Page 30 of Fractured Heart

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.