Debt

"Got a bathing suit in there?"

"A bathing suit?" I parroted, knowing it damn sure wasn't hot enough for a suit in Jersey.

"Yeah."

"Oh, um. No. I don't even own a bathing suit," I admitted, my life of bailing my father out leaving me very little room for afternoons by a pool.

"You live in a beach town and you don't have a bathing suit?" he asked with a brow furrow. At my head shake, he shrugged. "We'll pick one up there."

"I'll pick one up there. If I let you do it, I'd probably get postage stamps for a top."

"You've had no complaints about the dresses."

"They're a little tight," I complained.

"Yeah well, body like that, babe, the dresses should be tight."

"So the same logic would suggest you'd go the postage stamp option."

"If I let you pick, what's the chance that you'd pick out some eighteen-hundreds bathing costumes?" he asked with a smirk.

"I might be able to compromise for a simple one-piece," I said as he took my bag from me with one hand, and grabbed my hand with the other, and led me outside.

"Babe, no."

"And what is this if you let me nonsense? I'm fully capable of picking out my own bathing suit with or without your permission."

"Tasteful two piece," he said, ignoring my comment.

"If the bottoms are shorts, not bikini."

"Are you serious?" he asked, stopping and turning to look at me.

"I don't like being mostly naked in front of a bunch of strangers."

"Fuck everyone else. You'd be mostly naked for me."

"That's a nice philosophy to have. But people look at other people."

"You have great legs," he said, shaking his head as he released my hand and moved to the trunk to deposit my bag.

"I'm not being insecure, I'm being..."

"Don't say prudent. For fuck's sake, anything but that."

I pursed my lips for a second, trying to hold back a smile. "Fine. I'm being sensible."

"You're a pain in the ass," he said, shaking his head at me, but he was smiling. "But I guess you're my pain in the ass so I shouldn't complain," he added unexpectedly as he lowered himself into the car.

Meanwhile I was a bit too dumbstruck to move.

His.

Granted, he'd called me his pain in the ass, but the possessive term was what mattered. I was his.

I had a sneaking suspicion that, no matter what transpired between us, I would always be his.

"Babe, you coming or what? I can make a lot of shit happen, but I don't think I can make them hold the fucking plane for us."

"Plane?" I asked, turning and ducking to look into the car, my stomach twisting into Boy Scout-worthy knots.

"Yeah, babe. Plane. Gets us to Florida in just over two hours instead of sixteen."

"Um, yeah," I started, shaking my head. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd have a business meeting so far away. I figured it was in the city or something and he thought he'd make a weekend out of it.

"Prue..." he said, likely reading the panic on my face.

"Yeah, I think maybe you should do this trip alone. I'll stay in the house. You don't have to worry about me. I won't try to escape or anything," I said, giving him a smile but it came off wobbly in my disappointment. I really wanted to go, but if he thought my issue with the catwalk at Mandy's was a bit crazy, then he had no idea how I felt about planes. Just the idea was making my throat constrict and a flush break out across every inch of skin.

"I'm not worrying about you escaping, Prue. For fuck's sake, you aren't a prisoner."

"I'm pretty sure the arrangement..."

"Fuck the arrangement. That shit flew out of the window the first time I got inside you. You could leave any time you want. I'm not your fucking warden."

I swallowed hard against the knowledge of how much I realized I didn't want to leave. Even if staying meant I still fetched coffee and took orders like an employee. I didn't want to go back to my empty apartment, my empty life.

"Byron... me and heights..." I said, changing the subject.

Byron nodded, swinging his door open and climbing back out. Before I had even fully straightened, he was around the car and right in front of me. "Babe, do you have any idea how safe planes are? Safer than cars by a fuckuva long shot." I opened my mouth to agree that I realized that, but it in no way lessened my irrational fear of them when his hand moved out and rested on my jaw. "I'll be right there. Just like I was right there on the catwalk. Besides," he added, giving me a devilish little smirk. "For what they rape me for the price of first-class tickets, they can put up with you having a freak out."

"You don't und..."