The Arizona sun was a relentlessly bright glare, baking the asphalt of the open road and making the distant mountains shimmer like they were just a mirage. It was my turn to drive, so I had the wheel, my hands comfortably positioned at ten and two, my smartphone clipped to the dash showing the navigation, while Brody, my boyfriend, handled the itinerary and curated the playlist from the passenger seat.
“Big Sur, baby,” he’d said earlier that morning as we loaded up, reaching his arm around me briefly as we both packed the last of our gear into the trunk of our trusty SUV. I gave him a quick peck on his cheek, appreciating like always the comfortable fact that we were almost the same height. “Rugged cliffs, crashing waves, and just the two of us.”
Our plan was ambitious but perfect. A ten-and-a-half-hour haul from Phoenix to the California coast, broken up by an overnight stay in Santa Monica. We’d squeeze in a morning hike at Rattlesnake Canyon before tackling the rest of the drive up the legendary Pacific Coast Highway. Our final destination was an out-of-the-way eco-lodge nestled near Garrapata State Park, which would serve as our base camp for several days of tide pooling, trail running, and generally losing ourselves in the wild, untamed beauty of it all. We were a team, partners in adventure, and I felt a thrill of freedom as the city limits of Phoenix vanished in the rearview mirror and the open desert sprawled ahead of us.
We were making good time so far, the saguaros quickly giving way to the scrubbier, flatter expanse of the high desert. After a couple of hours, the gas light predictably blinked on. Time for our first stop. “Looks like the next exit with a gas station is Tonopah,” Brody said, as I flicked my turn signal on.
I smiled and replied, “Perfect time to stretch and refuel.”
We pulled off the freeway and into the lot of a dusty gas station that looked like it hadn't changed at all since the 70s. As I hopped out the driver's side and swiped my card for the gas, I caught my reflection in the dusty side mirror. My hair was scraped back in a tight, sensible ponytail, and my face was bare of anything but a quick layer of chapstick. While the pump chugged away, I stretched my arms over my head, feeling several satisfying cracks in my spine and shoulders. “Hey, you want to take over for a bit?” I asked Brody as he emerged from the convenience store with two bottles of water.
He grinned that easy, charming smile that always made my stomach do somersaults. “Wow, Nicole, ready to step down from your post already? Eager to begin your reign as passenger princess?”
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “Shut up,” I laughed, swatting his arm playfully. “We agreed to trade off. It’s only fair.”
“I’m just messing with you,” he said, taking the keys from my hand. “Hop in, your carriage awaits, milady.”
I knew he was only teasing, but for some reason that phrase hung in the dry desert air between us. Passenger princess. I opened the passenger door and hopped in to the other seat, closing the door behind me. It was a silly, jokey term, but as I settled myself into the passenger seat, it echoed in my head. A little flutter went through me, a feeling that was warm and oddly pleasant. It felt surprisingly nice to relinquish control, to simply be a passenger.
As Brody started the newly refueled car back up and merged onto the freeway, my plans to watch the map and help navigate simply evaporated. Instead, I concentrated on scrolling through Spotify, curating the perfect vibe for the next leg of our journey. The indie rock we’d been listening to suddenly felt a bit too… intense. I queued up a playlist of breezy pop and feel-good anthems. Brody didn’t seem to notice the shift, and just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the new beat.
The miles rolled by. I found myself less interested in the passing landscape and more focused on our little world inside the car. I organized the snack bag, handing Brody a protein bar if he asked and unwrapping a piece of bubblegum for myself. I found myself casually blowing bubbles, which was something I had never really done before. The conversation, which earlier had us focused on looking up trail routes and tide charts for our destination, shifted. I couldn't help but fill the car with chatter, gossiping about a friend’s recent engagement, dissecting the latest season of my favorite TV show, and asking Brody if he thought my hair looked okay in the harsh sunlight.
He’d glance over, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It looks great, babe. You always look great.” I preened at his praise, feeling simultaneously flattered and like it was the least he could do. It was a nice feeling, being showered with compliments.
I pulled down the vanity mirror to inspect my appearance. He was right, of course. My makeup, usually a simple swipe of mascara and some chapstick for a trip like this, looked… flawless. My skin had a soft, dewy glow, and my lashes looked both longer and fuller. I must have put in more effort this morning than I remembered. A cute, delicate gold chain I didn’t recall putting on glinted at my throat. It was adorable. The tight ponytail I’d secured that morning had somehow loosened, my brown hair now tumbling over my shoulders in soft, glossy waves that smelled faintly of coconut oil. I stroked my hair and leaned back into the plush seat—had it always been this comfortable?—and sighed contentedly. This was the life.
By the time we hit the outskirts of Los Angeles, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the smoggy sky in hues of orange and pink. Brody navigated the notorious L.A. traffic with a calm, focused intensity. His shoulders, still draped in his simple gray t-shirt, seemed broader than they had this morning, his hands firm and capable on the wheel. He was looking incredibly attractive. I felt a wave of affection wash over me. He was taking such good care of everything.
“Okay, the hotel should be just off the next exit,” he said, his voice cutting through my reverie.
I vaguely remembered booking a budget-friendly motel, something clean and convenient. But as we pulled up to the valet stand of a sleek, glass-fronted building overlooking the ocean, I knew I must have been mistaken. “The Shoreline Resort,” the sign out front read in elegant script.
“Wow, Brody,” I breathed, looking at the chic lobby through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “This is gorgeous.”
He just smiled, a confident tilt to his lips. “Only the best for my girl.” He handled the check-in and the bags while I took a few selfies with the sunset in the background, the oranges and pinks steadily fading into purples and blues. Our room was stunning, with a king-sized bed and two(!) balconies, one overlooking the Pacific, the other opening onto the swimming pool in the central courtyard. For a second, I thought I remembered again that we’d booked a dinky roadside inn, but that couldn’t be right. This felt right. This felt like us.
We had dinner at the trendy restaurant downstairs. I ordered a complicated cocktail and a sea bass entree. These were things I’d normally deem too extravagant, but Brody practically insisted. I didn't mind, I loved being pampered. He ordered a steak, rare, and told a funny story that had me giggling into my napkin. He seemed more decisive, more in charge than ever before. It was a good look on him.
Back in the room, exhausted from the day, we collapsed into bed, holding each other close. “Still up for that early hike tomorrow morning?” he murmured into my hair.
“Mmm, yeah,” I mumbled, already half-asleep. “Bright and early.”
But when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky, streaming through the balcony doors. The thought of lacing up my hiking boots and getting sweaty and dirty felt utterly repulsive. The idea of hiking being my hobby at all… it felt like a memory from someone else’s life.
I stretched, my body feeling strangely different. Sleeping in had definitely been the right choice. My legs seemed longer, my waist narrower. My skin felt impossibly soft against the high-thread-count sheets, and my hips had taken on a gentle, rounded curve that felt entirely new. I glanced down at my hands. My nails were painted a perfect, glossy pink. Toenails, too. I definitely didn't recall making time for a mani-pedi before we left, but then again, the evidence was right in front of me, so I must have just forgotten.
Brody was already awake and up, doing push-ups on the floor of the spacious living room area of our suite. His back and shoulder muscles flexed with each movement, and I realized he seemed significantly more built than he’d been yesterday. Taller, too. Or maybe I was shorter? Whatever. He finished his set and grinned at me, his face looking more handsome, more ruggedly chiseled.
“Morning, beautiful. Ready to hit Rattlesnake Canyon?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ugh, a canyon? Seriously? It’s so beautiful out. Can’t we just go down to the beach?” I pouted a little, just for effect.
His expression softened instantly. “Whatever you want, princess. The beach it is.”
A thrill shot through me. Princess. He’d called me princess.
I rummaged through my suitcase, pushing aside my practical hiking shorts and moisture-wicking tops. Tucked inside was a tiny, shimmering bikini I could have sworn I’d never seen before, let alone packed or even purchased. It was perfect.
We spent two glorious hours on the sand, me meticulously applying tanning oil and working on my glow, Brody content to just watch me and scroll on his phone as I laid out. When it was time to check out and hit the road, he handled everything. He paid the exorbitant hotel bill without batting an eye, wrangled our luggage—which seemed to have doubled in quantity overnight, filled with various new outfits and plenty of options for shoes—and packed the car himself. The SUV looked… different. Like it had a higher trim level than I remembered. The interior was now a creamy leather, and the sound system was a clear, crisp Bose. An upgrade, I guess.
“Your throne is ready, your highness," Brody teased again, though it felt a little bit less like a joke. I was his passenger princess, after all. I always appreciated whenever he treated me like royalty.
I flashed a brilliant, white-toothed smile. “Thank you, babe," I chirped, sliding my petite frame up into the plush leather seat without having to lift a single manicured finger. Brody was sweet like that. I couldn't remember the last time I had to open my own car door.
Brody stood by the passenger door dutifully, waiting until I was fully settled and scrolling through my phone before closing it gently.
The drive up the PCH was a dream. With every winding turn that revealed another breathtaking vista of cliffs and ocean, I almost felt myself changing, blossoming. I directed Brody to pull over at every photogenic spot, posing for selfies and short videos for my Instagram story. Sometimes I just dozed without a care in the world. When I was awake, I babbled endlessly about celebrity gossip, fashion trends, all the reality shows I'd devoured lately, and how desperately I needed a new designer handbag. He listened patiently, smiling and calling me cute. My voice seemed to have acquired a higher, bubblier pitch. My nails, now longer, my manicure even more exquisite, clicked audibly against my phone screen anytime I tapped or swiped.
As we pulled out of the small lot at yet another scenic overlook I'd insisted on stopping for, Brody said, “So, Garrapata State Park is coming up. Want to stop and check out those tide pools we talked about?”
I looked down at my strappy high-heeled sandals and the cute white sundress I’d changed into sometime after the beach earlier, though I wasn't exactly sure when. I was momentarily perplexed, but I looked so hot that I felt a tingle of euphoric pleasure washing away any confusion. When I refocused on our conversation, the thought of clambering over slimy, sharp rocks just to look at gross sea creatures made me physically cringe. Tide pools? Mud? Ew.
“Babe, eww, no,” I whined, my voice dripping with disbelief. “I can’t. My shoes are totally not built for that. And my hair will get all frizzy from the sea spray.” A different idea, a much better idea, was already forming in my mind, feeling as if it had been the plan all along. “Aren’t we staying, like, in Carmel-by-the-Sea? I thought we were going to check into that amazing hotel you picked out for us, you know, the one with the spa?”
Brody’s brow furrowed for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of confusion that was gone as quickly as it appeared. His mind caught up instantly, overwriting the old reality with the new.
“You’re right, of course. Only the best for my Nikki,” he said, his voice smooth and certain. I'd always gone by Nicole, but hearing him say “Nikki” sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. It just felt right. That’s who I was; Nikki, his pampered princess. “The Highlands Resort and Spa. And I’ve got our spa reservations all booked for tomorrow morning. Couples massage first and then a premium facial for you. High-end dining, luxury accommodations... maybe we'll even spot a few celebrities.”
“Shut up, really?!” My heart soared, and I clapped my hands together, my diamond bracelet jingling. “Oh, Brody, you’re the best! I can’t wait!”
He reached over and squeezed my thigh, his palm rough and strong. “And after our massage, I think I’m gonna go hit the gym. Gotta get a good pump in.”
“Mmm, yes please,” I cooed, my eyes scanning his massive, muscular frame with raw hunger. “I love it when you get all pumped up at the gym. You look so manly.”
I ran my long, manicured nails along his forearm. He flexed his huge bicep, and I giggled.
The rugged, earthy vision of an eco-lodge vacation with the two of us wasting our mornings and afternoons on hiking trails was completely gone, replaced by a picture perfect image of five-star luxury, high-end dining, expensive boutiques, and non-stop pampering. This itinerary was much more on my level.
After one last stretch of driving where Brody focused on the road, and I preened and posed as I touched up my makeup again, we finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the resort, a stunning complex of expensive wood and crystalline glass perched on a cliff overlooking the churning waters of Carmel Bay. A young valet in a crisp uniform rushed to open my door.
Before I got out, I looked up at Brody. My man. My strong, handsome, capable man who always took care of everything. He was my protector, my provider, my king. He was looking back at me, his eyes filled with an intense, possessive adoration, drinking in the sight of me—his gorgeous, bubbly, perfectly kept princess.
He leaned across the console, his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and his own pure, raw masculinity, filling my senses. “You ready to be treated like royalty?” he murmured, his lips just inches from mine.
“I'm a princess. I was born ready,” I breathed.
He closed the distance, and our kiss was deep and steamy. We were locked in that feeling of lust and anticipation for several long, lingering moments. He eventually pulled away, his thumb brushing my cheek lovingly, as the slightly sheepish attendant dutifully waited for us. We hopped out of the car, leaving the keys with the blushing valet. Hand in hand, we walked into the opulent lobby, leaving our old selves somewhere back on a dusty road in the Arizona desert, completely forgotten and unmissed. We were finally here, and I was ready for my reign to begin.
