Page 8 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

T he Yates country home is about an hour outside of London by train.

Though we were usually driven there by the royal guard whenever we visited during school breaks.

Roz dozes beside me in the passenger seat of the Phantom as I slow to turn onto the long drive.

I know she’s not sleeping properly at night because of me, but it would likely be worse for her if I took off on my own.

I haven’t called ahead. And maybe I should have because I don’t actually know what’s going on with Bolan and his mother — what with the reveal of Bolan and Rian’s shared parentage only two days ago. But even though I’m not entirely certain of my welcome, I needed to come.

Armin was happy here. We were allowed to just be children here, then to just be teenagers here, treated the same as family. Not prince and princess. Not presumptive heir and spare heir to the realm.

I know that leaving a bit of Armin behind will help heal the gaping wound in my chest, but calling ahead would have formalized all of that.

The grass that spreads out from either side of the driveway is a vibrant green and in need of edging despite it barely being spring yet. The windows and doors of the red-brick house need a fresh coat of paint. It rained overnight, but the sun is currently peeking through the clouds overhead.

I’m acutely aware that I’ve left Sully behind.

Reminding myself that he has his own responsibilities to deal with today — a list of ‘secrets’ that apparently includes purchasing some ridiculously pricy art that’s not actually for sale, given the peeved tone Sully was using while haggling on his phone as I left him.

I’m not certain what collecting rare art has to do with establishing the Savoy bond group. I just know that Sully has a list of things to spend massive amounts of money on, and he’s the one with the contacts in the art world.

The odd ache in my chest from leaving Sully behind eased as we drove out of London, thankfully getting out of city traffic and onto the motorway quickly.

But I can still feel an echo of it if I let myself focus on it.

As if I’ve tethered myself to Sully, but it’s …

new, even tentative, and it feels too early to be testing the boundaries.

All silly thoughts. Distractions, really. So I don’t have to think about the next task on my own unwritten to-do list.

I’ve barely pulled up to the front of the house before Adeline is throwing open the front door and striding across the wide front patio. Tall, white-blond, and blue-eyed like her son Bolan, she’s still drying her hands with a tea towel. But her blazing grin tells me I’m welcome.

I exhale some of the stress I’ve been carrying.

While she’s always been lovely to me, I wasn’t certain how Adeline would have reacted to my silence since Armin’s death.

And then the reveal of Rian. That I’m with the child her dead husband had with another woman while they were still together.

Or at least that’s the story as far as I know.

Adeline might still care for me, cared for Armin, but she loves her children fiercely. She might view Rian as some sort of interloper, just as she might see me as betraying her family.

Dramatic, I know.

But those thoughts have been haunting me, just a little.

There are no wards on the estate, no wards on the house.

Which made the royal guard nervous when we visited.

But despite Bolan’s fame, he’s been adamant about keeping his family sheltered from the public.

Adeline, his sister, and his half-sisters are all wolf shifters and more than capable of taking care of themselves and each other.

“Mirth!” Adeline cries, tucking the tea towel in the back pocket of her jeans and spreading her arms out in greeting as she traverses the wood front steps and then the gravel drive in bare feet.

Roz is barely out of the car before I’m barreling straight into Adeline’s arms. Bolan’s mother is only slightly taller than me, but her arms band around me tightly. She kisses my temple as if my energy doesn’t bother her in the least. She smells like fresh bread. I’ve come on a baking day.

“Are you just with Roz?” she asks.

I nod, still holding her almost as tightly as she holds me. “I’m sorry for not calling ahead —”

“You never need to call,” she says. “Though I …” She pulls back from me slightly, trying to look me in the eyes despite the shading of my sunglasses. “I’ve been worried.”

I nod again, feeling like a complete asshole. Not only for not being in touch for over seven months, but because I doubted my welcome. “I’m so, so sorry … I just … haven’t been able to …”

Adeline nods, almost briskly. A flicker of her aged but still deep-seated grief filters through to me — picked up inadvertently because of our close contact.

I don’t think about how I could take that flicker of grief, twist my essence around it, and transform it into a false joy.

Not any longer than it takes me to step back from her hold, at least.

That’s the problem with me letting my power have even just a little give.

It makes me aware. Aware of everything I could wreck and ruin.

But if I don’t have Armin to balance me, and if I have the intersection point to take more responsibility for, then this state of awareness is going to have to be my new normal.

“Will you … stay?” Adeline asks almost tentatively. “The girls aren’t up yet, but they’d love to see you. For a late breakfast at least, darling girl?” She clears her throat quietly, uncomfortably. “Bolan isn’t here.”

I smile. I can’t remember Adeline ever treating Armin and me any differently than her own children. I suppose if we’d ever been in public together, she would have been forced to use more formality when addressing us, but that wasn’t what our visits here were about.

We could be almost normal here.

The royal guard still patrolled the property, of course. And the neighbors to the east were encouraged to take vacations — not that I knew about that when we were young — so that the guards could use their home as an outpost.“Pancakes? Or …?”

Adeline laughs, sliding her hands up my arms and squeezing my shoulders gently. “I have leftover sourdough starter. Come inside. I’ll get you some juice. And I’ll whip up some pancakes.”

“Do you mind if I take a walk first?”

Adeline tilts her head thoughtfully, quirking an eyebrow. “Alone?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not …” But she hesitates, glancing over at Roz. My guard has remained by the car, her eyes on the house, her body language relaxed. Adeline lowers her voice. “Is there something you need to tell me, Mirth? About … Bolan? Or the matchmaking event?”

I shake my head, attempting to ignore the sinking feeling that Bolan hasn’t spoken to his mother. About Rian. “No. I haven’t seen Bolan for a couple of days. And … I ended the matchmaking fiasco.”

“You’ve made a decision?”

“Not … formally.”

“But … not Bolan?”

My chest tightens. With anxiety? Or trepidation? “You haven’t heard from him?”

“Should I have? I thought you were … did you reject his suit?”

Even with my sunglasses as a barrier between us, I have to look away for a moment to steady myself.

Bolan is an asshole. Bolan is always an asshole.

But putting me in this position — whether or not he knows he’s done it — just reinforces all of that.

I either have to tell Adeline about Rian, or I have to lie by omission. “Everything with Bolan is … difficult.”

Adeline snorts playfully. “How is that any different than it’s ever been?”

I look back at her, suppressing a sigh. “It isn’t.”

She grimaces, then wipes her already dry hands on the front of her jeans. “Take your walk. We’ll talk more over breakfast.”

A slight reprieve is generous of her. Also, out of character.

Adeline never relented when we were younger.

Not that it was ever me on the wrong end of one of her disapproving looks or biting chastisements or ‘no dessert’ punishments.

I’m fairly certain that Armin sometimes broke little rules — doing things like tracking mud through the house — because he loved being treated the same as Bolan and his sisters.

I, of course, wasn’t ever going to jeopardize a single dessert.

“The pond is pure swamp,” Adeline says, proving yet again that she has some level of psychic ability.

Or maybe she’s just that good at reading me.

“Come grab some wellies from the mudroom.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, simply sending Roz a look over my shoulder, then striding back into the house.

“Want me to wait here?” Roz asks quietly. “You’d know … wouldn’t you? If anyone but the Yates family members were on the property?”

Stepping back to the car to retrieve my backpack and Armin’s urn within it, I don’t answer for a moment, rolling the implications of that statement around in my head.

Loosening the rigid hold on my power hasn’t gone unnoticed by Roz.

And why would it? She’s a combat mage deemed powerful enough to protect one of the direct heirs to the realm.

The sole heir now, marked by my purple-hued eyes. And also by decree of my father.

“I could check in,” Roz adds to fill the silence. “Greg is pissed we ditched him a second time, and that Lord Savoy has multiple errands in London in multiple unsecured locations. Plus they’ve never worked together.”

Settling the backpack across my shoulders, I take the intended rebuke, not reminding Roz that I could have left her to run around after Sully instead of Greg. Or that both Sully and I could have just gone off on our own, sans guards altogether.