Page 41 of Forbidden Heart

Except that’s when Silas suddenly changes trajectory. Instead of continuing around the case, he goes back the way he came. Fast steps as he hums his chorus. One. Two. Three. He crashes right into me.

With a yelp, Silas takes a stumbling step back. Startled, he starts to lose his balance and grabs onto the first thing he can—a protruding shelf. He clings onto it and tries to right himself, but then it makes a sickening crack and starts to tilt forward.

Silas lets go, as if he were burned, and falls flat on the floor. Bracelets and necklaces rain down onto his head, and he lets out several pained grunts. One flies a bit further and hits me on the knee, which throbs painfully. Poor Silas.

Then one particularly large item, a jewel-encrusted keepsake box, slides off the shelf and hits Silas on the forehead. He lets out a pained cry, covering his head while it crashes to the ground and instantly shatters.

I gasp, and Silas looks down at the broken box in horror. Then I gasp again when he turns his horrified eyes on me. Blood trails down his forehead, and I’m about to rush to his aid when his face transforms.

His nostrils flare. His skin reddens. His lips curl. He reminds me so much of Father that my heart nearly stops.

I prepare to flee when Anderson’s distant voice pierces the silence. “Is everything all right out there?”

Silas’s eyes widen, and the look he shoots toward the back room is all too familiar. It’s panic and fear and everything I’m feeling right now as I look at him.

He scrambles to his feet. He grabs his jewelry off the counter and then he turns tail and runs. Silas, the mean, cruel, terrifying Dark Prince, races out of the store like the hounds of hell are upon him.

“Are you all right?” Anderson cries when he spots me on the floor in front of the shelf.

He takes in the disaster that erupted in the store. His gaze sweeps over the fragments of the broken keepsake. The box that connected with Silas’s forehead before hitting the floor. A box that can’t possibly be cheap.

“Roonie? Are you hurt?” Anderson rushes to my side. He inspects me, like I might be bleeding, even though I’m not. Silas is, and he’s gone.

When I don’t reply, Anderson moves his inspection to my head. He parts my hair and the way he picks through it reminds me of undergoing lice checks at school. Somehow, I went from fairy tale princess to lice-infected ruffian in a matter of seconds.

“I’m fine,” I finally manage to tell him.

Burning with embarrassment, I gaze across the flecks of shining gold and jewels that dot the carpet like seashells on a beach. My legs freeze beneath me, and I can’t get up. If only I really were on a beach. Then I could dive into the water, transform into a mermaid, and never come back to the surface again.

Anderson seems to be waiting for me to get up. My useless legs make me feel like a flopping fish.

“Let me help you up,” Anderson says, pulling me to my feet.

Still shaky on my legs from leftover adrenaline, I rise. Residual fear washes over me and my hands start trembling.

“Accidents happen,” Anderson says, his tone filled with understanding. But his gaze is on the broken jewel-encrusted keepsake box.

I want to tell him that it’s not my fault—that I didn’t break the box—but who else do I blame? I may not have been the one who stumbled into the shelf and grabbed on to it to regain my balance, but I’m the reason Silas started falling in the first place. If I hadn’t been crawling on the floor, trying to hide, none of this would have happened.

“How much did that cost?” I whisper, gesturing vaguely at the broken keepsake box.

Anderson winces. “A lot more than three hours.”

Chapter 17

I can’t tear my eyes away from the shattered remnants of the jewel-encrusted keepsake box: broken, just like my fractured heart.

“I can try to glue it back together,” I tell Anderson hopefully.

His shoulders slump, but his perfectly tailored blazer somehow manages to maintain its shape, continuing the appearance of perfect posture.

“I’m sorry, Roonie.” Anderson shakes his head, sounding genuinely regretful. “It can’t be fixed.”

My heart sinks.

“We can deal with this,” Anderson reassures me, though I’m not sure how. I try to take comfort in his peaceful approach, but the facts remain. One broken box. One broke Roonie. And someone’s going to have to pay for the damage.

A part of me wishes Silas had stuck around, but I get the feeling he doesn’t have the money either. If he did, he wouldn’t have tried to pawn off his jewelry.