Chapter 2
How absolutely freakingembarrassing.
If this cruise is supposed to be a Holly Jolly Christmas cruise, why is it feeling like Nightmare on Christmas Street, complete with Stalker Claus?
I unzip my bag and take out the pistol-shaped toy. Pulling the trigger sets it off. The “safety switch” adjusts the mode of operation and the spinning cylinder is the speed selector.
Very funny. I bet you’re a lot more satisfying than Stephen could ever be.
I stick the head in my mouth and gag at the plastic taste, while bubbles of giggles spill from my lips. As pranks go, this one was ingenious, although a cruel reminder that I’ll be screwing a pink pistol in lieu of my Christmas honeymoon.
Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I sneak one last peek at social media before leaving the harbor. I feel like posting a picture of my new friend, Pink Pistol, on Stephen’s page, letting him know he’s been supplanted.
But when I arrive on his page, my boiling blood curdles into cold clots.
My ex-fiancé’s short, terse message simply states.Due to unforeseen circumstances, the event has been cancelled. Please contact Maggie, my personal assistant, for help with refunds and change in travel plans.
No mention of me or how he feels about our cancelled wedding. It’s like I didn’t exist outside of being a future political prop for him.
All of our posed, professional engagement photos have been deleted. His friend lists are cleaned, and his relationship status changed back to single and looking.
Since he miraculously hasn’t unfriended me, I type a message.If you believe you’re qualified to be my replacement, please submit a job application, along with two letters of recommendation to Stephen’s assistant, Maggie, for further consideration. Stiff upper lip a must.
I snap a selfie of me and my plastic pleasure tool and upload it with a note:This is my replacement.
Quickly, before I can chicken out, I hit “post” and close my browser. Let’s see how long it takes for the ever-efficient Maggie to delete both me and the “dick” pic before Stephen can chew her out.
No sense of humor, those two.
But then, I knew what I was getting into when my dad introduced me to Stephen, his perfect protégé at the white-shoe law firm he’s a partner at.
Sigh. Two years of trying to please my parents while pretending I’m a serious socialite without a funny bone or a trick up my sleeve had me as stiff as a corpse in a Victorian post-mortem photo.
I can’t wait to see a picture of me with my mouth gaped wide open in front of the suggestively shaped toy being posted to his profile.
Guaranteed unfriending.
The ship’s horn blasts, and I can feel the boat moving. If Jade’s on board, she’s at the Sail Away Party, wandering around making friends. She’s the extrovert, always chatting up people in hopes of finding a story to write.
Me? I’m just the parrot who narrates what someone else has already written. I can hide in my recording studio all day, but then, the entire point of the holiday cruise is to do something different. Stretch my wings. Try something new. Be someone else, not boring Dani Davison, ex-aspiring wife of an aspiring politician.
I open the cabin door a crack and breathe a sigh of relief on finding the corridor empty. I might as well go to the top deck and start enjoying myself.
With my head held high, I emerge on deck. A live band entertains the crowd, but I skip the bar and head for the railing to watch the ship leave the harbor.
This is freedom!
This is letting down my hair, shaking it out, and blowing out every breath I held and every bad word I swallowed. Heck, I no longer have to suppress my farts.
I wave at no one in particular, and strangers on the dock wave back—probably at their grandparents who are celebrating their golden or diamond anniversaries.
I laugh hilariously and photobomb other people’s pictures with no care in the world. No one knows me here, and apparently, the ship is large enough that no one remembers I’m the fool with the sex toy.
All around me is an atmosphere of happiness and anticipation. People wave to their families and take selfies or group shots. I bump into a walker and almost trip over a cane.
“Miss, can you take a picture of us?” an elderly gentleman asks.
Once I agree to help one group, I’m quickly passed cameras, cell phones, and even old-fashioned video cameras from everyone around.
