Page 112 of Passenger Princess

EPILOGUE

AVA

It's been just about a year to the day since I was crowned Miss Americana.

Nine months since Anne went to prison and Regina was forced by the board to step down as head of the Miss Americana pageant, and six months since I started Pretty Strong, the organization I created to travel across the country (world domination imminent, of course), host pop-ups, and teach women basic self-defense.

It's been a crazy year, to say the least.

And now I'm sitting in front of a vanity doing my hair and makeup for my last official task as Miss Americana: announcing this year's winner.

The organization offered to have me get ready with all of the contestants, but considering what happened last time, I opted to get ready in a separate green room on site.

I'm pinning the crown into place before I add finishing touches to my hair when Jaime walks in, a garment bag draped over his arm.

"Ahh! She's here!" I say, running over to grab the bag from his hands and unzipping it to reveal the pale pink rhinestones andsequins all over the bodice. Harper absolutely hit this one out of the park, and I cannot wait to put her on.

Gently, I place the dress on the small couch in my office-slash-get-ready room before moving to my tiptoes to place a kiss on the underside of Jaime's jaw. Then I head back to my vanity before picking up my blush brush.

A moment later, Jaime's lower half is reflected in the mirror behind me. “What’s under that robe?”

“What?”

“What’s under your robe, Ava?”

I stare at him in the mirror, trying to understand what he’s saying.

“A bra and panties,” I say.

“Stand up.”

I could argue. I could ask what he means.

Instead, I stand, turning toward him, and continuing to do so as his fingers grab the tie on my silky cream-colored robe, the sides falling open, then falling off as one of his hands pushes it off my shoulder until it’s pooling around my feet and he’s taking a step back to take me in.

“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. Ijustdid my makeup!"

"Funny, because I don't need to do anything with your face for what I'm planning.

"What, you're not going to kiss me?"

He rolls his eyes at me before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to mylips. "I'll kiss you properly when you're done for the night. I won't mess up your face, baby." His fingers move to my back, undoing the clasp of my bra and letting it fall to the floor, one hand moving forward, cupping my breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers.

“Jaime, we don’t?—"

"We have plenty of time. You don't have to be there until four," he whispers into the curve of my neck, my head tipping a bit as he does, his hand with rough calluses running down my back to my hips tugging down my underwear.

"Four? You told me two!"

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