Her smile could power Las Vegas for a week, and there’s something almost aggressively wholesome about her that makes me immediately suspicious—because in my experience, people this genuinely cheerful are either heavily medicated or plotting something.
“No problem,” I reply, steadying myself against the railing and wondering if I should check my pockets to make sure she didn’t help herself to my cabin key with sheer perkiness.
“I heard your question about what to do,” she continues with enthusiasm that could fuel a rocket launch. “I’m headed to Dr. Stone’s seminar. You ladies should totally come with me! I hear there will be a dessert buffet, and honestly, that’s ninety percent of why I’m going. The other ten percent is the free champagne. I’m Candy, by the way.”
Of course, she is. Because what else would you call someone who looks like she was dipped in cotton candy, rolled in optimism, andsprinkled with rainbow dust? And I sort of love her for that. Face it, the world needs a lot more Candy.
“Say less,” Nettie declares, immediately linking arms with our new blonde companion. “Lead the way, Sugar Rush. Any event involving dessert automatically gets my vote, my loyalty, and probably my firstborn child.”
“What kind of seminar is Dr. Stone hosting?” I ask as we navigate through the crowd of passengers engaged in various Valentine’s activities, from face painting to couples’ yoga that looks more like advanced contortion than romance. And well, a naughty game of Twister, too.
“Oh, something about modern relationships and opening your heart to new possibilities,” Candy chirps as if she were discussing the weather or what she had for breakfast. Scratch that, we take our breakfast digest much more seriously around here. “I don’t really pay attention to the boring parts, but Jazz promised there would be chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne, so I figured it was worth investigating.”
Strawberries, champagne, and swingers, oh my.
Something tells me this will be a seminar to remember—and maybe censor.
CHAPTER 13
“Well, would you look at this estrogen festival!” Nettie announces as we step into what can only be described as an ode to Valentine’s Day with pink and red hues, heart-shaped everything as far as the eye can see, and enough glitter to choke a unicorn. “Who needs old Bessie anyway when we’ve got ourselves a new blonde bombshell bestie? And I’m pretty sure this one won’t lecture us about our sugar intake.”
She gives Candy a playful nudge that nearly sends our new companion straight into a mermaid sculpture.
“Oh, you two are just the sweetest!” Candy giggles like champagne bubbles escaping from an expensive bottle. “I feel like I’ve found my cruise ship soul sisters. But I have to warn you—I’m absolutely terrible at sitting still during lectures. I get fidgety and start playing with my jewelry, and sometimes I accidentally make inappropriate comments at inappropriate times.”
She demonstrates by twirling a sparkly bracelet that catches the light like a disco ball on steroids, while simultaneously proving that subtlety is not her strong suit. She sort of reminds me of a younger, blonder,boobierversion of Nettie. Honestly, she could be a long-lost child for all we know.
The Mermaid Lounge has been transformed into an underwater paradise that would make Ariel herself green around the gills with envy. The scent of jasmine and vanilla wafts through the air likeexpensive perfume mixed with sugar cookies, while soft rock mingles with the gentle hum of excited female voices, creating a soundtrack that’s part cocktail party, part academic conference. Cascading pink and red heart-shaped streamers drape from the ceiling like romantic seaweed, and twinkling fairy lights wind around the room’s signature mermaid sculptures, making their scales shimmer like they’re dancing in love-struck waters or having some sort of aquatic seizure.
Rose gold balloons float near the ornate ceiling like metallic jellyfish, and the ship’s signature mermaid chandelier has been adorned with Cupid’s arrows and tiny red hearts that catch the light like scattered rubies. The whole effect is dizzyingly romantic—the kind of décor that makes you want to either fall in love or check your blood sugar and possibly call the authorities to report a crime against good taste.
“Trust me,” I tell Candy. “After watching Nettie try to climb Stonehenge yesterday, a little jewelry fidgeting is the least of our concerns.”
“I wasn’t climbing!” Nettie protests with mock indignation that would make Shakespeare proud. “I told you I was conducting a structural integrity test. Those stones have been standing for thousands of years—someone needs to make sure they’re still earning their keep and not just coasting on ancient reputation.”
“You tried to climb Stonehenge?” Candy’s eyes widen as if she’s far too impressed. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! I would have totally done the same thing. Life’s too short not to touch ancient mysteries, right? Plus, I bet the security guards were super cute.”
“Finally!” Nettie beams like someone just validated her entire existence and possibly offered to pay her bar tab. “Someone who gets it! Trixie, I like this one. She’s got adventure in her soul, sugar in her tank, and probably several dangerous decisions in her recent past.”
She’s not kidding.
I’m about to respond when the real showstopper hits me like a dessert-shaped freight train driven by a chef with serious sugar issues and a pastry degree. The buffet table stretches along the far wall like an edible work of art that could make the Garden of Eden look like asad desk salad.
We’re talking serious pastry artillery here. These aren’t just desserts—they’re weapons of mass seduction that have the power to turn rational adults into giggling sugar addicts who suddenly develop selective amnesia when it comes to counting carbs.
Mermaid tail eclairs shaped like shimmering fish tails, filled with lavender honey cream and topped with edible pearl dust that makes them look like they swam straight out of a fairy-tale bakery.
Siren’s kiss macarons sit in perfect ruby red shells with champagne buttercream that literally sparkles with edible glitter—because apparently, even cookies need to accessorize these days.
Underwater treasure truffles squat like dark chocolate grenades that crack open to reveal liquid salted caramel pearls inside, while coral reef cheesecake bites flaunt pink coral-shaped white chocolate decorations and passion fruit drizzle richer than my ex-husband. Sea foam mousse cups balance light-as-air coconut mousse topped with blue cotton candy that looks as if it would dissolve on your tongue like an ocean mist.
Neptune’s crown chocolate tarts lord over the display in rich chocolate shells filled with amaretto cream and crowned with actual gold leaf—because nothing says casual sea day seminar like precious metals on your dessert. And the pièce de resistance—something labeled as Aphrodite’s apple rose pastries, delicate puff pastry roses made from thinly sliced apples, glazed with honey and dusted with cinnamon sugar like edible bouquets from the goddess of love herself.
“Holy mother of maritime desserts,” I breathe. “I think I just found my reason for living.”
The room buzzes with enough estrogen to power theEmerald Queenherself. Women of all ages cluster around cocktail tables like elegant vultures in designer clothing who’ve given up on men but not on their credit limits—twenty-something cruise newbies with their phones permanently attached to their hands like digital appendages, sophisticated silver-haired ladies who look like they’ve seen it all and probably have the divorce settlements and therapy bills to prove it, and everything in between, creating a demographic that screamswe’ve made questionable life choices, but we look fabulous doing it.
A hand-painted sign at the door readsGIRLS ONLY! Sorry, gentlemen! We will make it up to youin flowing script with little hearts dotting the i’s, because subtlety died somewhere around the third mimosa and apparently took good judgment with it. There’s also a winky face scribbled next to it that lets us know exactly how they plan on making it up to them. I cringe just thinking about it.
