Christoph stiffens in surprise.
Bolan whistles. “Someone is so getting fired for taking pictures in the clubhouse. I hope the payout was worth it for them.” He leans over to peer at Sully’s screen. “Look at you, Duke. Fucking besotted. I seriously thought you were in the no-fucking camp. But Mirth climbing you like the behemoth you are about a half an hour ago made your intentions pretty clear.”
“This is information I don’t need,” Roz says, though she sounds amused under her curt, professional tone. “Are you all happy with that statement?”
“Yes,” Elias says.
Roz closes the door behind her.
Cheeks flushing, Christoph pulls his own phone out of his pocket, holding it like it’s something he’s forced to carry but doesn’t really know how to use. “Can you send me those, Sully?”
“I’ll do you one better,” the blue-haired mage drawls. His thumbs are already flying over his screen. “I’ll get the originals.”
Then as if they’re engaging in some kind of silent communication, but without looking at each other, each of the four steps away from guarding the door Mirth and the kids disappeared through.
I instantly take the opening.
“Tell Tommy and Kitty to come down,” Elias says, not looking directly at me. “They haven’t eaten enough.”
“Yes.” Sully’s tone is even frostier than the earl’s. “I need to see how Tommy’s arm is healing.”
I understand my place now, and what I need to do to start building trust if this bond group is what I really want.
Understanding doesn’t make any of what I might have seriously fucked up easier to fix, though.
Mirth is practically hangingover the top of a short balcony, gesturing down toward the track, with the kids standing at the railing to either side of her. I slip through the already open door at the top of the stairs unnoticed and take a moment to do some watching myself — of Mirth and the kids. I barely notice the few empty seats behind them, or any of the other minimalist decor. This perch is purely a way to view the track below without anyone, and everyone, watching right back.
It doesn’t take me more than a moment to see how the kids lean into Mirth, how they look at her. But not like they’re worshiping a princess or are simply enamored with a pretty woman. They’re drawn to her, yes. But they’re … safe with her.
She feels like home to me too.
“Oh, there he is!” the young girl — Kitty — cries, jabbing her finger at a downward angle toward the track. She’s got a small pair of binoculars pressed to her face, the straps looped around her neck. “That’s him. Number 1. Number 1. That’s Perseus, right?”
I understand that they’re parading some of the horses around the track between races to increase the take on the later races. As long as they’re kept separate, it’s good to let them stretch their legs.
“But who’s the rider?” Tommy says distrustfully. “Eli says that Perseus is fast, young but fast. But that the rider will make the difference between first and second place.”
“I don’t know,” Mirth murmurs, glancing toward the stats now scrolling over the huge screen hanging over the center of the stadium. “The rider’s name wasn’t posted when I last checked.”
“We should have asked Rian,” Kitty says.
“He wasn’t answering Mirth’s calls, remember?” Tommy says darkly.
“Oh,” Kitty whispers quietly. “Right …”
Mirth’s shoulders stiffen. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for whatever she’s going to say. Even though I need to speak up, step up now … I wait just a moment more.
“I’m certain,” Mirth says, her tone perfectly pleasant, “that had I asked Rian directly, he would have provided us a name. He knew we were coming to see Perseus race. He took time out of his very busy schedule to send me all those stats, remember? I should have forwarded those to Eli, but I didn’t know the earl would take you to place bets.”
“Okay …” Kitty says, still a little doubtful. Then her enthusiasm floods right back in. “I mean, truthfully, we kind of begged Eli. And he’d already given us each a draw on our allowance.”
Tommy watches Mirth steadily as she completely covers for me. Disappointment— in myself— adds another sharp edge to the maelstrom of painful emotion lodged in my chest. Mirth lying. For me. And Tommy already old enough, smart enough, to see right through it.
The last seventy-two hours have been utter hell on my perception of myself. All of it self-inflicted wounds.
Mirth catches Tommy watching her, offering him a slight smile. “Does your arm hurt?”
“No,” he says, also valiantly lying.
