Page 68 of Forbidden Heart

She leads me toward the tables lining the dance floor. They have billowing red tablecloths and are topped with overturned chairs, four or five each. Angela takes down two for us, and then gestures for me to take a seat.

We end up facing the empty stage. It’s high enough to distinguish itself but not so high that someone couldn’t easily step onto it from the dance floor. It’s also dotted with stage lights and flanked with curtains that echo the scarlet ripples of the tablecloths.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Angela asks as I gaze longingly at the stage.

“It really is!” And I can picture my four princes up there, singing the song that I wrote. Harmonizing perfectly while everyone in the audience cheers. I wish we could rehearse here—I wish they could perform here—but I need to accept the fact that I’ll never see them again.

“What is it?” Angela asks as my face falls.

“It’s complicated.” I sigh as I stare at the stage. “How did you find this place, anyway? And how’d you get in when it’s closed?”

“Silly, I work here.”

“You’re a waitress?” I ask, feeling a surge of pride... followed by envy. Envy I have no business feeling. Father offered me a job, and I turned it down. I had my chance, and I didn’t take it.

“I’m not a waitress.” Angela shakes her head.

“Bartender?” I ask, no longer feeling quite so jealous.

“Dancer,” she replies. I blink.

She gets to her feet and strikes a pose, which is when I finally notice her outfit. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and a red rose sits by her left ear. Her red blouse is lined with ruffles and shows off her bare arms and collarbone. It’s cropped just above her navel, revealing her dancer’s build, and she’s wearing a matching scarlet skirt that explodes into countless layers of ruffles. She’s even got dance shoes on—red and sparkly, with low heels—and she looks like she belongs on stage. Meanwhile, I don’t belong anywhere.

“Okay, what is it?” Angela asks, sitting back down.

“Your outfit is gorgeous,” I tell her with false cheer, but she just shakes her head.

“Go on. Spill.”

“It’s a lot of things, Ange. I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

“Or the end,” I mutter, because that makes a lot more sense. “I went by the house and grabbed my stuff.”

I take off my backpack and drop it on the table. Then I fill Angela in and show her my damaged laptop and broken phone.

“Father found me a job, but I couldn’t do it,” I tell her, my face falling.

“Of course you couldn’t.” She shakes her head. “You’re much better off staying with the guys.”

And that’s when the tears start to fall. Angela pulls me into a comforting hug, and then rushes around Bailando grabbing a bunch of stuff: a glass of water, tissues, and then two bowls of ice cream that she somehow managed to scrounge up.

“We get full access to the kitchen,” she says, handing me my spoon. “Now tell me, what happened with the guys?”

I filled her in on Marcus the RA, and the fact that Charles was the one who asked him to kick me out.

“Why would he do that?” she asks, eyes wide. =

“Because I kissed him.”

Angela’s brows furrow.

“I mean, I kissed all of them. Tate, Charles, JJ at the same time, and then—”

“How can you kiss three guys at the same time?” Angela frowns. “Like, how would they even fit.”

“It’s more like they took turns,” I laugh, but it sounds hollow. My heart squeezes tightly in my chest, and the thought of never getting to kiss the guys again hurts so much I can barely hold it together.