Fractured Heart: a Fairy Tale Romance (LUV Academy Book 1)

by Mia Harlan

  I’ll ride into battle against any horde

  A beast from the wild is no match for my sword

  And rightly I’ll strike him down with style and ease

  To rescue the maiden he’s captured - so please

  Choose me!

  Tate doesn’t get the notes quite right and it doesn’t sound exactly how I pictured it, but his voice…oh, his voice!

  The words leaving his throat are as sweet as honey. He sings each one perfectly and each word comes out rich and clear. Best of all, he’s smiling the whole time—at me. As if he actually likes my song as much as I do.

  He goes through the chorus once, then starts again. This time, he points at Charles, signaling for him to join in. Can Charles sing, too? He doesn’t seem to talk much, but when he does, his voice sends tingles down my spine. If he sings, I don’t think my heart could take it. I hold my breath, but Charles waves Tate away, wordlessly declining.

  “Aww, come on,” Tate cajoles him.

  “Reading,” Charles grumbles, looking away.

  Tate pouts. When Charles doesn’t look up from his Grimm’s Fairy Tales, he goes back to singing.

  I try to resist, I really do.

  Father says my voice is high pitched and whiny. Whenever I sing, it makes his ears hurt. Not to mention, I got kicked out of my high school choir.

  I really shouldn’t sing in public, but Tate’s voice is way too much of a temptation. I join in the chorus, even though it’s meant for him and Charles. Then, without realizing, I’m singing the next verse, making up words as I go. I don’t even notice that Tate has stopped singing and that it’s just my voice ringing through the apartment.

  I’m not just a monster, I’m not just a brute

  Though tall, dark, and hairy, I’m hot in pursuit

  Of any alarming Prince Charming who dares

  Think himself my rival when deeply I care.

  Choose me!

  Then, I catch Charles staring at me and flush in embarrassment. The book of fairy tales is lying face down on his broad, muscular chest, and the intense look behind his thick-rimmed glasses makes my throat go dry.

  “Please Roonie, don’t stop,” Tate begs when I drop off mid-note.

  He gives me a hopeful look, then starts singing my chorus all over again. He grins at me, and after a moment’s hesitation, I can’t resist. Tate doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t have a good singing voice. His strong, smooth tenor provides the backing that my songs have always lacked, and our voices ring out in perfect harmony.

  My heart starts to melt. Tate sounds like Prince Charming, straight out of my imagination, which makes me feel like Cinderella. Our voices meld as we finish the chorus and then we stand there grinning at each other. I want to throw my arms around him and give him a huge hug, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Plus, I can feel Charles’s eyes boring into me. He’s sitting silently on the couch, judging me, and I suddenly feel self-conscious.

  “Hey, Charles,” Tate grins at his roommate, “I bet we’d sound even better if you joined in.”

  Charles stares at him for a few seconds, then picks up his book from the couch and starts flipping pages. Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth turns up with the hint of a smile. “You sounded great.”

  I’m sure he means Tate, not me, and he’s right. Tate’s got an amazing voice. Unbelievable. Magical. I want to ask him to sing another song for me—maybe the one I wrote about Prince Charming and Cinderella—but the moment’s passed.

  Maybe I’m imagining things, since Charles only just met me, but I don’t think he likes me. It’s probably just my singing, so as long as I can keep myself from doing any more of it while I’m here, I should be fine. Easier said than done.

  I turn to Tate and give him a shy smile. “Thank you for inviting me to stay the night.”

  Charles growls. Then he shoots a glare aimed at both me and Tate and I realize that this is the first time he’s hearing about it. That, and he clearly doesn’t want me to stay.

  “I didn’t invite you to spend the night,” Tate denies quickly.

  “But…” I feel my cheeks turn tomato red. If he was going to change his mind, couldn’t he have at least said so? Instead of making me look like some crazy girl who invited herself over? Now, Charles probably likes me even less—not that it matters. If I’m not staying, I’ll probably never see either of them again. Which is the least of my worries, since I don’t have anywhere to spend the night.

  Tate gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I invited you to stay as long as you need.”

  “What?” I spin around to face him, sure my overactive imagination is playing tricks on me.

  “You can stay here as long as you want, Roonie,” Tate repeats with a shy smile.

  What does that even mean? That I can stay all weekend? All week? For the rest of the year?!

  Even a few days should be enough for me to figure things out, but would Charles be okay with that? Tate didn’t even ask him if I could stay. So what happens if he wants me gone?

  I glance at Charles and he stares right back. Behind his beard, his face remains impassive. I could almost be convinced he doesn’t care, but I see a tension in his huge frame that wasn’t there before. His eyes bore into me, and I wait for him to say the words.

  I wait for him to tell me to leave.

  Chapter 8

  “I should get to bed.” Charles flips Grimm’s Fairy Tales closed.

  I feel a wave of relief because he’s not telling me to leave. Then, he gets to his feet.

  The entire couch shifts under his weight and Charles towers over Tate and me. Standing at full height, he’s a huge beast of a man, and I shrink in on myself as my heart pounds in my chest.

  “Night.” Tate grins at his roommate, not seeming the least bit intimidated by his size.

  With a curt nod, Charles heads toward a closed door that’s barely visible from where I’m standing. I guess that’s his bedroom. Before he enters, though, he pauses. With one huge hand on the doorframe, he looks over his shoulder and stares right at me. My heart skips a beat.

  “Good night,” he says. He doesn’t smile. Actually, I think he frowns. It’s kind of hard to tell because of his beard.

  Is he annoyed that I’m here? Does he want me to leave? And if he does, why didn’t he just say so? He keeps staring at me and my heart pounds in my chest. I have to fight the urge to back away, knowing Tate’s muscular chest is directly behind me. A few more seconds pass. Then, Charles spins around, enters his room, and slams the door shut.

  “Does he not want me here?” I turn to Tate, swallowing hard. I’m suddenly aware of the lingering smells of mud, dirt, and dampness that cover my body. Of course, Charles doesn’t want me here. Their apartment is pristine and I’m a complete mess.

  “Don’t worry, Roonie.” Tate gives me a reassuring smile. “Charles is always slow to warm up to people. Once he gets to know you, I’m sure you’ll get along.”

  Tate sounds so sure. Plus, he thinks that I’ll be here long enough for Charles to get to know me. I can’t help smiling.

  “Can I ask you something?” Tate leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze caresses my lips, and I shiver.

  “Yeah?” I whisper back.

  Tate glances at my lips again and I lick them nervously. I know he made it clear he wasn’t interested, but maybe he changed his mind? The way he’s staring at me now makes my lips tingle in anticipation. Is that what he’s going to ask? If he can kiss me?

  If this were a fairy tale, we’d start singing about true love’s kiss. Then, our lips would lock and birds would sing and fireworks would go off in celebration. But this is real life, and I don’t know how to do this in real life. I know I should close my eyes, but when? Now? When our lips touch? And what do I do with my arms? What if I don’t know what to do with my arms?

  “Roonie,” Tate whispers, making me forget about my worries. My eyes drift shut of their own accord, and my mind shouts this is it! Thi
s is it! “Can you tell me where you heard those songs?”

  “What?” My eyes fly open and my cheeks burn. How could I be so stupid? Of course, Tate doesn’t want to kiss me. A guy like him would never be attracted to someone like me.

  “The songs…” Tate presses, while I wish I could disappear. “You know, like the one we were just singing? Where did you hear it?”

  “Nowhere,” I mumble, looking down at my feet.

  “Look, don’t be embarrassed. I don’t care if it’s a kid cartoon or just…” Tate runs a hand through his thick, blond hair. “Look, please, Roonie? I just want to know where you heard that song.”

  “I…” I take a deep breath and then blurt out, “I made it up.”

  “You made it up it?” Tate frowns. “You mean, you wrote it?”

  I nod and quickly look away.

  “Just wait until I tell Charles. He is going to flip!”

  “Please don’t tell him.”

  “Why not?” Tate frowns.

  “I just don’t want him to know, okay?” I blush.

  “I…” Tate hesitates. “Hey, you must be tired.”

  I nod, even though I’m anything but.

  “Me too.” Tate stretches his muscular arms over his head. His shirt slowly rides up, and my gaze locks on the thin strip of muscular abs he reveals. When the fabric slides back down, and my gaze slides back up, Tate responds with a slow smile that turns into a knowing grin. “We should go to bed.”

  “Bed?” I squeak. My insides go all crazy and I feel my face turn hot. I know Tate couldn’t possibly be interested in me, but the way he’s looking at me right now says otherwise.

  His eyes lock on mine and his jaw tightens. “Wait here,” he says softly.

  I stare after him as he disappears down the hall. Where is he going? And why was he looking at me like that? Did he change his mind and decide he’s interested in me? He did say we should go to bed right after he caught me checking him out.

  My palms start to sweat. I just freaked out at the thought of a mere kiss. Actually sleeping together? I wipe my hands on my jeans. I’m not ready for that! I have to get out of here!

  “Roonie?” Tate asks as I reach for the doorknob. “I thought you might want to take a bath.”

  “A bath?” I repeat, turning to face him. Tate gestures at me with the pile of stuff in his hands: a stack of towels, a robe, and a new toothbrush.

  I almost moan. That’s how badly I want that bath. I’m covered in dirt, like a mermaid from a muddy riverbank—if there were mermaids in muddy riverbanks. It’s everywhere, all over my body, and coating my itchy scalp.

  It makes me self-conscious and I wish I looked cleaner, prettier. I don’t know why I thought Tate might want to sleep with me, or even kiss me. There’s no way he’s attracted to me when I look the way I do now.

  “Is there someone at the door?” Tate asks.

  “What?” I glance down at my hand, which is still on the doorknob. “I was just making sure it was locked,” I lie, turning the lock counterclockwise.

  “You unlocked it.” Tate grins at me.

  “Oh, sorry.” I quickly turn the lock again, returning it to the way it was.

  Tate grins. “The bathroom’s just this way.”

  “I just need to take off my shoes.” I gesture at the pristine, shiny floor. “They’re covered in mud.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tate shrugs, gesturing at his own muddy sneakers.

  I still feel guilty as I follow him across the hall. My squeaky shoes leave muddy footprints on the living room floor, making me cringe. The only consolation is that Tate’s do the same. He opens a door down the hall from Charles’s room, and I instantly forget about everything else.

  The bathroom’s huge, with marble countertops and a potted plant by the sink. How does it even survive without natural light? Before I can ask, I get distracted by the giant hot tub.

  Tate bends down to pour some vanilla-scented liquid into it, and I can’t help checking him out as he leans across the tub to turn on the tap. The sound of running water echoes through the small room and the tub slowly fills with bubbles. Tate sets the pile of stuff on a counter and then looks from me to the hot tub and back. I follow his gaze and feel a blush warming my cheeks.

  “I’ll leave you to relax. You’ve had a pretty rough day.” Tate gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it still sends a wave of heat through me. “Do you want me to grab you something to drink?”

  “N-no, I’m fine,” I whisper, my gaze moving down to where his hand is resting on my shoulder, then back up to his face. I wonder what would happen if I asked Tate to join me. He’d probably turn and run the other way. I know he would, but I can’t stop thinking about the washboard abs I glimpsed earlier.

  My brain conjures an image of him rising from the hot tub, the fabric of his swim trunks weighed down and clinging to his body. Would he even wear swim trunks? Or nothing at all?

  “I’ll see you soon.” Tate smiles and gives my shoulder one final squeeze. I feel the warm imprint of his palm long after he lets go and a sigh of longing escapes. Tate glances back at me and gives me a heated look, but it’s probably all in my imagination.

  It has to be, because he turns away and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. Then, his footsteps quickly retreat down the hall and I’m left standing alone in the middle of the empty bathroom.

  Chapter 9

  I lock the bathroom door and start to undress. My mud-caked clothes cling to my body and I struggle to take them off. It takes a lot longer than it should and my bruised ribs throb in protest. When I’m finally done, it’s a huge relief, but I also feel extremely self-conscious. Tate and Charles are just a few doors away.

  If I wanted to, I could step out into the hall and…I shake my head. I am not running through the hallway naked like some crazy person. Then, I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and realize that I already look completely insane.

  My hair is a matted mess coated in a thick layer of mud, and are those…? I look closer, and yup, there are twigs sticking out of my hair. If that's not bad enough, my ribs are covered in bruises, ranging in color from dark purple to a disturbing yellow-green. They form a pattern on my body like splattered paint or the outcome of an evil curse.

  There's also a giant bruise traveling down the middle of my back, likely a combination of my impact with the fridge and my fall in the forest. My arms and legs haven't fared any better. They're littered with small cuts, like I’m the victim of an army of fairy tale critters. Considering I look like an evil witch, I wouldn't really blame the little guys.

  With a dejected sigh, I glance at the hot tub. It’s only a quarter of the way full, which gives me enough time to wash off all the mud in the shower. I turn on the water so it’s scalding hot and step under it, letting it soothe my aches and pains. Then, I slowly examine the bottles lined up on the marble shelf.

  There is a row of them, all from brands I’ve never even heard of. I examine them, one by one, taking quick sniffs and enjoying the different scents. There’s a small green tube that smells minty fresh. Definitely Tate’s.

  The thought of using his body wash—of smelling like Prince Charming—makes my heart race.

  I quickly set the tube back down and pick up the large, brown bottle. It smells dark and beastly, with hints of sandalwood and leather. I hazard a guess that it belongs to Charles. Carrying the evidence of his scent on my skin terrifies me and I quickly swap the bottle for a purple one.

  I inhale the cool scent which makes me think of crisp mountain air. I like it, and it doesn’t remind me of Tate or Charles, so I squeeze some out onto my hand. It takes most of the bottle to clean away the dirt and grime caking my body. I try to rush so the water doesn’t grow cold, but after a few minutes, I realize it probably never will. I still hurry so I can get in the hot tub, but when I peek out, it’s only half full.

  With a smile, I close my eyes and take my time. I like the feeling of
the hot water hitting my bruised skin and my sore back muscles slowly start to relax.

  My mind keeps drifting to my earlier encounter with Charles. I dream up a song about Beauty meeting the Beast. He doesn’t like her at first and glares at her the same way Charles glared at me. I start to sing, and by the time I’ve gone through the entire song twice, I’ve added a verse about their first kiss. I’m so busy singing that I don’t even realize any time has passed. Not until I notice that my fingers have started to prune.

  I shut off the shower and it’s only then that I hear it. More water. Loud, flowing water. I glance out into the rest of the bathroom and let out a panicked cry.

  The tub is overflowing. It’s more than overflowing!

  There is soapy water everywhere—all over the bathroom floor—and more keeps pouring out over the edge of the tub.

  I have to turn the water off! I slide the shower door open and slip and slide my way through the soapy, vanilla-scented moat. It reaches my ankles and I wade through it as quickly as I can while trying not to fall.

  When I reach the tub, I realize I have no way of getting to the faucet. Some sadistic engineer put it on the other side, near the wall, and I have to get into the tub to shut it off.

  I hold onto the edge for balance and try to lift my foot over the side, but the floor’s slippery from the soap. My foot flies out from under me, and I barely get a chance to scream before I land in the middle of the tub with a loud splash.

  I surface, coughing and sputtering, and reach blindly for the faucet. Large amounts of water splash loudly onto the bathroom floor and I start to panic when my fingers fail to connect with metal.

  “Roonie? Is everything okay?” Tate starts banging on the bathroom door.

  The color drains from my face and I open my eyes, forgetting the soapy bubbles. They sting briefly, but I don’t care. I have to shut the water off!