“Did she just verbally hashtag her own conversation?” I whisper,and both Bess and Nettie nod without taking their eyes off of her.
“She speaks in social media,” Bess sounds enamored by the fact.
Nettie sighs, “Next, she’ll be asking us to smash that like button and subscribe to her dinner conversation.”
“And we would so do it,” I add. Because it’s true.
Valentina Cruz-Henderson arrives next, and the room seems to part for her like she’s wielding an invisible machete. Her caramel-highlighted hair bounces with each confident step, and her red cocktail dress hugs curves that would make a rollercoaster jealous. She blows Madison an air kiss, because clearly, she has no intention of disturbing either of their makeup. But that dark look in her eye. Something tells me that if passive-aggression were an Olympic sport, Val would need a separate trophy room.
“Madison, darling,” she coos. “That dress is so verybraveof you. White shows absolutely everything, doesn’t it?” Her smile is sharp enough to slit your throat.
Before Madison can return fire, Beth Williams flutters in like a butterfly who’s accidentally wandered into a spider convention. Her pastel dress and gentle demeanor feel far too wholesome for the entire celebrity circus at hand, but she’s beautiful and bright and fits right in when it comes to being a young, beautiful woman married to an older, rich soap villain.
“Ladies, please.” She shakes out her strawberry-blonde locks as she addresses Madison and Val. “We should all be supporting each other. Soon, we’re going to be one big happy television family.”
Harper Bailey steps over to the women. If Harper smiled, I’m pretty sure her face would crack like thin ice. The woman looks to be all business and no pleasure.
“Fascinating,” she says to the women at hand while adjusting her glasses. “I see Boomer’s casting strategy is throw-enough-desperate-housewives-at-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks.”
She’s not wrong.
“I feel like I’m watching a nature documentary about predators,” I whisper to Nettie and Bess. “Except with better manicures.”
Bess nods. “And looking at the way those manicures are sharpened, this could end in a bloodbath.”
“This is basically like watching soap wives in their natural habitat.” Nettie rubs her hands together because we all know the drama is just getting started. “Notice how they circle each other, establishing dominance through passive-aggressive compliments and strategic designer name-dropping. I think we could learn a thing or two.”
“Yeah,” Bess huffs dryly. “Like how to marry a rich soap star.”
We share a laugh at the thought, but our laughter is interrupted by the arrival of Wes. He’s still in his captain’s whites and looks genuinely delighted to see us despite the fact that we’re the least famous people in the room.
He nods our way as he closes in on us. “I’m glad to see you here. You ladies look beautiful per usual.” Although he hasn’t taken his eyes off of yours truly yet. Wes may have had a thing for me. Okay, so he might still have a thing for me. “Ready for another adventure on the high seas?”
“As long as this adventure doesn’t involve finding any bodies that aren’t breathing, I’m game,” I’m quick to tell him, then just as quickly cringe. Honestly, I may have just jinxed the entire cruise by saying that out loud.
“Don’t even joke about that.” He gives a nervous laugh that lets me know he’s already considered the prospect of murder himself. “This cruise is all about celebration and escape, not…whatever happened last time, or the dozen times before that,” he adds with a frown.
I’m about to say something when a commotion erupts at the entrance. Boomer Beaumont strides in like he owns the place—and possibly the people in it. His salt-and-pepper hair achieves thatI woke up this handsomelook that requires twenty minutes and three products minimum. His hazel eyes sweep the room, calculating which guests will give him the best footage. And that stubble? Permanently frozen at the two-day mark—apparently, it takes real commitment to look this casually disheveled. I have a feeling the man works harder at appearing effortless than most people work at their actual jobs.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice cuts through the chatter. “Welcome to the official launch party forTrophy Wives of Paradise!”
Only then do I notice the camera crew that just materialized behind him. The entire room falls silent, champagne flutes paused midway to lips and canapés suspended in mid-bite.
Oh, for crying out loud, I never consented to high-definition.
“And now,” Boomer continues, “we’re going to film our first promotional teaser. I’ve always been one to cut to the chase.” He scans the room until his eyes land on Elodie, and I see my blonde bestie winking and blowing him a kiss, much to Tinsley’s chagrin. It’s true. Tinsley stands rigid beside her, and the look on her face suggests someone has just hijacked her clipboardandher one-night stand in one smooth move.
The wives respond on cue. Madison clutches her sculpted chest like she’s hitting her mark. Val smiles wider, showing off those expensive teeth of hers. Beth clasps her hands in polite delight, her smooth expression held in place by expert injections. Harper lifts a single brow—unsurprised, unimpressed, and perfectly composed, as if she’d been expecting exactly this level of petty chaos.
“Val, Madison—front and center, please!” Boomer waves them over.
The brunette and the blonde step forward as the crowd forms a circle around them. A production assistant hands Val what appears to be a plastic knife as Boomer begins to direct them on where to stand and how to land the threats for the highest ratings.
Madison examines the plastic knife with the disdain usually reserved for counterfeit designer bags. “What is this garbage? It looks like it came from a child’s play kitchen. I won’t have cheap props in my promo. If I’m going to be threatened, it’s going to be done with authenticity!”
“It’s just a symbolic threat for the camera, Madison,” Boomer explains with what looks to be thinning patience.
“Absolutely not,” the blonde rages. “Get a real knife from the galley. My viewers expect nothing short of excellence!” Madison stomps her foot in an action I haven’t seen executed by anyone over the age of six. But I’m betting it’s an action that’s worked a time or two when it comes to getting her way. Heck, even I feel moved to trot off and fetch the sharpest butcher knife on the ship.
