Page 37 of Forbidden Heart

“I don’t think we’re hiring right now,” she adds when I make no move to leave.

“Right.” My heart sinks. I know what that means. I’ve heard it often enough before.

Forcing my smile back on my face, I shake her hand and tell her I hope to hear from them soon. It’s exactly how I practiced with Charles, even though there is absolutely no point.

As I make my way to the next counter, I remind myself that there’s a whole campus of businesses. I still have a lot more second chances.

Magical princess, you’ll find your way

Just keep hoping until it’s your day...

The next place I apply at is the Purple Noodle, a fast food joint where—to my great relief—none of the noodles are actually purple. There are neon red chicken balls and normal-looking greasy fried noodles sitting under a heat lamp. A short, skinny girl is unpacking takeout boxes against the back wall, and I decide that if I were her, I’d rename the place Fairy Noodles.

I hand her my resume and make my way around the rest of the cafeteria. I stop by a sandwich shop and the pizza place JJ picked out when we came here for lunch. Then I skip along to the plaza of shops at the edge of the campus.

I pass by Chez Caviar. No way am I applying there!

I do try to apply to the music store, but I’m told I’m not qualified and they’re not hiring. I hum softly about a desolate princess as I exit the shop and head next door to the one selling LUV Academy hoodies.

The place makes me think of Tate, and as I drop off my resume, my mind is hundreds of miles away. With Prince Charming, who never came back last night—and his sister, who might be in actual trouble.

I send Tate a quick text to ask how he’s doing and my phone pings instantly with two words: in class.

He must have gotten back after I fell asleep and left before I was even awake.

He sends me another message, asking how my day is, and I lie and tell him it’s great. It’s not really a lie, since things are bound to turn around once I find a job.

I step back outside and head to the next shop: a vintage jewelry store. I’m about to go in when a display in the window catches my eye. It’s an elegant black wire frame that holds a series of necklaces: gemstones that sit suspended like stars in the sky.

Although... the angular gemstone pieces look almost broken, just like the pieces of my fractured heart.

A cheery bell rings overhead as I slip into the store. I am met with cool air, the smell of a freshly vacuumed carpet, and the gleam of immaculately clean display cases.

“Hello?” I call out as I scan the empty store. No answer.

Silently, I walk around the display cases and shelves, taking everything in. The store is like a museum. Row after row of treasures meet my eye. Diamonds—real-looking ones, not obviously glass or plastic—bud out of every piece like berries on a bush in July. Gold and silver loops and chains, intricate swirls and bold statement pieces. Jewelry boxes sit on a shelf against the wall, and another shelf of music boxes calls to me.

I resist the temptation and keep walking, examining the beautiful pieces on sale here. For a moment, I wonder how any college student could possibly afford this stuff, and then I remember. This is LUV Academy.

A shuffling sound emanates from the back room, and an older man steps out. He’s dressed all in black, with a sharp blazer and silk tie that I’m sure Charles would approve of.

The jeweler greets me with a friendly smile, his teeth so white, they’re practically glowing. The same is the case for his long white hair. Must be the lighting.

“Good morning, miss,” he says.

“Good morning,” I say nervously, not used to being called miss.

The jeweler waits attentively, his hands folded behind his back. When I don’t say anything, he gives me a curt nod and gestures to the nearest display case. “Can I help you find something in particular today?”

I shake my head a little too fervently. A strand of my hair flicks up into my mouth and gets stuck on my tongue. I awkwardly peel it off as the man pretends not to notice.

“Actually, I...” I set my resumes face-down on the counter and reach into my pocket. For a few seconds, I clutch the four shards of my onyx heart, letting them dig into my palm. Then, I dump them onto the display case.

The jeweler pulls his head back, like I just dropped a dead mouse in front of him. He quickly regains his composure.

I wish I could say the same for myself.

“A repair job, miss?” He reaches for the pieces with short, stubby fingers and arranges them in something vaguely resembling a heart.