“Charlotte, do you think I want you to suffer?” he asks, dropping his hands in his lap and studying my face. “Um, yes?” “Charlotte Farren,” he groans, looking like he’d rather take a long walk off a short pier than keep talking to me right now. “Eric Warren is a dangerous man, and you have no business traveling to a foreign country with a bunch of boys that you barely know—” “I’ve known them for over a year,” I correct, “and we’ve been through a lot together. We almost died in those tunnels; we all grieved Spencer together. They took me to Disneyland. Why can’t you just accept that they’re in
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