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

by Mia Harlan

  I nod. Of course, it’s research. Unlike me, Charles is a college student. He’s got papers and readings and assignments and research. Except, what sort of cruel professor would force students to read gory versions of fairy tales that are meant to be beautiful?

  I picture an evil witch in front of a whiteboard. Her wart-covered face contorts as she cackles, revealing rotting, yellowed teeth. Read this, Charles, she croaks with a wicked glint in her eyes. She hands him the thick tome and turns to the whiteboard.

  I shudder. My brain immediately races to come up with a suitably wicked song, but Charles’s question distracts me.

  “Have you read it?” he asks hopefully.

  I can’t quite hide my disgust. Even though I completely adore fairy tales, I could never bring myself to read those awful versions. I know that’s how they were first written down, but that doesn’t matter.

  “You’re not a fan of fairy tales?” Charles sounds curious.

  “Of course I am,” I cry, shocked that anyone would suggest otherwise. “I love fairy tales, but definitely not Grimm.”

  “Really?” Charles looks shocked. “It’s a classic retelling, Roonie,” he lectures as if I don’t already know.

  So what if fairy tales were originally written to warn children against wandering into the woods, trusting strangers, and making promises they can’t keep? They were cautionary tales but it’s too late for me. All I can do is dream. That’s what gets me through the day.

  When I was scrubbing Father’s boot prints off the floor, I’d imagine I was Cinderella and sing about my fairy godmother. When Father said I was strange and that no one would ever understand me, I imagined how Belle must have felt right before she met the Beast. When I went to bed covered in bruises, I reminded myself that Sleeping Beauty was cursed, too, and things turned out alright for her. I would dream and sing about fairy tales so I wouldn’t feel all alone.

  “…and I tracked down a rare ivory cloth edition to add to my collection,” Charles finishes. I realize that he must have been talking for quite some time. “I could give you the library copy when it arrives.”

  “Give me the…oh!” I realize that Charles means to give me his awful book. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but that is so not happening.

  I look at his kind face and suddenly, I don’t want Charles to read them either. I want him to see fairy tales the way I do. I want him to understand. “Charles, those stories are gory and depressing. I know fairy tales can be dark, but they can also be beautiful.”

  “They can?” Charles stares at me in fascination.

  “Of course!” I cry. “The fairy tales I love are light-hearted. They have sweetly singing birds and helpful mice and fairy godmothers. I love everything about them. The magic. The fact that good always trumps evil. That no matter how bad things are, there’s always a happy ending.”

  “Huh.” Charles stares at me intently. “The ones I’ve read so far weren’t like that.”

  “That’s because you were reading the wrong ones!” The moment those words leave my lips, I realize my mistake. “I didn’t mean to judge what you’re reading, Charles. Of course, they’re classics, and if that’s what makes you happy then you should—”

  “Roonie,” Charles interrupts, his tone gruff.

  “Yeah?” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

  He tilts my chin up and my gaze is immediately drawn to his lips. “Maybe you could show me the right ones?” he asks softly, his tone low. Seductive.

  “Huh?” I ask, unable to think straight.

  “The right fairy tales. Maybe you could show me?” Charles asks hopefully. “We could go to the library, after rehearsal.”

  “Really?” I break into a huge grin. “I’d love to.”

  Charles smiles in relief and tension I hadn’t even realized was there seeps out of his shoulders. “This means a lot to me, Roonie,” he whispers. Whatever assignment he’s doing research for must be really important.

  “What—” I start to ask, but Charles stops me by pressing his lips roughly against mine. His kiss is hard and demanding, his large hand flat on my lower back as he pulls me flush against his hard body. My ribs protest, but the overwhelming heat Charles ignites in me overshadows everything else.

  I rise up on tiptoe to wrap my arms around his neck and he lifts me by the waist so he can stand at his full height. My legs dangle in the air for several uncomfortable seconds before I finally figure out what to do with them and wrap them around his waist.

  Charles groans against my lips and licks them, demanding entry. With a groan of my own, I part my lips and tentatively touch his tongue with mine. Wetness pools between my legs, but a noise from the other end of the apartment distracts me.

  Charles doesn’t seem to notice, but suddenly, all I can think about is Tate in the next room. He could step out at any minute and catch me wrapped around Charles. At least he isn’t watching us now. I should be relieved, but some part of me is disappointed.

  Charles grunts against my lips and grabs my ass, hard. It makes me forget all about Tate as he repositions me around his body, grinding his hard-on against my core. I gasp against his lips, but I also tense up—from surprise more than anything else.

  Immediately, Charles stops. He moves his hands to my waist, gently untangles me from his body, and sets me down an arm's length away.

  “Good night,” he grunts. Then, he spins around and storms away.

  “Good night,” I whisper after him, my lips still tingling from our kiss.

  I stay rooted in the middle of the living room long after he disappears into his room, thinking about what just happened. I know why Charles stopped. It was my fault, my lack of experience.

  If I’d known what I was doing, I’d still be kissing him now.

  Chapter 16

  I stand next to the kitchen island and stare out at the empty living room. How is it that I am out here all alone while Tate and Charles are probably both already asleep? I bet if I wasn’t so inexperienced, the two of them wouldn’t have forgotten about me so easily. Or maybe then I’d be able to let everything that happened between us go as easily as they both clearly have.

  I sigh. The apartment is quiet—too quiet. I feel abandoned, even though I have no reason to. I’m lucky to even have a place to stay. Still, when I start to hum, it’s a sad tune about a lonely princess.

  I keep my voice down as I make my way to the couch and run my fingers along its back, feeling the soft, expensive leather. I spread out the blankets Tate left for me, fluff the pillow, and switch on the lamp on the end table. Even though it’s late on what feels like the longest day of my life, I’m not the least bit tired.

  I ignore the makeshift bed and switch off the overhead lights. The living room is engulfed in partial darkness. It takes on an ethereal, magical quality. The tune I’m humming turns whimsical and I imagine that I’m a princess in a fairy tale.

  I feel like I’ve been dropped smack dab in the middle of a billionaire’s mansion—two billionaires: Tate and Charles.

  Scratch that, three.

  Tate did say they have another roommate, JJ. I wonder what sort of guy would share this space with the Beast and Prince Charming and why he’s not around tonight. Maybe he went home for the weekend?

  With a shrug, I walk a sweeping circle around the living room. I just reach the window when a door opens down the hall. I spin around. My heart races in anticipation as bare feet pad across the hardwood floor. It could be Tate, coming back for another soft kiss, or Charles, planning to resume what we started.

  Suddenly, the padding stops. Another door opens down the hall, followed by the thrum of running water. Someone’s taking a shower. I picture Charles lathering his huge, naked chest, but by the time the soapy water runs down his hard abs, the image has changed to Tate. Why do I keep doing that?

  I try to think of something else…like how wonderful it would be to actually live here. I don’t just mean in this palace of an apartment, but at this college. What I wouldn’
t give to actually go here, but I know it would never happen, not in a million years. I submitted all of my best songs with my application, and I still got rejected. Not just by LUV Academy, but by every college I applied to. There is no way I’ll ever be a student here, or anywhere.

  The best I can hope for is to stay on the couch until I find a job, but it’s only a matter of time before I screw that up.

  I already kissed Tate in front of Charles and Charles in front of Tate. And I flooded their apartment. They may not hold that last part against me, but what happens next time I get distracted? I might set the place on fire or break something expensive, like a crystal lamp or Tate’s guitar. Even if I somehow manage not to, how can I stay here when my body longs for two different guys?

  I guess I can always worry about that tomorrow. I should make the most of my time here now, in this real-life fairy tale.

  I feel the soft curtains between my fingertips. They suit Tate, but I bet Charles would have picked something darker—more Gothic. I imagine his bed has black silk sheets to match his clothes, while Prince Charming’s sheets are lighter…happier.

  Thinking of their sheets—and their beds—sends warmth flooding through me.

  I need to open a window. It’ll help me cool down and air out the lingering scents of vanilla. I check each of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, but it’s just my luck that none of them actually open.

  My only option seems to be the balcony door. I grip the slim, golden handle and tug. It doesn’t budge. All I succeed in doing is straining my bruised muscles. Pain flares up in my ribs and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  Even in this beautiful fairy tale shared with two hot princes, I can’t escape the reminder of my old life. Carefully, I roll up the bottom of my sweater and inspect the bruises. They’re darker now. Ugly purple-blue splotches mar my skin, and I suddenly wonder if I might actually be the beast and not Charles.

  I think back to our first meeting. He was the one reading a book while I was covered from head to toe in mud. I had twigs in my hair and holes in my clothes. Of the two of us, I was the monster. Charles can shave off his beard in minutes if he wanted to. Not that he should. The wild look he has going on is more hot than scary. While the dark bruises covering my skin will never be attractive.

  A hopeful smile crosses my face. If I’m the beast, then it’s only fair that I should turn into a beautiful prince—or in my case, princess.

  I’ve already taken a shower and Charles replaced my torn clothes with new, expensive ones. Soon, my hideous bruises will fade, and I’ll have beautiful, clear skin. There won’t be any new bruises, either, not as long as I stay away from Father. He’ll never lay a hand on me again. He’ll never strike me or shove me or kick me. He’ll never shout at me in a drunken rage. I won’t be that Roonie, ever again, not as long as I don’t go back.

  Even though I’ve only been away from home for a few hours, I suddenly feel different. Stronger. More powerful. Like I can choose my own fate and my own future. It’s an inspiring thought, one that I’ve never had before.

  I’ve always accepted my life with Father and saved all the fairy tales for songs and daydreams. Yet here I am, living in one. Even if it won’t last, it doesn’t mean I have to go back home. Maybe, I can make this my fresh start. Find a job. Make a new life for myself.

  Feeling empowered, I start to reach for the balcony door when a loud knock echoes through the apartment. My heart nearly jumps out of my throat. Who could possibly be here at this time of night? My thoughts race, but there’s one at the forefront: a very drunk, very angry, Father.

  There’s no way he could have tracked me down, or even wasted the energy trying, but what if he did?

  There’s a second knock, this one even louder and more insistent. Angrier, too, like Father’s. The water in the bathroom shuts off, and I realize that if whichever guy is in the shower heard it, the one sleeping would as well. I don’t need my problems showing up here and disrupting their lives again. Not after everything I’ve done and how well they’ve treated me.

  I jump into action, but Tate beats me to it. He jogs into the living room in shorts and a t-shirt, his hair soaking wet. I can’t take my eyes off him as he pads barefoot to the door, but my heart nearly stops when he flips the lock.

  I can’t help picturing Father on the other side, his face red with anger. He’ll tell Tate I’m a mess. He’ll make a huge scene, too, and Tate will never want to see me again.

  I cringe but when he opens the door, it’s just the delivery guy—the same one who brought my current outfit. He holds out another pink bag, and Tate takes it with a quick thanks and an exchange of cash. Then he locks the door, leaving the rest of the world—and Father—safely on the other side.

  “This is for you.” Tate turns, holding up the bag.

  “You didn’t need to get me anything else.” I flush.

  “Yes, I did. You can’t be comfortable sleeping in that.” His gaze rakes over my body. “And I won’t get a wink of sleep if I have to picture you out here in your underwear.”

  “Oh.” I swallow nervously as Tate walks toward me.

  His bare feet echo across the otherwise silent living room and before I know it, he’s crossed the rest of the distance between us. My pulse spirals out of control.

  I start to step back, but Tate holds out the bag of clothes, waiting. I grab the handle, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he uses the bag to tug me closer, until our toes almost touch.

  “Roonie,” he whispers. Both our hands are still wrapped around the bag, and he grazes mine with his.

  “Tate,” I whisper back as his gentle touch sends a shiver down my spine.

  With a slow smile, Tate starts to lean in. He gives me plenty of time to change my mind, but I want this as much as he does. When his warm lips cover mine, I sigh. His kiss is gentle, but he pulls away all too soon. My lips follow his, begging him to keep the kiss going, and Tate chuckles.

  He’s laughing at me, probably at my inexperience. I flush and start to back away, but Tate leans in and I can’t help it. My eyes drift shut. I wait for the kiss, and when he sucks on my upper lip instead, I moan.

  I want more—need more—but Tate doesn’t acquiesce. He gives my upper lip one more tug and then runs his tongue along it gently.

  “Tate…” I breathe. I lean forward to kiss him, but he pulls back. My lips crave his and I shudder. When he leans in again, it’s to repeat the same sweet torture on my lower lip.

  I suddenly can’t take it anymore. I let go of the shopping bag, which falls to the floor, and wrap my arms around Tate’s neck. I try to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss, but Tate stays just out of reach. He brushes his lips gently against mine and pulls back, building the frustration inside me. Then, he flicks his tongue along the very edge of my mouth and a wave of heat travels straight down to my core.

  With a groan, I thread my fingers through his soft, blond hair. It’s still wet from his shower and I use it to pull his lips closer. I need more. I need him.

  “Please,” I moan, but Tate pulls away.

  “Goodnight, Roonie,” he whispers. He stares down at me for a few seconds, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Then, he turns away, crosses the living room, and leaves me utterly alone.

  Chapter 17

  I stay rooted in the middle of the living room, staring after Tate the same way I stared after Charles. Every inch of my body screams for him, every nerve ending begs him to come back and finish what he started. To stop teasing me and kiss me like he actually means it. It almost feels like he did it on purpose, playing my body like a skilled guitarist, plucking all the right strings, only to leave me wanting more.

  How could he just leave like that? Did I do something wrong? Did I kiss him wrong? Remind him of my inexperience?

  Kissing him again is all I can think about…him and Charles. I know it’s not happening, so I need something else to focus on—a distraction. I plop backward onto the couch with a groan and spot the pink bag
of clothes.

  It’s on the floor, right where I dropped it while I was kissing Tate. My lips tingle at the memory and my body fills with need. Yup, I definitely need something else to focus on.

  I grab the bag and check to see what Tate got me. It’s a pair of blue pajama shorts and a matching tank top. They’re made of delicate silk which shimmers in the moonlight and feels luxurious against my fingertips. I don’t find a price tag, but my gut tells me this present is too expensive. Should I ask Tate to return it?

  I know I shouldn’t accept another expensive gift, but Tate’s right. I won’t be comfortable sleeping in my sweater and too-tight jeans. I guess I could strip down to the lace lingerie Charles got me, even if it is kind of itchy. But what if I have to go to the bathroom during the night? Or I kick the sheets off in my sleep?

  I picture Tate and Charles towering over me while I’m wearing nothing but the thin scraps of lace. My nipples tighten and I mentally shake myself. I should not be thinking of both of them like that and anyway, neither guy seemed interested in taking things any further.

  With a groan, I quickly undress, pull on the pajamas, and luxuriate in the feel of silk against my bare skin. I stuff my bra and panties in the bag the pajamas came in, followed by my neatly folded jeans and sweater. Then, I get settled on the couch, close my eyes and try to sleep.

  Usually, I drift off to imagined princes singing to their fairy tale loves. This time, the moment I close my eyes, I conjure up thoughts of the guys sleeping just down the hall. I keep remembering the way Tate sucked on my upper lip and the way Charles possessed me with each kiss.

  I’m not sure when I drift off to sleep but, at some point during the night, a noise startles me awake. My mind is still groggy, so at first, I only hear the rattling of the doorknob. For a second, I think it’s Father, demanding breakfast or a midnight snack. Then, I remember where I am.

  Why is someone at the front door this late at night? My heart races. Is someone trying to break in? A burglar who decided to rob the fanciest dorm room on campus?