Page 16 of Forbidden Heart

He’s dressed for bed but looks wide awake. He’s still got the same tension from earlier, and I get this sudden urge to throw my arms around him. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks softly.

“What? Of course not!”

Charles bends down so his eyes are level with mine. His stare is intense, piercing into my soul. “I just want you to know that you’re safe here.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“Wait here, okay?” As suddenly as he appeared, Charles disappears back into the suite. Seconds pass and then he returns with his five thousand dollar brandy in hand. He closes the balcony door, locking us both alone in the tiny space, and turns to face me.

“Is that...?” I trail off. To be honest, I can’t finish the sentence because I don’t understand. Why did he bring it out here?

“It is,” Charles replies, confirming nothing. He holds up the bottle like he’s a fancy waiter; one hand under the bottle and one hand behind it.

Then, he looks me dead in the eye and rips the foil off the cork. He unravels it, letting it flow along his fingers like a cascade of ribbons. With one effortless flex of his bicep, he pulls out the cork. The resounding popping sound echoes through the night air.

“No!” I shake my head vehemently. I have to get out of here.

“Roonie,” Charles growls, blocking the balcony door, which is now closed.

“I can’t,” I beg, my pulse racing. “Please, Charles.”

“If you’re afraid of a man who drinks,” he says, moving to the railing and lifting the bottle over the edge of the balcony, “then I won’t drink.”

Before I can utter a word, Charles tips the bottle and lets its contents rush free. The deep amber liquid splashes forth, chugging out of the bottle and over the edge of the balcony. I gawk as five thousand dollars of liquid luxury pours into oblivion. Every second of this brandy river must be at least a hundred dollars.

I watch, hypnotized. one hundred dollars, two hundred, three... Even as relief fills me, I have to ask... Is Charles insane?

“Charles,” I breathe. “That’s... that’s expensive.”

A playful smile crosses his lips as he turns the bottle fully upside-down.

“So?” he asks.

“So... you could have sold it. Or... or...”

He shakes his head.

Then, a shrill voice screams from the pavement far below. “What the actual fuck?”

Charles steps back from the edge of the balcony. Not me. I step forward. Gripping the railing, I peer down to see who is yelling.

On the ground at the base of our building is a familiar guy dressed all in black. His long, dark hair is sticking to his face and soaked with brandy. When he looks up, his eyes convey pure rage, and his snake bite piercings flash in the streetlights.

“Silas?” I call and immediately cover my mouth. Great. If he didn’t know it was me before, he definitely knows now that he’s heard my voice.

“Roonie!” he growls. He looks angrier by the second. Brandy drips down his face. He wipes his eyes and must instantly regret it. He flinches sharply. “Why are you pouring shit off the balcony?”

Before I can respond, Charles grabs my hand, throws open the balcony door, and pulls me into the suite. He shuts the glass door behind us.

Silas’s shouting is muffled, but still quite audible. Soon, his cries are joined by those of other students, telling him to shut up.

“What’s going on?” Tate mutters from the couch.

“No idea,” Charles says, hiding the now empty bottle of brandy behind his back. He pads softly into the kitchen, deposits it in the recycling, and pulls his phone from his pocket. A second later, the soft sound of classical music fills the suite, drowning out the shouting coming from outside.

Chapter 7

In the next few days, we fall into a routine. We have breakfast together every morning, usually omelettes or smoothies, depending on JJ’s mood. The guys are always coming and going to class or rehearsal, but I see them at dinner without fail.