Fractured Heart: a Fairy Tale Romance (LUV Academy Book 1)
Page 13
“And you’re staying with all three of them?” she asks.
I nod.
“I don’t know how you’re going to choose between them.”
“Choose between them?” My eyes widen.
“Well, you’re obviously going to date one of them, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. I doubt any of the guys would want to date me. And even if they did, how would I choose between the three princes? I freeze. That wasn’t what I meant, even if I was only thinking it. I like Tate and Charles. I kissed Tate and Charles. I can’t like JJ, too. I shouldn’t even like both Prince Charming and the Beast. What’s wrong with me?
“You don’t have to tell me which guy you like if you don’t want to.” Angela sighs. “But I don’t have any hot guys in my life, so it would be kind of cruel not to.”
I giggle. “I don’t even know if they’re into me.”
"They?" Angela's eyes twinkle.
“He,” I amend, blushing. I’m just not sure which he. Tate? Charles? Definitely not JJ. He’s an objectively good-looking guy, sure, but I haven’t even kissed him. And I don’t plan to. Because it’s wrong. And because he definitely doesn’t want to kiss me.
“So, you grew up in town?” Angela changes the topic. I sigh in relief.
For the next half hour, we talk about growing up: me here in town, Angela a few towns over. I gloss over life with Father, while Angela tells me about losing her parents and taking care of her little sister. We compare main streets and Angela describes a small theater that's in desperate need of repairs. It triggers a memory. Mom and I visited it back when she was alive. We watched Cinderella and then spent all week belting out the songs at the top of our lungs. We’d sung at the grocery store, at the park, and even at home while Father was at work.
“I’d love to see that place,” I whisper. I’d love to go back there.
“It’s beautiful,” Angela agrees. “But they closed it down years ago.”
My face falls.
“I could sneak you in there sometime. Don’t worry, I do it all the time. It’s my favorite place to practice.”
“Do you sing?” I ask hopefully.
“No. Dance. I actually got into LUV on scholarship, but I had to defer until next year.”
I feel a twinge of jealousy. My own application here at LUV Academy got rejected, but I don’t tell Angela that. Instead, I just listen.
By the time there’s a knock on the door, it feels like we’ve been friends for years. Like with my high school friends, I know everything about Angela, and she knows small bits and pieces about me. The parts I’m willing to share.
I cross the living room and peek through the peephole. I half expect another delivery of clothes, or maybe food, and my eyes widen when I see who it is.
“Tate!” I whisper-yell to Angela.
Her eyes widen and she races across the room to her massage table. Tate knocks again, more insistently this time, and I throw open the door.
“Roonie.” He grins when he sees me.
"Hi." I smile back, suddenly nervous. "Come in…I mean, it's your apartment."
Tate chuckles. "I've got to run. I have an appointment with my TA at one. I just wanted to give you this."
He hands me a brown bag, slightly darker than his cracked guitar.
I cringe. “I can’t accept this.”
“Yes, you can.” Tate opens the bag and takes out a large cardboard box. He opens that, too. “I had it set up at the store. Charles, JJ and I programmed our numbers, so you'll be able to reach us.”
"You got me a phone?" I gape as he takes out a brand-new model that's much more expensive than the one I left at Father's. "I can’t let you buy me any more gifts. It’s way too much. You already got me these clothes and…”
“Then consider it a loan. You need a phone, Roonie.”
"But—”
“Listen, I have to get going. But I’ll text you, so you know where to go for rehearsal.” He looks past me and spots Angela. “Oh, hey. I’m Tate.”
“Angela.” She glances at the door. “I should go.”
“How was the massage?” Tate asks, turning back to me.
“Great!” Angela and I say at the same time.
“Yeah?” Tate looks between us with a grin.
“I love massages,” I lie, nodding for emphasis.
Behind me, Angela snickers and quickly turns it into a cough.
Tate glances at her. “Why don’t we book another one then, same time next week?”
“You don’t have to do that!” I cry.
“Yeah, you don’t have to do that,” Angela echoes. She shifts nervously from foot to foot. “So, I’ll just pack up now?”
She quickly puts away the tray of oils, folds up the massage table, and stuffs the paper she’d lined it with in her white bag.
“It was nice to meet you Roonie. Let me give you my number.” She glances nervously at Tate. “I’ll text you those…post massage care instructions…that we, um, discussed.”
Tate hands Angela the phone and she hands it back to me when she’s done. I stare down at it. I know I should give it back, but it’s only for a few days. As long as I don’t take it with me when I leave, it’s a loan, not another gift.
“You seem more relaxed,” Tate says once Angela has left. “I’m glad you liked the massage.”
“Me too.” I can’t quite look him in the eye, so I stare at my bare feet.
Tate takes a step forward and tilts my chin up.
“I like seeing you happy,” he whispers. Then, he touches his lips to mine in a soft, parting kiss.
Chapter 23
I hurry into Beckett Hall. The lobby is cold and filled with a faint buzzing from the air conditioning. My pretty black flats, which got delivered shortly after Tate left, greet the marble floor with a satisfying tap. The echo in here is perfect.
The elegant, open space begs me to sing about Cinderella at the ball. Unfortunately, the clock is ticking close to midnight, or in my case, two o’clock.
I can't believe I’m going to be late for rehearsal. I had to ask for directions twice before I found this building, nestled between the Giselle Albertina Dance Theatre and the library. I’m relieved I’m finally here, but I still have to get to the fourth floor. The moment I exit the elevator, I break into a run. The plaques beside each door list room numbers in sparkling gold. When I reach room 416, music filters from inside, accompanied by a muffled tenor. They’ve started without me.
I rush through the door.
The rehearsal room is huge and wide, with walls painted white. The only object in the room is a piano, which sits on a striped rug, either to save it from the floor or to save the floor from it. It is much fancier than the one I played back at my high school, its warm, rich, dark wood standing in stark contrast to the rest of the minimalist space.
Tate and Charles are nowhere to be found. The sole occupant of the room sits at the piano bench, his fingers poised over the keys. He stops abruptly mid-song and spins around to face me. My heart nearly stops.
His black jeans are adorned with so many silver chains that I can’t imagine how he puts them on or takes them off. The hems are rugged and there are dozens of zippers that serve no purpose. His oversized t-shirt, also black, has metallic calligraphy spread out across his chest—the logo of a rock band I don’t recognize.
Eyes reminiscent of endless pools lock on mine. Like in a dark, forbidden fairy tale, we connect with a single, soul-searching gaze. We learn everything we need to know about each other in that breathless moment. Our connection is almost palpable.
Then, his eyes narrow.
“Get out!” he shrieks, his voice cracking with intensity. Silver snake bite studs protrude from his lower lip and gleam in the fluorescent light. My eyes widen, both at his words and at the piercings, which draw attention to his lips. I swallow hard. I can’t tear my eyes away.
The Dark Prince doesn’t have the same problem. He spins away from me and returns to the piano. He pushe
s his long black hair out of his eyes and gives me a momentary glimpse of the array of piercings in his ear. His face is taut and angular. Beautiful, even when contorted in anger.
Then, he starts to play. Nimble fingers with black-painted nails dance across the keys. As if he’s forgotten that I’m even there, he starts to sing. His voice is deep and fervid, his words, dark and soul-wrenching.
My heart runs deep
Like the bottom of the sea
You touch my soul
Each time you run to me
I’ll be your king
You’ll be my slave
I’ll be your death
You’ll be my grave
The breathtaking intensity of his song leaves me rooted in place. Unlike Prince Charming, who sings with sweet perfection, the Dark Prince’s heartfelt vocals bring tears to my eyes. His voice is filled with painful emotions that hurt like a physical wound. My heart constricts as I wait for something, some relief, though it never comes.
He stops mid-verse, leaving me gutted. My heart pounds loudly in my chest and I part my lips in search of the right words. It’s not enough to tell him his song is beautiful, or breathtaking or gut-wrenching. It’s all those things, but it’s so much more.
He starts to sing again, and I’m right back there with him, listening to that same song, note after painful note. My eyes glisten with unshed tears as his longing speaks to something deep inside of me. I need him to finish the verse, to end the sweet torture.
Then, he stops. In the exact same spot. And the song and I are left incomplete.
With an anguished cry, he slams his hands on the piano. The sound rings out through the rehearsal space as he spins around to face me. “What the hell are you still doing here?” He screams, his voice cracking. “I thought I told you to leave.”
My eyes widen. I feel his words like a punch and quickly back out of the room. Stupidly, I crash into the doorframe. I hit it at an angle that makes my bruised back light up with agony. It twists through me, coiling around the hurt I still feel from listening to the Dark Prince’s song.
I barely hold back a pained cry. His words and his voice made me feel like he understood me in a way that no one else does. Like I understood him. But he doesn’t feel the same way. He wants me gone.
My back throbs and tears spring up to my eyes. The Dark Prince shows no sympathy; no evidence of the connection I was so sure we’d shared.
“What’s wrong with you? Do you understand how hard it is to write a song?”
I nod. I understand.
His eyes flash. “Do you know how long I worked on this song? All semester. Every. Single. Day. Playing this song. Over, and over, and over again. I’ve been going insane! I can’t get it out of my head.”
He threads his fingers through his hair and tries to catch his breath. A single tear runs down my cheek as I watch him. I’ve never met anyone who felt as passionate about songwriting as I do. Not until today. Not until this Dark Prince, who I connected with after one glance.
“I finally had it,” he cries. “I could feel it. I was close, and you…” His eyes burn into me with barely contained rage. “You ruined it.”
I’m sorry. I open my mouth to say the words, but I can’t speak. I try to, several times. I open my mouth and close it, like a fish out of water. No, not quite. I’ve been rendered mute, like the little mermaid. This campus really is my fairy tale dream come to life.
I already found Prince Charming and the Beast. I’ve stayed in their castle of a dorm. They’ve even treated me like a princess, dressing me in fancy clothes and giving me even fancier food. Even JJ fit into that fairy tale, waking me from my sleep. Does that make him the prince to my sleeping beauty?
“You don’t get it, do you?” the Dark Prince spits. He folds his lean, strong arms over his chest, obscuring the band logo. His eyes roam over my body, taking in my fancy, designer clothes and ballet flats before landing on the phone in my hand. “You don’t belong here. So do me a favor and get out.”
Chapter 24
My hand instinctively flies up to my necklace. My fingers graze bare skin. How long before I get used to the fact that my heart pendant isn't there? That it’s broken, like the rest of me?
How did the Dark Prince figure it out? How did he see past the fancy clothes and even fancier phone? How did he know that I’m not good enough? That I don’t belong?
At least now that I’ve heard him sing, I know why I didn’t get accepted at LUV Academy. My songs are child’s play compared to his. They’re just silly little tunes about fairy tales that no one cares about. Well, no one but me.
I’ve never written anything gut-wrenchingly beautiful the way the Dark Prince has. And he can sing, too, hitting each note with piercing perfection. If I was even half as good a singer as him, I might have stood a chance. Instead, I’ve got a whiney voice that makes Father cringe.
I have to get out of here!
I spin around and crash into a hard, male chest. Pain reverberates through my ribs, and it’s the last straw. I start to sob.
"What is it, Roo Roo?" Tate, my golden Prince Charming, wraps me in his arms and holds me close. He’s been there for me since we’ve met, and what have I done to repay him? Destroyed his guitar. When he finds out, he’ll hate me.
“What did you say to her, Silas?” Charles growls from behind him. Ever the protective beast, he comes to my rescue, but there’s no saving me.
“Excuse me?!” the Dark Prince, Silas, snaps. “She’s the one who interrupted my rehearsal. She shouldn’t have been in here.”
His name—dark and foreboding—suits him. He’s also right. I should never have agreed to come here. I don’t belong at LUV Academy and I don’t belong anywhere else. The best I can hope for is Father letting me come back home. That horrifying realization shatters any control I have left. I throw myself against Tate and sob into his chest while he holds me close.
“Roonie?” JJ sounds horrified by my outburst. Then he places a hand on my shoulder, and I realize that he’s worried. About me.
After what happened this morning, he shouldn’t, but he is. The fact that he still cares, that he’s here for me, makes me cry harder.
“Oh, Roo Roo," Tate whispers against my hair, rubbing my back right where the huge bruise throbs. His touch is gentle, helping ease the pain as he whispers, “I’m here now. We all are.”
My three princes surround me. Tate holds me close, JJ promises everything will be okay, and Charles growls that whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it.
“Are you all being serious right now?” Silas’s voice cracks with unbridled rage. “She ruined my song! Our audition song! I finally had it and your precious princess ruined it.”
Princess. That one word echoes through my mind, blocking out everything else. Princess. Silas called me a princess.
I twist my head and my eyes snap to his. I know I look like a mess—red face, blotchy skin, tearstained eyes—but I can’t not look.
“It's going to be okay, Roo Roo,” Tate whispers and I believe him. There must be something hidden beneath Silas’s anger. Something good. Something beautiful. Because no one has ever called me a princess before, especially not a prince.
I search his eyes, but I only see one thing. Hatred. For me.
What did I expect?
I ruined his song. The song that would have left all the judges in tears. The song that would have torn out their hearts, before slamming them back in their chests, just like it did with mine. It was their one chance at getting through this audition and I ruined it.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Tate whispers into my hair.
I nod. I pull away from him, and Charles instantly takes his place. He puts a huge hand on the small of my back, and the heat of his touch burns into me through my sweater.
Tate moves to my other side and takes my hand in his. He gives it a squeeze. I expect JJ to stay behind, but he leads the way.
“Stop!” Silas shouts after us. “Where are you all going?”
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Silas shouts. His teeth graze his pierced lip as he swears. “I don’t care who her daddy is or how much money he donated to this school. She can’t just go around being a fucking—”
“Choose your words carefully, Silas,” Charles says evenly. With an intense, almost feral glare, he lowers his glasses and locks eyes with the Dark Prince. As if on cue, JJ takes a step forward and Tate wraps a protective arm around me.
My eyes widen but Silas seems much less impressed. I don’t get why he thinks my father’s some rich donor. Is it because that’s the status quo here? Do everyone’s parents give large chunks of money to the school?
“Look, I’m not trying to start shit.” Silas frowns. He avoids making eye contact with any one of the guys, his gaze instead settling on me. “If the dean told you to show her around, fine, but you can’t skip rehearsal.”
“The dean didn’t tell us to show her around,” Charles says evenly. To my relief, he doesn’t mention that I don’t actually go here. I don’t want Silas to know just how right he was in saying that I don’t belong.
“And we’ll be here for rehearsal,” Tate adds.
"After you apologize,” Charles finishes.
“Whatever,” Silas mutters, but then adds, “I’m sorry.”
“To Roonie.” Charles narrows his eyes. “And make it quick. I don’t want you wasting her time.”
I turn to him in surprise. Since when has anyone cared about my time? And why would they? I don’t go to college or work or have any responsibilities. Now that I’ve run away from Father, time stretches endlessly before me and I feel a little faint.
Silas’s presence doesn’t help. I’m too familiar with his angry expression, the fiery glare and the posture of a man ready for a fight. I’ve seen Father become possessed with anger a million times and I whimper in fear.
Silas’s eyes narrow, but my three princes edge a bit closer, making me feel safe.