The Princess and The Jester - A.D. McCammon Page 0,36
surface.
I look down at the beautiful creature under me and commit the image to memory. Her flushed skin. Her lips nearly chapped from my kiss. The way her pale skin seems to be glowing, even in the darkness.
“Open your eyes, Princess,” I plead. “I want to see them.”
When things ended with us two years ago, I was blindsided. Until that point, it felt like an absolute certainty that the two of us would be together forever. Maybe I even took it for granted.
Not this time. I’m fully aware there’s a possibility I’ll never get to experience this with Gwen again.
She blinks, her unsteady hazel eyes struggling to focus on me. Once our gazes lock, we fall apart together.
Her eyes droop as I rest my forehead against hers, both of us panting to catch our breath. It’s nearly three in the morning now. We need to go to sleep. I give her a quick kiss on the lips before getting up to dispose of the condom.
She’s already half-asleep when I get back to the bed, her naked form curled as if it’s waiting for me. The sight causes a tinge in my heart.
It’s hard not to wonder how things might’ve been if she never ended it. There’s so much we missed out on in the last two years. Nights like this, where it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. That our love is the only thing that matters.
But she broke us. Stole those moments and tainted our memories. If someone or something forced her to push me away, I’m going to figure it out. And when I do, there will be hell to pay.
Chapter Eighteen
Present
GWEN
Music fills the room, clearing my mind as I move to the beat. My mother had a dance studio added to our house after I was born. Back when she still had hopes of raising a little ballerina. A dream she gave up after realizing I’d never fit that mold. Dancing felt like part of my DNA by that point though, and I didn’t want to give it up. But my mother insisted it was better for me to find another creative outlet.
“You aren’t made for ballet, sweetheart.”
It didn’t stop me at first. I would come in here to practice every day, believing one day I’d be good enough for her. But I never could bring myself to show her. The thought of reliving the pain of her rejection held me back. Eventually, dancing became something I did for myself. This is where I come when I’m feeling anxious or depressed. Where I let go of all the bullshit weighing me down and just dance.
The chime of my phone cuts through the music and yanks me back into reality. I stop dancing and rush over to it, hating myself for being so desperate to hear from Cole.
He went back to avoiding me after we had sex. My heart sank when I woke up alone in his bed the next morning, tears streaming down my face as I made the walk of shame back to my room. But when I got out of the shower, there was a text from him on my phone.
Cole: I can’t stop thinking about last night. It’s causing a bit of a situation in my pants. If I’m not careful, things are going to get very awkward at work.
After we flirted back and forth for a few minutes, I had the biggest smile on my face. It felt like I finally had my Cole back, and a seed of hope planted inside of me. One that withers more each day that passes without seeing him. I’ve spent three days clinging to the random text messages he throws my way, hoping one of them will give me some clue about what’s going on in his head. He’s even been radio silent with Phantom Girl this week.
There’s one thing keeping my hope from completely dying: the smell of Cole that lingers in the air when I wake each morning. It’s proof that he’s sneaking into my room at night to see and hold me. But it also makes it obvious that he doesn’t want to face me.
As long as I’m hiding the truth from him, he’ll never trust me.
The text is from an unknown number, and my shoulders slump. It’s officially been twenty-four hours since I got anything from Cole.
Unknown: Hey, beautiful.
Groaning at the message on the screen, I roll my eyes and open it to reply.