Page 18 of Forbidden Heart

“Of course I’ll do it,” I say instantly. “But I don’t need a new laptop to write a song. I could borrow yours or use a computer at the library or...”

“That would be inconvenient.” Charles shrugs. “And this didn’t cost much.”

“Says the guy who poured five thousand dollar brandy off the balcony,” I say before I can think better of it.

“You poured our exam brandy off the balcony?” Tate gapes at him, but then his gaze settles on me and he shrugs. “Don’t worry, Roo Roo, we can afford it. Just think of this as a gift for writing our song. The judges at the audition said we need something that showcases our unique voices if we want to stand a chance at the competition. We really need your help.”

“Of course I’ll help! But you’re already paying for all the food, and you’re letting me stay. And Charles, you got me all these clothes. You too, Tate. I can’t accept anything else. Especially not this.” I push the laptop box back toward Charles.

“It’s just a laptop, Roonie.” Charles watches me like he has no idea where I’m coming from. Considering he spends more on food in a day than I have in an entire month to feed both Father and myself, he probably doesn’t.

“You’re getting off easy, Roo Roo,” Tate adds. “Charles could just as easily buy you a house. Or a private jet.”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head, and Tate starts to laugh. Charles chuckles too, but I’m not quite sure if Tate was kidding or if they’re just amused by my reaction.

“Who wants pizza?” JJ returns with a large, steaming pepperoni pizza, which he sets in the middle of the table. It’s already been cut into slices and looks like the delivery pizza I’m used to.

“JJ, this is the last time we send you to get food,” Tate says, frowning, while I inhale the delicious smell of fake cheese, fake meat, and very real, very greasy oil.

Charles wrinkles his nose at the glistening pizza. I, however, am practically drooling.

“Suit yourself,” JJ says, helping himself to some greasy pizza. When he pulls his slice away from the rest of the pie, a curtain of cheesy strings follow it. The cheap tomato sauce peeks through. My stomach growls as JJ folds the piece in half lengthwise and takes a huge bite. His lips become slick with grease, and he pops an extra piece of pepperoni into his mouth.

With a grunt, he points to the remainder of the pie. He spends a few extra seconds making eye contact with me.

“Dig in,” he says around a mouthful of pizza.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Charles says. “Let’s go grab something else on the way to class.”

Tate starts to stand, but I hesitate. I glance at the pizza longingly and then back at Charles.

“Roonie,” JJ urges me, “take some.”

Still, I hesitate, and Tate sits back down. “Might as well.” With a shrug, he carefully loosens a slice of pizza from its neighbors and pulls it toward himself. “Roonie?”

I nod and follow his lead. The cheese puts up a fight, but I manage to get the pizza slice to my mouth and take a bite. The cheese is salty, the sauce is tangy, and the crust is just thin enough to maintain its crispiness. It’s not gourmet, that is for certain. Oh, but it is so good.

“Mmmm,” I hum without thinking.

“You see?” JJ says, gesturing toward me. “She gets it.”

“It’s not half bad,” Tate grudgingly admits.

“Charles, you should try some,” I tell him, but when I turn, the Beast is no longer towering over us. I look around, but there is no sign of him in the cafeteria. And the box with the laptop is still on the table next to the pizza.

“He’s probably halfway to Chez Caviar by now.” Tate smiles at me, his cheeks dimpling, and I almost choke on a mouthful of pizza.

Chapter 8

When we’re almost done eating, JJ grunts as though remembering something. He wipes his fingers on a tissue and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a card.

“Oh, right,” Tate says. He swallows another bite of pizza. “We meant to give this to you earlier.”

I pull my hand back as if I’d been shocked. “I can’t—”

“It’s not a credit card.” Tate grins.

“Why would you think it’s a credit card?” JJ regards the black card in his hand quizzically. My cheeks flush as he tosses it on the table. “It’s our room card.”