The Princess and The Jester - A.D. McCammon Page 0,31
who’s written him since he’s been away. Mostly to punish him.
“Did you hear from Thatch?” I ask.
Violet’s eyes slide to me then fall to her lap. “He sent me another letter.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “No. I don’t know. I didn’t read it. I’m just so angry with him. He lied to me. But worse than that, he didn’t trust me with the truth. He was all you and me, forever. And the whole time he was keeping parts of himself from me.”
Her tone is laced with hurt, and my hands tighten on the wheel. I love Thatcher like a brother, and I know he had his reasons for lying to Saint. The guy has been through some fucked-up shit. He never had anyone give a damn about him other than me and Arwen until Saint came along. Her love changed him for the better, but he couldn’t seem to shake his demons.
“Look, I can’t and won’t defend Thatch’s choices. He acted like an idiot. But I know he loves you.”
She sniffs, swiping at her cheek. “He never said he loved me.”
Damn it, Thatch.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“No,” she snaps. “You don’t keep secrets from the people you love.”
I sigh, rubbing at the tension in my shoulders. There’s no disputing that fact. We’re in total agreement there. It’s how I’m certain trusting Gwen is a bad idea.
She clears her throat, plastering a fake smile on her face when my eyes shift briefly from the road to her. “Let’s change the subject. How are things going at Gwen’s? Heather mentioned you’ve been at the hotel a lot this week. Is that because you don’t want to be at Gwen’s house?”
Heather Taylor is an evening desk clerk I made the mistake of almost hooking up with once. A year ago. And she still talks about me like we’re dating. The nosy little psycho needs to get over it already.
“Nope,” I lie. “Everything’s fine at Gwen’s. I’ve just been spending some time in the kitchen with Chef Lucas, trying to learn as much as I can.”
That part is at least half-true. In my efforts to steer clear of Gwen, I go in before my shift and stay long after it’s over. I’m being a coward. Plain and simple. Too afraid my resolve will crumble the second I lay eyes on her.
She’s hiding shit from me, and I need to find a way to crack her before she breaks me. I sent PG something this week that allowed me to take a peek into her phone. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No smoking gun. Mostly just relentless texts from Mia asking about me. It seems Gwen finally told her about our past, but she hasn’t mentioned anything about last Sunday.
I’m getting really sick of feeling like her dirty little secret.
“Right, I think Arwen mentioned something about that,” Violet says.
“You mean she was making fun of me?”
“Basically.” Violet giggles, the sound like music to my ears. “Did you know Arwen and Aidan are being all friendly with each other now?”
“Friendly how?” I ask, playing dumb.
Violet doesn’t know anything about my theory that Arwen and Aidan are secretly hooking up. There’s no way I’m touching that one. Even if I’m not sure why Arwen doesn’t want anyone to know. I certainly don’t care if she’s screwing the golden boy, and Saint would probably be excited for Arwen. She’s always liked Aidan. Even went on a date with him once. She only agreed to go with him because she wanted to see Thatcher, though. Violet and Thatcher ended up in a back room making out while Aidan chatted it up with his teammates. I might’ve felt bad for the guy if he hadn’t gone after Thatcher’s girl in the first place.
“I don’t know…they’ve been, like, cordial,” she answers. “It’s freaky. We ran into him the other day at Sal’s Diner, and I think she might’ve even smiled at him.”
I bark out a laugh. “Arwen being polite and smiling. That’s definitely some bizarre shit.”
We laugh at Arwen’s expense, both of us in better spirits for the rest of the ride to Westbrook.
It’s nearly midnight by the time I creep up the stairs to the guest room. I sent PG a message before heading inside, wanting to be sure Gwen was asleep. But when I get to her room, the door is cracked. The damn thing squeaks as I push it the rest of the way open, revealing an empty room.