CHAPTER 2
Well, that was quite the entrance.
After Wes successfully defused what can only be described as a Valentine’s Day catfight at sea level, we’re left standing in the aftermath of the most dramatic boarding process I’ve ever witnessed—and that’s saying something, considering my track record with cruises.
Wes gives a slight bow their way. “Welcome aboard theEmerald Queen of the Seas,” he says with professional charm, though I can see the slight tension around his eyes—and in the crowd around him too. “I’m Captain Crawford, and I’d like to personally welcome both of you to our Valentine’s sailing.”
The platinum blonde straightens her designer suit and extends a perfectly manicured hand. “Dr. Lavender Voss,” she says with renewed composure, even though her voice still carries an edge sharp enough to perform emergency surgery. “I’m leading a progressive relationship seminar focused on modern partnership dynamics.”
“Nice to meet you.” Wes offers an amicable smile, and his dimples deploy like secret weapons designed to disarm hostile passengers—which, judging by the way both women soften slightly, is exactly what happens.
“Claudette Sterling,” the brunette responds coolly, clutching her leather briefcase like armor. “I represent the Valentine RenewalCouples’ Retreat—helping marriages through traditional values and genuine commitment.”
The way they emphasizeprogressiveandtraditionalmakes it sound as if they’re representing opposing political parties rather than relationship philosophies. I half expect them to start debating healthcare next. Or worse yet, gun safety.
“How wonderful that we have such diverse approaches to love and partnership,” Wes says, clearly trying to steer this ship away from the iceberg of another public confrontation. “I’m sure our passengers will benefit from both perspectives.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Voss says with a smile that doesn’t make it to those piercing blue eyes. “However, I suspect some perspectives will prove more... enlightening than others.”
Before Claudette can fire back with what I’m sure would be a perfectly crafted verbal missile, a woman with wild curly hair and flowing bohemian clothes steps forward like a diplomatic peace treaty in human form.
“Hi there.” She gives Wes a wave. “I’m Dr. Jazmine Stone,” she says warmly, radiating the kind of Zen energy that probably comes from years of meditation and expensive yoga retreats. “And this is my husband, Rob.” She gestures to a laid-back man with sandy hair and hemp-looking jewelry who immediately starts making calming hand gestures like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra of tranquility. “We’re here to support Dr. Voss’s seminar. Love should unite us, not divide us.”
“Absolutely, man,” Rob adds in a voice that sounds like he’s been practicing meditation since Woodstock and probably has strong opinions about chakras. “We’re all just souls seeking connection in this cosmic dance of relationships.”
Nettie elbows me. “If this is a dance, someone forgot to teach me the steps, and I think I’ve been doing the cha-cha when everyone else is waltzing.”
“Well,” Wes says, looking like a man trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle in a windstorm, “I’m sure you’ll all find plenty to discuss during our voyage. In fact, I’d like to invite both of your organizations to tonight’s exclusive welcomereception in the Commodore’s Club—it’s usually reserved for our most distinguished guests.”
Both women’s expressions brighten considerably at this honor, like flowers turning toward the sun—or sharks scenting blood in the water, depending on your perspective.
“How generous of you, Captain,” Dr. Voss says with the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “We’d be delighted to attend.”
“Absolutely,” Claudette agrees, clutching her briefcase a bit less defensively. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation.”
As the two women and their respective groups head toward the elevators—still maintaining a careful distance from each other as if they were opposing magnets—another figure strides up the gangway with the swagger of a man who owns every room he enters and probably has the receipts to prove it, with gold chains glinting beneath an open silk shirt that’s somehow both tacky and devastatingly attractive. Weird, I know.
He looks somewhere in his early seventies, has silver hair, and is perfectly tanned, with those gold chains glinting beneath that open silk shirt that screamsI vacation in places you can’t pronounce. The moment he spots our little group, he flashes a megawatt smile and gives an exaggerated wink. “Howdy, ladies.” He gives an approving nod to Bess. “That’s a stunning crimson ensemble.”
“Why, thank you,” Bess sighs. She practically melts on the spot, her hand flying to her heart. “Well, hello there, Captain Handsome,” she breathes to herself, suddenly patting her red bob and straightening her crimson wool coat as he passes her by with another wink.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Nettie mutters, but even she’s stealing glances at the newcomer like a teenager trying not to stare at her crush. “Five minutes ago, you were calling Valentine’s Day a capitalist conspiracy, and now you’re practically swooning over the first silver fox who winks your way. I knew you were easy.”
“I am not swooning,” Bess protests, although her cheeks are definitely pinker than they were a moment ago and she’s suddenly found seventeen different ways to adjust her coat. “I’m merely... appreciating the scenery.”
“Now that’s what I call a welcome wagon,” Elodie purrs, materializing beside us with the predatory grace of a maneater who’s justfound fresh hunting grounds. “Silver fox at twelve o’clock, and he’s got that ‘I know exactly what I’m doing and you’re going to like it’ vibe that makes smart women do stupid things. That would be me; I’m that smart woman.”
“Or makes cynical women forget their own advice,” Nettie adds with a knowing smirk that suggests she’s seen this movie before and knows exactly how it ends—usually because she’s the one starring in it. Or in this case, maybe it’s Bess.
“Or stupid women do smart things.” Elodie giggles, which is honestly more terrifying than endearing. Elodie is my on-ship bestie, and one thing I know for sure about her—the woman doesn’t giggle.
Tinsley appears with her clipboard and looking slightly flustered. “I’ve organized hundreds of cruises, but the quality of gentlemen boarding today is... well, noteworthy.”
Elodie huffs a laugh that sounds like pure mischief mixed with expensive perfume. “Oh honey, I’m taking notes, measurements, and possibly phone numbers. This passenger manifest reads like a dating app for the distinguished and dangerous.”
Nettie bobs her head, and that gray globe of hair on her head wobbles. “And they’ll all be at the welcome party. It’s like Christmas morning, except instead of presents under the tree, we’ve got potential romance under the chandelier.”
“What do you think?” Bess looks at Ransom and me with the expression of a woman trying to convince herself that attending a party full of attractive strangers is a perfectly reasonable idea. “Should we go?” She nods as if trying to convince us—and herself—that it’s not just an excuse to see Captain Gold Chains again.
