Page 5 of Broken Princess

I frown, immediately going over to the bed, where a bunch of clothes are strewn haphazardly. I've never actually been in Amelia's dorm room, but that isn't like her. She's neat to a fault. I pick up one of the discarded sweaters and bring it to my face, breathing in her soft, alluring scent.

When I go over to open the closet and find that most of the clothes inside are gone, my heart sinks.

Come to think of it, there's not much of anything left in the dorm room. Her computer is gone, and her books are still here, but that doesn't really mean much if she decided to…

No. She wouldn't.

…Would she?

Another surge of panic washes over me, even if it's not quite as sharp as the other. She packed, which means she left willingly, and she's probably okay. For now.

It does raise the question, though, of why she would leave. And whether she left alone.

Shit.

I leave the dorm room and rush for the guest housing. Stefan is in the lobby, talking and laughing with a bunch of other guys. The sight of him is at once infuriating and a relief. He's here, so that means he's not with Amelia, wherever the hell she is.

He looks up, his amusement dissipating as soon as he sees me. "Lorenzo. Something wrong?"

The other guys scatter, as if they can sense the tension between us. Probably just as well that I don't have an audience.

"Where is she?" I demand.

He stares at me blankly, like he has no idea what I'm talking about, and stands up to walk over to me. "Where is who?"

I give him a shove, hard enough to send him staggering back into the wall. "Don't bullshit me," I snap. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Since you're acting like a caveman, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume it's Amelia," he says dryly, shoving me off him. He brushes down his designer blazer. Can't have anything wrinkled.

"She came to the party with you," I accuse.

"Yes, and as far as I can tell, she left because of you," he counters. "Since we're on the subject, care to tell me why that might be?"

"Fuck off," I mutter. "I know you had something to do with this."

He just rolls his eyes. "With what, the fact that she doesn't want to talk to you?"

"Where is she?" I repeat, ignoring his bitching. "I'm not going to ask you again."

"You can ask all you want. I don't know," he says with a firmness that actually makes me wonder for a split second if he is telling the truth.

On the one hand, I would be relieved, but on the other, that still leaves the matter of her location open-ended.

"What makes you think she's gone?" he asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Either he's a world-class actor, or he really is telling the truth and he doesn't know where she is.

"Forget it," I mutter, turning to stalk back toward the door.

"Hey. We're not done here," Stefan calls, grabbing me by the shoulder. He's stronger than he looks, although he looks like he belongs to a boy band, so that really isn't saying much.

I turn on him, and he staggers back. "Put your hands on me again, fuckwad. I'm not a chick, so I don't think you're gonna like the results."

His eyes narrow dangerously, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he just shakes his head. "You think you know me, but you don't. You don't know shit, and considering you can't even keep your own girlfriend from running off, I'm not sure you're in a position to be talking shit, either."

"Fuck you," I spit, taking a swing at him.

It connects with his jaw, and he goes flying back into the coffee table. Books and beer bottles scatter everywhere, but to his credit, he recovers faster than I expect.

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