fanqie novel
Passenger Princess: Chapter 21
‘What are you reading?’ I ask without meaning to when Ava is silent for a long time. When her head perks up as she takes off the big pink headphones with white ribbons tied to the frame and a broad smile on her lips, I instantly regret it.
‘What?’Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.
‘What are you reading? You keep giggling.’
Her smile spreads on her face, and she shifts in the seat to look at me, tucking her feet beneath her. Peach moves in my lap, stretching an arm out to Ava, and she returns the move, scratching behind her ear.
‘An omegaverse.’
With my eyes on the road, I take a deep breath. The way she said the simple, nonsensical word, I know she’s excited for my response. Still, something tells me I probably don’t need to know whatever she says, much less want to know.
‘Do I even want to know what an omegaverse is?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ she says, then proceeds to move into a long , drawn-out conversation about alphas and omegas and betas, designations, and mates. Then she gives me a very in-depth explanation of what a fucking knot is using a straw and wrapper, and I was right.
I did not want to know.
‘Get it?’ she asks. I continue to stare at the road, but when we hit a red light, I turn to her, her smile wide and her eyes wider.
God, she’s fucking cute.
‘I miss who I was before this,’ I say, and her head tips back with a twinkling laugh, the blonde of her long ponytail grazing her arm as she does. The light turns green, and I start to drive before confessing, ‘You know, I thought I’d spend time with you—’
‘Under duress, of course.’ She rolls her eyes, and I smile because I cannot help it.
‘Of course. But I thought I’d spend time with you, and you’d turn it off.’
‘What?’
‘Your pageant girl. The happy-go-lucky, friendly-to-everyone, ball-buster version. That you’d be a bitch or uptight or something.’ I turn my head when she doesn’t respond, looking quickly as I’m driving to catch her turned to look at me, a wide smile spread across her lips.
‘But…?’ she says, almost jumping with joy.
‘God, you’re a fucking pain in the ass.’
‘Hey, hey, no, finish! What did you expect?!’
‘I expected it was an act, that it wasn’t really you. But I’ve never met a person in my life who doesn’t put on airs for anyone. You’re the same in the car with me as you were on that stage, as you were talking to that kid on the boardwalk, as you were at the top of a mountain being interviewed. The same person each time.’ I pause, trying to think of how to explain it. ‘It’s impressive. Not many people are like that.’
‘You know, Jaime, I think that was almost a compliment,’ she says with a smile, and I have to fight one of my own. After a bit of silence, she breaks it, her voice lower and almost nervous. ‘I am, you know. Sometimes.‘
‘What?’
‘Fake. I don’t think anyone can be completely real all the time. But it’s normal, I think.’ In my peripheral vision, she shrugs, a bit of her sunshine smile dimmed and something in me wants to go after every person who ever made her feel like she has to be on all the time, like who she is at any given moment is utter perfection. ‘I think everyone puts on a face for the rest of the world. No one is exactly the same behind closed doors and out in the public, especially not when cameras and careers are involved. Everyone’s a little fake sometimes.’
‘I don’t,’ I say.
Liar, my mind says. What a fucking liar.
Because I’m just a little fake when I’m pretending Ava doesn’t get to me, that she’s not shifting something in me. I’m fake when I see her flirting with anyone else, and I have to act like it doesn’t bother me, or when she flirts with me, and I have to pretend I don’t care.
‘No, no, you’re not.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You’re on much higher alert in public, for one,’ she says, which is valid. ‘And you definitely aren’t letting kittens sit on your lap and scratching behind their ears or buying pageant queens a dozen types of ice cream because you feel bad out in the world.’
‘I guess…I guess that’s fair.’
‘It’s much more exhausting than I thought it would be, being on all the time. Sometimes, I wish I could be normal out there, too. Drop an f-bomb or sit with a slouch, or just be in a bad mood.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Well, for one, the internet is forever,’ she says with a laugh. ‘And I don’t need a photo of me sitting with horrible posture and resting bitch face while someone talks to me to follow me for the rest of my life.’
‘I guess that’s fair,’ I say, holding my instinct to tell her she’s gorgeous no matter what.
Goddammit, Wilde, get it together. She’s a client.
‘And people come to see pageant me. They drive a long while and take time out of their busy lives, rearranging schedules and finding babysitters or taking time off work, the whole nine, because somehow, I inspired them or made them feel good about something or got them interested in pageants.’ She sighs, a soul-deep sound, and it hits me dead in the gut.
‘They’d love the real version of you too, Ava,’ I say, even though I should keep my mouth shut. ‘If you let her out more.’
What am I saying? That real version she hides away is for a reason, because if she did, Regina would lose her mind and find a reason to cancel her contract. My job is to keep her in line, not encourage her to toe it more than she already does.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ she says.
‘Not maybe, Ava. Definitely.’ And then I reach over, one hand on the wheel, and grab her hand, squeezing it once.
‘Thanks, Jaime,’ she whispers, and I know the two words mean more than just thanks for the pep talk.
I don’t respond.
I also don’t let go of her hand, twining my fingers with hers.