Passenger Princess

by Morgan Elizabeth

"You so like me," I whisper. "I really fucking do," he says back.

"Ava. I cannot wait for this tour to be over so I can take you out and show you off everywhere we go. So I can make every man in a ten-mile radius jealous that you're mine. This, us? This is real. We're real. No matter how tonight goes—and Ava, I know it's going to go well—we are real, and we will stay the same. Do you understand?"

Suddenly, Ava's face brightens a bit, and a small smile comes to her lips. "You know, I haven't. But I love the idea of that. I actually had a company reach out to me last week for a sponsorship for a mace keychain." "Absolutely not," I say at the same time Hank laughs out loud. "What?" "Absolutely not," I repeat. "You're not carrying a fucking trial-sized mace around with you on the day-to-day." Ava turns to me looking annoyed. "Why not?" "Because you're a disaster waiting to happen, Ava. With your luck, you'll pepper spray yourself by accident, just trying to show someone how it works." She purses her lips like she wants to argue but can't before she smiles. "You're probably right. What about a taser? They make some really cute pink ones." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, counting to ten as I do, as if that's going to help with the tiny menace of a woman in front of me. It doesn't. Which I'm happy about because I fucking love her, chaos and all.

"Ava, so you are having a relationship with your bodyguard?" a voice shouts, a photo being snapped as the words come. A paparazzi. At Hank's house. Seemingly outing Ava and me.

"You're on private property," Hank says. "Give me your camera." "Hell no. Do you know how much these photos are worth? The bodyguard and America's sweetheart having some torrid affair all along? Proof that Ava Bordeaux is nothing like what she's been trying to sell?"

"She's a fraud, and the world should know."

"You do not want to mess with me, Smith. That much I can promise you." "You're nobody. You can't do anything, and once this"—he lifts his camera—"is out, you won't even have a job. Five Star, right? I'm sure there's something in their guidelines about fucking your assignment."

"You think you won some game, and honestly, I think you're not even the one playing it, just some poor puppet on someone else's string. But you don't want to fuck with me, that much I can promise you. Because I can know everything about you if I need to. I can know where you went to school, who signs your checks, and the address of your mommy's house you probably live in. I can know everyone you've received cash from, and if any of it seems a little…off, I can know if anyone has ever

you to write a friendly article or completely trash someone, and I can take all of that and send it to your boss because I have a feeling that's against some kind of journalist code." I tip my head at him. "And then I can have that information sent to every news outlet in America." "Are you threatening me?"

shake my head. "I'm just telling you what can happen if you don't leave Ava alone and if you don't tell me who ...

“I don’t want you to look back and think you spent your whole life working for something only to throw it away just because of me.”

Jaime pulls his phone from his pocket, starting to dial before he looks back at me, pauses and comes back. He moves, squatting in front of me until we’re face-to-face. “In case I haven’t been clear, Ava. I’m wildly, obsessively, crazy in love with you. A stupid article or a job I don’t even like anymore does not change that. My job right now is to keep you safe, keep you happy, and make sure nothing touches you. You understand me?”

“You love me?” I whisper. “You’re a smart girl, Ava. You knew I was in love with you that first night.” I smile, letting the giddy excitement of Jaime Wilde loving me crash over me. “You know I love you too, right? Maybe not from the very first night, I’m not a psycho, and you were really grumpy, but—” I start, then giggle when he tackles me to the bed hovering over me. “Okay, okay, I

loved you since the moment you told me I was a blonde with a hot body.

love when guys are kind of mean to me. Probably some deep-seated daddy issue, you kn⁠—” He cuts me off with a deep kiss that takes the breath from my lungs and ends much, much too quickly before he stands up and puts a hand out to me. “All right, come on, Princess. We gotta get on the road.” I grab his hand, letting him pull me up to him. “Can we get coffee on the way?” I ask with a sweet smile. He sighs. “We’re cutting it close, Ava.” “I’m begging you,” I say, clasping my hands together. “I would give you my firstborn child if you take me to get an iced coffee so I don’t have to sit in a room with fifty shrieking pageant queens uncaffeinated.” The edges of his lips tug up in a small smile before he crosses his arms on his chest. “It’s already mine.” My brows furrow before a frown follows s...

“Oh my god, Jaime, was that…was that a joke?”

and we're a team." That makes me smile wide. "We're a pretty great team, aren't we?" I ask in a whisper, and somehow, despite everything, he smiles wide, something I couldn't have expected thirty minutes ago when everything broke. "The best team," I whisper against his lips before he kisses me, making all right in the world for just a moment.

“Fuck,” I mumble, deciding to skip the elevator, and looking for the stairs. “I gotta go.” “Jaime—” But he doesn’t finish because I’m hanging up and sprinting toward the door to the stairs. “Sir, you need to—” Someone tries to stop me, but I don’t listen. Instead, I’m storming up the stairs, eyes glued to Ava’s location on my phone, and praying to whoever the fuck will listen that I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life by leaving her side.

Then she turns to Anne, whose face is red with anger and panic. "Sorry, Anne. But people love a good true crime story, so maybe write the memoir anyway. It might help pay for your attorney fees."

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” “I was going for hot,” I say, my voice low and scraggy, my lips tipping up with a smile. “Yeah,” he says with a smile before moving closer. “Jaime, the door⁠—” “I locked it already. Do you think I’d risk anyone else ever seeing what’s mine like this?” “You do get possessive.” A growl rumbles through him, and I can’t help but smile. He steps closer, and I put a hand between us, pressing on his chest to keep him from messing up my hard work. "Jaime Wilde, no. I just did my makeup!"

"What is this one?" I ask, approaching a pink book with dark and light stripes on the cover, a big pink bow in a golden frame surrounding the title of the book: Passenger Princess. Little icons dot the edges of the book, and I glance at it, confused because I've definitely never seen this book recommended anywhere, but it seems...familiar all the same. Plus, the title is everything.

He rolls his eyes, tipping his head toward the book still in my hands. "Who's the author?" he asks. Moving it in my hands, I look, unable to find the name on the cover. "Check the end, there might be an About the author page." My brow furrows, and I flip to the back before the world starts to spin. A photo of Jaime and me standing together in Maine—a photo that I found out was his phone icon for me months later. About the author: Jaime Wilde is the bodyguard of a pageant queen and father to Princess Peach. His goal in life is to convince the love of his life, Ava Bordeaux, to travel the world with him for the rest of his life as his wife. He went so far as to commission an entire fanfiction (he lied: he totally knows what fanfiction is, and yes, he liked that Omegaverse you sent him) and dragged her to Washington, where they had their first date, so he could ask her to spend forever with him. "Jaime—" I whisper in panic, but then when I look up again, he's not there. He's down on the ground. Down on one knee, a ring in his hand, a nervous smile on his lips.

"I thought about doing this at the club I met you in, the place I probably fell in love with you, if we're being honest. Then I thought about the boardwalk in Atlantic City, where you made me sit with you even though I wanted to be as far from you as I could because I knew even then, I was crazy for you. I thought about Maine, where you ran from me, and I realized I'd always chase you, no matter where you went. Then Georgia, where you were so fucking brave, just like you always are. Florida, where you told me to hold your hand and jump in. Missouri, where I kissed you for the first time and then got scared because I didn't want to stop. Texas, where you yelled at me and I finally gave into what you knew was real all along. Or even Utah, where you got the first kernel of the idea of Pretty Strong. But none of them felt right."

"You said you love the idea of falling in love. I don't, Ava. I love being in love with you, and I love the idea of you getting your happily ever after every damn day. I love the idea of spending forever making sure you're treated like a queen and that you have everything you want in life. That you'll always have someone at your side cheering you on and watching your ass while you do it." "Because it's a good ass," I whisper. "A great ass."

"So what do you say? Will you marry me?" "Of course I will, Jaime. You have a way cooler last name than me." He smiles even wider and shakes his head at me. "Plus, do you think I could say no after you wrote an entire fanfiction about us? I cannot wait to read this." He cringes a bit. "I hired someone to write it, which was an experience because explaining us fucking so a relative stranger could write it out for you was weird, but...I hope you like it," he whispers.

"Oh my god, you so totally love me," I whisper against his lips. "Yeah, I really do," he agrees.