The Princess and The Jester: A High School Bully Romance (Westbrook Three Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by A.D. McCammon

  The Princess and The Jester

  Copyright © by Amber McCammon

  All rights reserved.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

  ASIN: B08CL4JCHW

  Cover Design by Pink Elephant Designs

  Editing by Christina Hart of Savage Hart Book Services

  Formatted by Pink Elephant Designs

  Proofread by Amanda Cuff of Savage Hart Book Services

  “I’m only laughing on the outside. My smile is just skin deep.

  If you could see inside, I’m really crying. You might join me for a weep.”

  -The Joker

  Chapter One

  Present

  GWEN

  Mia is still yammering on excessively as the driver pulls into my driveway. She hasn’t stopped bragging about the guy she met at the Billie Eilish concert since we left, making the short drive back from Nashville seem never ending. It’s not like this is anything new for her; Mia gets hit on by guys everywhere we go. She’s just that type—blonde, tall, thin, tan. The kind that makes girls like me feel invisible to the male population when you’re standing next to them.

  Unlike most girls I know though, Mia always demands they acknowledge me.

  “This is my best friend, Gwen. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  It’s one of the many reasons I love her so much. The first time she did it, I was floored. And a little bit embarrassed.

  It almost feels like a test in a way. Seeing if they’re worth her time by gauging how they treat me. However, I certainly don’t care if some fuck boy who can’t even remember your name at the end of the conversation notices me.

  There’s only one guy I want to pay attention to me, and there’s no chance of that happening. He hasn’t seen me—really seen me—for years. His stare holds nothing except cold disdain for me now. And maybe I deserve that. I’m the bitch who broke his heart, after all. He’ll never let me get close to him again.

  “Hello,” Mia says, “earth to Gwen.”

  Her mouth twists with annoyance as I meet her gaze. “What?”

  “You haven’t heard a single word I said,” she huffs. “And your eyes have been glued to your phone most of the night. Are you expecting a life-altering phone call or something?”

  My gaze flickers down to the iPhone tightly gripped in my hand, the lit screen mocking me with the lack of notifications. There hasn’t been a single message from him for weeks. I’m not sure if he figured me out or simply got bored. It’s a blessing in disguise. Whatever was going on between us needed to stop, and I was clearly too weak to put an end to what I started.

  “Oh, sorry.” I shove the phone into my purse and give her an apologetic smile. “I must’ve zoned out for a minute.”

  “Is there a boy you’re not telling me about?”

  My chest tightens as I shake my head. She doesn’t know anything about the weeks I spent exchanging messages with a certain boy. That’s a secret I plan to take to my grave. It’s too pathetic. No way am I going to admit to it out loud. “Nope.”

  I’m as single as they come. No boyfriends; not even a date in years. I’ve only had the one. Not that anyone knows about him either. My love life, or lack thereof, is tragic.

  Her head tilts, pity weighing down her features. “You know it’s because guys are intimidated by you, right?”

  My best friend means well, but her need to make me feel better only makes me more self-conscious. It’s not that I think I’m ugly. But I’m the you’ve got such a gorgeous face girl or the you’d be a knockout if you lost some weight girl. By society’s beauty standards, I’m too curvy to be beautiful. It’s something I’ve lived with my entire life. Even my own mother makes me insecure about my weight—constantly purchasing health-conscious foods and making comments about my eating habits. Which are no different than Mia’s. Yet she’s a perfect size six, while I’m double that.

  Learning to love yourself isn’t easy, especially when everything and everyone says you shouldn’t. It’s taken me years to look in the mirror and not hate what I see. I’m still a work in progress, but I’ve come a long way from my eating disorder days.

  I scoff as the driver parks outside my front door. “You’re so full of shit, but I appreciate it.”

  “Stop that,” she scolds, playfully swatting my arm. “Half the guys at Westbrook High would be lining up to date you if they thought they had a chance. Cory has been trying to get your number since freshman year. The problem is you’re too picky.”

  She’s not totally wrong about that. Only it’s not by choice. The heart wants what the heart wants, and mine belongs to someone already. Even if he stopped claiming it.

  “Wanting to date someone you can hold an intelligible conversation with isn’t too much to ask,” I deride. “Cory’s sweet, but I think he’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

  Cory is like one of those token characters you see in teen movies. The ones that are cute and sweet but painfully dumb. I can’t imagine what the two of us would even talk about. We have absolutely nothing in common.

  I’d be lying if I said I haven’t considered it, though. During those really hard times when I was sick of the constant heartache.

  “Who cares if he’s not a great conversationalist? That’s what your girlfriends are for. His mouth can serve you in other ways.” Mia laughs as I cringe, and the driver lets out a choking cough.

  My face heats, eyes fl
ickering to the driver. He’s looking at his phone, trying desperately to pretend he’s not hearing anything we’re saying.

  “Okay, ew,” I hiss in a whisper. “I don’t want his mouth anywhere near me.”

  “Fine.” She shrugs, rolling her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be Cory, but you can’t hold on to your V-card forever.”

  Guilt knots in my stomach. Mia was oddly proud sophomore year when she was the first of our friends to lose her virginity. She had no clue I’d lost mine the year prior to the boy I loved. If I admitted to having sex, she would’ve wanted to know with whom. And telling her would’ve led to more questions I’m not willing to answer. As bad as it makes me feel keeping something so big from my best friend, it’s just easier to let her go on believing the lie of omission.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over to give her quick a hug. “On that note, I’m going inside.”

  She chuckles. “Bye. Call me tomorrow.”

  Mia moved to Westbrook at the beginning of our sophomore year and automatically claimed me as her bestie. Like she knew how badly I needed a new buddy at that time. I’d just lost my best friend of nearly ten years, and my heart was broken. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without her the last two years.

  Exhaustion sets in as I make my way from the car and into the house. It’s dark and quiet inside. Most parents would worry about their child attending a concert in downtown Nashville, but it’s not all that shocking that mine aren’t here to greet me or make sure I made it home safely.

  My mother runs her own ballet school, also in Nashville. That’s her real baby, her pride and joy. And my father is an entertainment lawyer. He literally never stops working.

  I pull my shoes off at the bottom of the stairs before beginning the climb, my steps sluggish by the time I reach the top, the promise of a hot shower and the comfort of my bed propelling me forward.

  I’m already peeling the dirty clothes from my body as I enter my bedroom, making a beeline for the shower. The delightfully scolding water melts away all the grime from being in a crowd of people, and twenty minutes later, my tired body is wrapped up in a towel.

  There isn’t enough energy left in me to even bother with putting on pajamas, so I head straight for bed. A shadowy figure on the top of my mattress catches my eye as I enter my room, and my stomach does a free fall. I freeze, but the fear strangling my throat keeps my scream from escaping.

  The shape moves and there’s a click before my lamp lights the room. My lashes flutter as my eyes adjust, my panic increasing once I finally get a good look at what or who is on my bed.

  “Welcome home, Princess.”

  He looks very comfortable, all sprawled out with his arms folded behind his head and feet crossed. The buttons on his shirt are undone, putting his bare chest and abdomen on display. His sandy blond hair is disheveled in a way that makes him look insanely gorgeous. The jeans he’s wearing rest low on his hips, the top band of his Calvin Klein boxers peeking out.

  The image is much like the ones I’ve imagined countless times before, and for a brief moment I wonder if this is all a dream. Until I notice the sparkle of mischief in his emerald eyes as his lips curl into a villainous grin.

  This is no dream, it’s a nightmare.

  Oh god. He knows it was me.

  Icy panic floods my veins, my mind scrambling for a plausible excuse or explanation for what I’ve done. I merely wanted to talk to him. Not the exchange of blows that seems to be our normal form of communication these days. A real conversation. Yes, it was deceptive. But it’s not like I intentionally tricked him.

  “Cole?” Terror is palpable in my voice, and I clear my throat, feigning a calm indifference to his presence as I continue. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  “Technically, this is our house.” The cavalier response holds a sinister tone, warning me of his cruel intentions.

  My limbs begin to tremble, fighting off the chill of my fright. “You haven’t lived here for two years, Cole.”

  It feels more like a lifetime; the nearly ten years we shared here nothing more than fading memories I’m desperately clinging to.

  I try to recall the last time we were in my bedroom together. Had we laughed? Did he hold me? Tell me he loved me? Had I said it back?

  But the only memory I can grasp is the very one I’d like to forget forever. The night I made him believe I didn’t want him. The one that changed him. When I lost his love and earned his hate.

  “A crushed soul and broken heart are no good to me.”

  “True.” He stretches like a cat lazing about and sits up, locking his hard glare onto me as he places his feet on the floor. “And I know you’ve been so torn up over it. But the good news is I’m back. All moved in right down the hall.”

  He stands, and I instinctively scoot back as my head shakes in protest. “You’re lying. I talked to my mom this morning. She didn’t say anything about you living here.”

  “Yeah…I asked Nina and Mark to let me surprise you.” His dark chuckle keeps me rooted while he moves closer, the heat of his body blanketing over my exposed skin as he invades my space. “Surprise.”

  His proximity makes me acutely aware that the only thing covering me is a small floral towel, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Get out of my room.”

  He snorts at my feeble attempt to sound stern. “No need to be modest on my account. I rather enjoyed your little striptease when you came in.” My veins heat with embarrassment, and Cole’s lips spread wide as he reaches out to brush his thumb over my reddening cheek. “Don’t be shy. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before, Princess. In fact, there isn’t a single inch of this luscious body of yours I haven’t touched or tasted.”

  My eyelids fall as his fingertips run down my neck, across my collarbone, and over my shoulder. It’s been so long since I’ve felt his touch, and I revel in it. Once upon a time, he was mine—my everything.

  When I open my eyes again, the resentment and malice in Cole’s gaze is gone. They’ve been replaced with a swirl of lust and sadness, his brow stiff with contemplation. The air in my lungs stills as he leans in like he’s about to kiss me, but his lips bypass mine and land on my temple instead.

  “Playing with you is going to be so much fun,” he whispers in my ear.

  There’s a wickedly sexy grin on his face as he backs away, his eyes hungrily roaming over me. Then he turns on his heel and strolls out of my room, his laughter echoing through the hallway.

  Chapter Two

  6 years old

  COLE

  My hair blows in the wind, the grass and trees a blur of green as we cruise down the street. I close my eyes, pretending I’m riding one of the rollercoasters my dad always promised to take me on once I was old enough. Another promise he won’t be able to keep.

  “Cole Masterson, you’re not a dog,” Momma fusses, tugging on my shirt. “Pull your head back in the window right now.”

  I plop down on my bottom, pouting as I cross my arms. “But I’m so hot.”

  My mom gives me a stern look before returning her attention to the road. “You’ll survive. There was a time when cars didn’t even have air conditioning.”

  Rolling my eyes, I huff. The air in our car hasn’t worked for months. It wasn’t so bad in the spring but riding with the windows down doesn’t provide much relief from the summer heat. The sun feels like it’s burning my skin.

  “Are we there yet?” I whine, shifting in my seat.

  Mom sighs. “Patience, sweet boy. It’s right up here.”

  We’re moving into our new home today. Mom says it’s really nice and that I’m going to love my new school. But she always says things are great even when they’re really bad. I don’t want to live with strangers. We’ve been just fine on our own.

  Momma was so sad when we lost our house after Daddy died. But I think moving from place to place is fun. Sometimes we get to sleep in our car, and it’s like camping out. She worries too much, says I need structure and securi
ty—whatever that means.

  “I don’t want to live with a girl,” I grumble.

  “Don’t act that way. You’re going to like Gwendolyn. It’ll be good for you to have a friend your age at school, too.”

  “That’s gross, Mom. I’m not hanging out with a girl. They have cooties.”

  “You might change your mind about girls one day,” she snickers. “Either way, you better be on your best behavior. Your daddy was friends with the Rhodes family. It’s very kind of them to open their home to us.”

  “But I thought you said you were going to be working for them? They aren’t doing us a favor if they’re making you earn it.”

  “We’re helping each other out. One day you’ll understand the importance of working for the things you want. Nothing worth having comes easy or free, sweet boy.”

  She’s said that hundreds of times before. I think we could use a little easy and free in our lives, though. That’s what Daddy wanted for us, but things have been hard on her without him. I just wish there was a way for me to help her.

  “Daddy said a good woman like you shouldn’t have to work so hard, that it was his job to take care of you. Since he’s gone, I’m the man of the family. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes will let me work for them instead.”

  Mom’s sad eyes land on me, her hand shaky as she reaches for the guitar pick secured around my neck. Daddy’s lucky guitar pick. She always gets upset when I bring him up.