The Norwegian sky has brightened to a pearly gray as afternoon settles over theEmerald Queen.The fjord waters reflect the towering cliffs like a perfect mirror, creating the illusion that our ship is suspended between two identical worlds. The smell of hot chocolate and fresh pastries from the nearby snack bar mingles with the crisp mountain air, making me wonder if calories consumed in such breathtaking surroundings actually count.
The crowd on the promenade deck has doubled in size since the obstacle course ended, with passengers abandoning their books and naps to witness what Boomer is dramatically callingThe Ultimate Test of Manhood. The cover band has switched to something with a pounding beat that matches my pulse as I watch Ransom and Wes approach the center of the improvised arena.
With a gracious nod to Boomer, Ransom and Wes make their way to the center of the deck. I can’t help but notice the contrast between them—Wes with his easy charm and captain’s confidence, Ransom with his steely intensity and focused demeanor. They’reboth impressively fit for their early fifties and impressively handsome.
“First up in our Norwegian Strongman Challenge,” Boomer announces, “push-ups with a glass of water balanced on the back! Last man with dry shoulders wins!”
Crew members place small glasses of water on the backs of each competitor—Wes, Ransom, and the three soap husbands who’ve volunteered (or been volunteered by their wives). Victor Darkmore adjusts his position, causing his water to slosh dangerously close to the edge of the glass.
“On your mark, get set...GO!”
The men begin their push-ups, moving with careful precision to avoid spilling the water. Bridge Blackthorne drops out almost immediately, with water cascading down his back after just three push-ups, much to Harper’s chagrin. He rises with exaggerated dignity, announcing to no one in particular, “I’m saving my strength for the next challenge.”
“Sure, you are, darling,” Harper calls from the sidelines, not bothering to hide her eye roll.
Lance, AKA Dr. Luca Carrington Jr., maintains a steady rhythm for about fifteen push-ups before his arms begin to shake. The water on his back jiggles precariously before finally splashing down his side. “My wrist!” he cries out, clutching it with all the drama he can afford. “It’s an old injury from when I had to hang off that cliff for seven episodes straight!”
“That was twenty years ago, Lance,” Beth says dryly. “And it was a green screen!”
Santino DiAngelo surprises everyone by completing thirty push-ups before his water finally spills. He stands up, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders, and takes a theatrical bow. “I’ve been doing one-armed push-ups since season three when my character was trapped in that Bulgarian prison.”
This leaves just Wes and Ransom, both moving with steady, controlled motions, the glasses on their backs hardly rippling.
“Forty push-ups and counting!” Boomer announces with genuine excitement in his voice. “These gentlemen are putting our soap stars to shame!”
I spot Tinsley watching from the sidelines with her eyes fixed on Wes with an intensity that could melt an iceberg. Behind her, Marlie’s ghost has materialized, hovering cross-legged in the air, and even she is watching the showdown with interest.
“This is better than sweeps week.” She laughs. “Though they should really add some dramatic music. Maybe a thunderstorm. Victoria once did push-ups in a hurricane while wearing a ball gown.”
I bite my lip to keep from responding. The last thing I need is to be caught talking to thin air while the cameras are roving. But, oh, how I would love to discuss that episode. Every time a hurricane was mentioned in the news, I thought of her.
“Fifty push-ups!” Boomer calls out. “We’re witnessing maritime history, folks!”
Boomer glances at his watch and looks as if he’s about to make a snap decision. “Due to our tight filming schedule, we’ll have to declare this round a tie!” he announces. “Both Captain Crawford and Security Chief Baxter move on to the next challenge!”
Ransom and Wes rise to their feet, neither having spilled a drop. They nod to each other as a silent acknowledgment of mutual respect. But that look in their eyes suggests they’re planning on finishing one another off in the next round.
“Next up,” Boomer continues, “the arm-wrestling championship!”
A small table is brought to the center of the deck, with two chairs positioned on either side. The trophy wives gather close, their interest noticeably heightened now that the competition has narrowed to the two fittest men on the ship.
“This will be interesting,” Val says, sidling up beside me. “My money is on the security chief. He’s got that dangerous edge to him.”
“Yes, but the captain has hidden strength,” Beth counters. “You can see it in his forearms.”
I resist the urge to chime in. Instead, I focus on watching Ransom and Wes take their positions at the table, clasping hands the way men do when pride is officially on the line.
“On three!” Boomer calls. “One... two...THREE!”
The struggle begins immediately, neither man giving an inch. Wes’s face remains remarkably composed, while a muscle ticks in Ransom’s jaw—the only outward sign of exertion. And boy, is it hotter than anything. Their conjoined hands remain perfectly vertical, neither tipping toward victory.
“Impressive,” Santino comments, studying the match with an intensity only a soap star can bring. “I had to train for three months with a professional arm wrestler for my role as Two-Fisted Tommy in season twenty-seven.”
“I remember that storyline,” Nettie pipes up. “Wasn’t that when your character was pretending to be his own evil twin?”
“Good memory!” Santino beams at her. “Most people forget about the evil twin angle. I played both parts, of course.”
“Of course,” Bess agrees, patting his arm. “The eye patch was the only way viewers could tell you apart. It was a very subtle acting choice.”
