Christoph says warningly.

This time both Isla and I throw peeved looks the duke’s way.

He grins. But grimly, not warmly. At Isla and Noah specifically. “Just following my own set of directives handed to me by those more into this politics shit than I ever will be. I personally would have chosen Mirth’s path of impulsive destruction the moment I set eyes on those kids.”

“We understand you perfectly,” Isla says.

“Keep it that way.”

I huff under my breath, nodding as Noah and Isla bow and curtsy in my direction.

Then they flee the clubhouse dining room as quickly as they can without actually picking up their pace.

I’m thankful, just this once, for the snooty reputation of the remaining clubhouse patrons and the staff, all of whom pointedly ignore the odd goings-on.

“Keep it that way.” I mock Christoph’s words back at him.

Christoph flashes me a blazing bright grin that is so out of character it momentarily shocks me dumb. He hooks his hand under my chair, yanking me closer before I can even think to stop him. Though I’m honestly not certain I would even if given the chance.

Looping his arm over the back of my chair, as if we’re some normal couple in some normal restaurant, he raises two fingers to flag down the nearest server.

That server apparently isn’t ignoring us so much that he misses the summons, almost stumbling over his feet getting to our table.

“Clear these extra settings, would you?” Christoph says. “And do you have a chef capable of making proper sushi on staff?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, my lord.” The server flags down another of the waitstaff, and together they efficiently and expertly start clearing Isla’s and Noah’s settings. “I’ll quickly have the chef write out a menu proposal, shall I?”

“Nah,” Christoph says. “I like just about anything, as long as it’s fresh. Do you have sashimi? Sockeye, specifically? Anything with prawns or scallops. Do you like sunomono, Mirth?”

“I do,” I murmur, completely and utterly beguiled by something as simple as Christoph … taking care of me. “Miso soup as well.”

Christoph flashes an affable grin. “You heard the princess. Thank you.”

Thusly dismissed, the servers spin away in different directions.

Christoph takes a swig of his water, then catches me watching him.

“I like you.”

“That’s good.” His voice rumbles through his chest. “Because I’m yours.”

The so-called Royal Household Box is empty when Christoph and I arrive. Roz still insists on doing a walkthrough while we wait, surrounded by other guards in the hall that leads to all the other boxes along the upper level of the stadium racecourse.

“Give us a moment, would you?” Christoph murmurs to Roz as she circles back from checking the bathroom and we step into the box.

My guard’s gaze flicks to me, and I offer her a smile instead of the nod she’d get in public. She smiles back, smirking just a little inappropriately.