Page 5 of Fractured Heart

If that’s my line of thinking, I really must have hit my head, hard.

He’ll probably break into song next. Not that I've written a “rescuing the princess from the forest floor” song just yet. It would have to be slow—soft and melodic—so his voice could weave in and out of each verse. I picture him singing, the chorus deep and hypnotic, and suddenly feel lightheaded.

“What happened?” Prince Charming asks, moving closer. To my surprise, his tunic turns out to be a gray hoodie, his trousers jogging pants, and his dress shoes sneakers. Also, the shoe in his hand isn’t actually made of glass. It’s a sneaker.

My gaze drops down to my feet. Right sneaker, check. Left sneaker, unaccounted for. Which means that he’s just a regular guy who happened to pass by and recover my shoe. Probably a student from the LUV Academy campus.

He crosses the rest of the distance between us and bends at the waist. For a second, I think he’s about to execute a courtly bow, but he does me one better. He kneels next to me, holds out my sneaker, and gently lifts my ankle. “Here, let me help you.”

I blush as his fingers graze bare skin just below the hem of my jeans. Then, he slips on my shoe. It fits. Perfectly.

It’s your sneaker, Roonie, I chide myself. Of course it fits perfectly!

Prince Charming finishes tying my shoelaces and then gets back to his feet. My heart sinks.

I wait for him to leave—my momentary escape into fantasyland over almost as soon as it began—but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he extends a hand toward me, palm up. “Let me help.”

I start to put my hand in his. It’s covered in mud—my small hand, not his large, clean one—and I quickly pull back. My cheeks flush. I must look like such a mess.

Charming takes my hand anyway. His strong fingers wrap around mine. There’s a spark when we make contact, and my pulse starts to race. His skin is soft and warm, just like I’d expect from a fairy tale prince. His grip is strong, and he pulls me to my feet almost effortlessly.

I stumble, still dizzy, and crash into his hard chest. I become aware of his muscular form through his gray fleece hoodie and my breath hitches. He’s at least a head taller than me, and I look up, mesmerized. Then, I begin to feel lightheaded again. I wonder if it’s from the fall.

My gut tells me it’s him.

“I’ve got you.” Charming peers down at me with concern. He looks into my eyes, searching them for what seems like an eternity, and my heart rate spikes.

Logically, I know there’s no way he’s as attracted to me as I am to him. I may be gazing up at a Prince Charming incarnate, but there is no way he’s seeing Cinderella. I’m a mess, just like Father says. I’m wearing old clothes, I never took the time to brush my hair, and it probably doesn’t matter since I’m covered from head to toe in mud. If anything, Charming must see me as a wicked witch and is wondering how to get rid of me.

Here I am, mentally composing a song about our first kiss, and he’s probably trying to think up a banishment spell.

Wicked witch, wicked witch

Sick and gnarled and gray

Fly from here, die from here

Get thee far away

“Cool tune,” Charming comments. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

It takes me a second to realize I’ve been singing. Out loud. Again.

It’s bad enough that I’m a complete mess, but the moment he realizes the humming and singing thing is permanent, he’ll run the other way. My cheeks flush and I blurt out the first thing I can think of to distract him. “I’m cold.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m trembling. Charming’s body may be radiating heat, but my feet are soaked and I’m covered in cold, wet mud.

“Here,” he says, stripping out of his gray hoodie. He’s got a tight v-neck athletic shirt underneath, and it rides up briefly to reveal a hint of hard abs. My gaze stays glued to the strip of bare skin until it disappears from sight. Then, I watch his arm muscles ripple as he pulls off each sleeve.

When he hands me his hoodie, I hesitate. I don’t want to get mud on it. I start to pull back, but Charming doesn’t seem to care. He gently slides the fabric over my head and helps me get my hands into the sleeves. His warm palms slide up my arms and then down to my waist as he straightens the garment. I inhale sharply.

“Sorry,” he whispers, his gaze glued to my face. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no.” I blush. His hoodie smells like mint and musk. Being engulfed in it makes me tremble and I snuggle in further and bask in his manly scent.

“You’re still cold.” He rubs my arms gently. “Let’s get you somewhere warm?”

I nod and let out a yelp when he scoops me up into his arms. He starts off into the trees, and I feel a sudden wave of unease. “Where are you taking me?”