Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
A s it turns out, it’s not just Bess and Nettie anxious to show us a good time. Wes, Elodie, and even Tinsley showed up for the ride. Here’s hoping it’s not a bumpy one. And even though Tinsley has shown up, I doubt her expressed intention lies in showing us a good anything. She’s more likely than not showing up to see what she’s hoping will be a train wreck.
But this is not by far a train wreck. Wes asked us all to meet him at the ship’s one and only exclusive five-star French restaurant, Le Mer Etoilee, translated as The Starry Sea.
And what a dreamy, starry sea it is.
The dining room is nothing short of a glittery spectacle, with an army of crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, elegant black lacquered furniture, and lots of white marble countertops.
Our table just so happens to be positioned near a panoramic window offering a perfect view of the ocean as the sun dips below the horizon. The murmur of conversation blends with the soft clinking of silverware on porcelain plates, while the faint scent of lobster and truffle butter wafts around us.
It’s elegant, refined, and the kind of evening that sears itself into your mind as a memory in the making. Above all, it feels tranquil. Or at least it would if Nettie Butterworth wasn’t waving a menu over her head like she was trying to land a 747.
“Do they have anything deep-fried?” Nettie calls out to our waiter, who does his best to keep a smile pinned to his face. “I can’t read this menu. It’s in French. I mean, caviar is fine as an appetizer for a millionaire, but I need some good old American grease to keep my stomach from grumbling.”
Bess huffs, “And you need a good old American muzzle to keep your mouth from mumbling.” She swats her bestie with her napkin. “Nettie, we are in a five-star establishment. For one night, could you try to act like you’re not a contestant on America’s Got a Fried Brain ?”
Wes and I share a quiet laugh while Ransom tips his head as if he agrees. Elodie is refreshing her lipstick in the reflection of her knife and Tinsley looks as if she wants to slaughter us all.
“Nettie.” Wes leans her way, all decked out in his crisp, white, pressed uniform, his hat tucked under his chair. Even off-duty, the man looks like he’s ready to steer us away from an iceberg. “You order anything you want, and I’ll make sure they deliver. How’s that?”
“Now that’s what I call service with a deep-fried smile.” She boasts a smile of her own to prove it.
Ransom lifts his menu a notch. “Nettie, you’re in luck. I see a deep-fried apple fritter on the menu.”
He reads French.
Sigh .
“Thank heavens,” Nettie grouses. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She looks my way. “Speaking of Mr. Deep-Fried Sex on a Stick, how about we talk about the wedding night coming right up?”
“ Ooh .” Tinsley perks right up because apparently, this is what she came for.
“Let’s not,” Bess is quick to put the kibosh on the raunchy exchange. “Nettie, how about we have just one meal where you don’t embarrass us?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” both Nettie and Tinsley say in unison.
“Oh, come on,” Elodie chides. “There’s nothing embarrassing about a couple of good-looking people getting down and dirty on their wedding night while a little camera, that their good friend set up in the corner, records the event for posterity—and perhaps her own entertainment.”
Tinsley gasps. “Can I get a copy?”
“Behave, and we shall see.” Elodie winks her way.
Ransom growls. “Nobody is getting a copy. There will be no cameras present. And what happens on our wedding night and where is between Trixie and me. The peanut gallery will have to take the night off.”
“I call dibs on the next night,” Nettie doesn’t miss a salacious beat.
Wes lifts a finger in Ransom’s direction. “I beg to differ with what you just said. You might be surprised. I might just have a hand in your wedding night.”
Elodie, Tinsley, Bess, and Nettie all jump in their seats, clearly delighted and, dare I say, titillated.
“I knew it!” Tinsley slaps her hands together. “The three of you have been less than discreet about your affections. This whole marriage with Ransom is a ruse. I bet he drew the longer stick.”
Tinsley nods. “And he might have a longer stick.”
“He doesn’t have a longer stick,” Wes says and we all gasp. “Not that I know.” He winces. “And not that I care. No one drew sticks.” He tips his head my way. “And just for the record, there’s nothing short about mine.”
“This is no ruse,” Ransom growls before looking at Wes. “If you so much as knock on my door that night, I’ll put a bullet through your chest.”
“ Kinky ,” Elodie purrs as she wiggles her shoulders.
“Why save the bullets for later?” I tease. “I see so many valid targets right now.”
Ransom reaches for his weapon just as the waiter arrives to take our orders, and within a few minutes, our dishes magically appear, like something out of a culinary fairytale. The table is quickly covered in an elaborate spread that is a true French feast indeed.
Coq au vin, bouillabaisse, duck à l'orange, beef bourguignon, ratatouille, and sole meunière graces our presence with its savory yet buttery goodness .
It’s as if the entire French countryside has been set in front of us, and I have to admit, even Nettie looks impressed—although she’s eyeing the bread basket with a bit too much enthusiasm.
We dive on in and don’t come up for air until dessert lands at the table—crème br?lée with a perfectly caramelized top, a rich chocolate mousse topped with fresh raspberries, and a delicate tarte Tatin that looks like it could melt in your mouth. And then we dive on in once again.
After dinner, we make our way to the ship’s theater for a showing of Wicked . The stage lights flood the room in green and blue hues as we settle into the plush emerald seats.
Tinsley and Elodie take a seat in the row in front of us, and Bess and Nettie in the row behind us, and, well, I’ve got Ransom and Wes flanking me on either side.
I don’t care what Tinsley thinks, or anyone else for that matter. Just because we make a great threesome doesn’t mean we’re having one.
About halfway through, Wes leans in. “I didn’t realize this musical had so much—green in it.” He raises a brow as Elphaba belts out “Defying Gravity” with the power of a thousand witches.
Nettie claps her hands to the beat before turning our way. “If this doesn’t make you want to get up and fly, nothing will.” She shoots me a wink. “I’ve got half a mind to grab a broom and join her up there.”
Bess sags in her seat. “It’s time to hide the brooms.” She elbows her bestie. “And if you do fly onto that stage, I might just drum up a potion and vanish for a few hours.”
Nettie gasps. “I’ve always known you were a wicked witch.”
Ransom’s chest rumbles with a slight laugh and I lean his way.
“Wait until you see how wicked I can be behind closed doors,” I practically mouth the words, but judging by that devilish curve on his lips, he heard loud and clear.
“I’ll hold you to it. ”
I bite down in a devious smile of my own. Things are about to get wicked indeed.
The musical ends with Nettie singing along at the top of her lungs, earning a dark look from just about everyone in the vicinity—and a tip of a few dollars from a man who is clinging to his whiskey.
From there, we’re off to the casino—with all its glitz, glamour, flashing lights, and the sound of chips clinking together like a chorus.
“I’m telling you, the roulette wheel is a scam,” Elodie declares as she throws a handful of chips down. “My luck lies with men, not colors and numbers.”
Bess nods my way. “And she means lie in the traditional sense.”
Tinsley wrinkles her nose as she tries her hand at it and quickly has her chips revoked.
“And look at her,” Nettie says. “She doesn’t have luck with the roulette wheel or with men.”
Tinsley’s mouth falls open. “I’ll have you know, I had plenty of luck with a couple of men right up until she stepped on board.” She takes a moment to glare my way.
“Ignore her,” Elodie says, trying her hand at the wheel again. “She’s just sour that your love triangle isn’t morphing into a love square.”
Tinsley glowers at her. “You, of all people, should talk. You’ve been involved in more geometric romances than any mathematician can count.”
“True, but I like to limit them to one night. Any more than that, and things tend to get sticky.” She eyes Wes and Ransom flanking me on either side. “But then you know what they say, some like it hot.”
“And some like to win,” I say as I give the wheel a spin while Ransom rubs my shoulders for luck and I clean up nicely.
Nettie gives a little celebratory whoop. “The last time I had this much fun, I was hustling pool back in Vermont. And, I made a fortune.”
Bess ticks her head at the thought. “If by fortune , you mean a couple of fifty-cent pieces and a commemorative shot glass, then yes.” She widens her grin. “A true windfall.”
It turns out, a true windfall wasn’t meant for any of us at the casino tonight, but we did manage to break even.
“Where to now?” Bess asks as we head for the door.
“Bed?” I suggest and Elodie laughs.
“Oh hon”—she begins—“unless you’ll be sharing that bed with one of these handsome steeds, I suggest we keep the party going.”
“I suggest the same,” Wes is quick to say.
“Watch it, buddy,” Ransom growls once again.
“I meant, keep the party going.” Wes shoots Ransom a look for even going there. “Follow me. I know exactly where to take this party next.”
Elodie offers a snide smile my way. “Ten bucks says it’s his stateroom.”
“I’ve still got bullets on this ship,” Ransom says as we follow Wes out of the casino and a chill runs up my spine.
This ship still has a killer on it, too.