Chapter 3 Day 1, Sail Away #2
Travel basics for myself, including three new bathing suits, matching saris to use as my coverups, and a handful of elegant gowns to wear to all the parties and dinners. My bridesmaid dress and a pair of strappy formal shoes—check, check, check.
Beckett’s tuxedo. Nothing else.
He isn’t on my list. Not anymore.
And standing in line, I am absolutely not staring at his shoulders. Or the way his shirt fits across them. Or… lower geography.
Nope. Not doing that.
He must be spending more time at the gym.
In bed?
Not with me.
I tear my gaze away, and God, the bitterness. It slices through the part of me that still reacts to him, prying my attention off that stupidly well-shaped backside and reminding me exactly why we’re standing here like this.
He had endless hours for work. Apparently time to sculpt himself into this, too.
Just… not enough time for us.
Somehow, with Mom’s help (and her signature blend of charm and light emotional blackmail), we herd everyone into the line. Even though the number in our group keeps multiplying.
More of Luna’s guests have arrived. Some I recognize from the engagement party, others just smile at me like we’re one big happy family.
There’s Noah’s mom, elegant as always, and a blonde woman beside her—probably one of her business partners. If I remember correctly, even after overcoming breast cancer, his mom’s something of a workaholic. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s brought an assistant.
Then I spot Taylor Lawson— “Tay”—the relentlessly upbeat tour guide who, according to Luna, helped “smooth the path to true love” on that bus trip last year where she and Noah met.
Tay has platinum blonde hair, which she’s wearing in a braid. She looks fit, energetic, and… like she’s ready to start herding cats. Comes with her profession, no doubt. She waves enthusiastically, already handing out laminated itineraries.
I appreciate her efforts even as I can’t help but feel like she’s moving into my maid of honor territory.
Apparently, Luna and Noah made quite the impression. Half the passengers they met on that bus seem to be here, all of them waving, hugging, and ready for almost anything.
It’s like being trapped in a Hallmark movie sponsored by Paradise Cruise Line.
And I’m the cranky supporting character whose job is to make sure no one misses the boat. Or falls into the ocean.
Although…
No! Bad thought, Ashley. Beckett actually showed up, for better or for worse, and I intend for him to stick around until Luna and Noah are riding off toward their honeymoon.
The line shuffles forward as we approach security. Two uniformed port officers stand at the podium, scanning passports and matching faces to photos with bored efficiency. Behind them, the conveyor belt hums as passengers heft carry-ons up and unload backpacks, purses, and water bottles.
The boys are bouncing on their toes, buzzing with excitement. I tighten my grip on their hands and inch us closer.
I’ve got our passports ready, the boys’ tucked neatly behind my own, boarding paperwork in perfect order. We should glide right through.
And we do.
Easy. Smooth.
I direct Max and Blakey through the metal detector, help them help each other with their backpacks, but when we’re put back together, I turn to look for Beckett and—
He’s not behind us.
He’s still back at the podium. Two uniformed officers are bent over the computer screen, while a third man—this one in a suit—is on his phone, his posture all quiet authority.
The suited man sets a hand on Beckett’s shoulder, says something I can’t hear, then gestures toward a side door.
Beckett looks up and finds me. There’s a flicker in his expression—almost a wince—before he smooths it away and mouths, “Go on. I’ll catch up.”
I don’t move right away.
Because… what am I supposed to do with that?
This man travels constantly. Airports, conferences, red-eyes—he’s a pro. It’s not like he’s dealing with an expired passport or… I don’t know, a fake identity.
Right?
Maybe he spilled coffee on the photo page.
Or left it in a jacket pocket with an exploding pen…?
But my mom and the entire group are already way ahead of us. People edge around me, grumbling at the hold-up, and… well, Beckett isn’t my responsibility anymore. So I plaster on a smile for our boys, take their hands, and move us along.
“Is Dad coming?” Blakey asks, worry creasing his little forehead.
“Of course.” I keep my tone bright and breezy as I scan the directional signs overhead.
Distraction is the name of the game.
“Help me find our line, guys. Do you remember which deck we’re on?”
“Twelve! Twelve!” Max bounces like a pinball, and together we navigate the maze toward the larger boarding lanes.
“There!” Max points—both at the “Decks 10—12” sign and the rest of the wedding party already queued up.
My mom glances behind me.
“Did you lose that husband of yours again?”
“Random check at security,” I say automatically. Which, now that I think about it, of course it was. Just a random check. “Normal procedure.”
Mom frowns.
“Strange. I’d think they’d take one look at Beckett—lovely wife, two beautiful children—and know he’s not the sort to cause trouble.”
Beside her, Babs just arches a brow at me.
“The line’s moving,” I announce, a little sharper than I mean to.
Because here I am again, smoothing things over on his behalf. Even if this one isn’t his fault.
I dig into my bag, pulling out the boys’ plastic lanyards, and slip one over each head.
“We’ll put your ship IDs in these,” I say, because I’m prepared for everything.
Except, apparently, having my husband detained by cruise ship security.
“Sorry about that.”
Speak of the devil.
I turn, and Beckett slips under the rope, sending his million-dollar smile to the two ladies behind us before they even think of calling him out for line-jumping.
“What was that all about? Everything okay?” Then I remember the excuse for missing our flight. “You said you got held up by security at the airport too.”
He tilts his head, his eyes still hidden behind those damn sunglasses even though we’re indoors.
“Oh… yeah. Adding my trading license to a financial tracking list? Something new that homeland security’s requiring.”
Ah. Okay. Whatever.
Blakey, who absorbs everything like a tiny sponge, perks up.
“Do you have a secret ID, Dad? Like—Agent P?” Those little blue eyes are huge, deadly serious.
“Buddy, if I were as good as Agent P, you think I’d get stopped by security twice in two days?”
His hand brushes Blakey’s hair, and something tightens in my chest. A memory. A habit. A reflex.
We’re ushered forward again before I have time to dwell on it.
“Down here, Ash! Beck!” Luna waves us toward one of the ticketing agents at the far end of the counter, bouncing on her toes as if boarding a ship is the greatest joy she’s ever known.
The agent barely glances up.
“Passports and boarding passes.”
Beckett starts to hand his over, but I’m faster. I pluck it from his fingers without thinking about it and pass all four across the counter.
Tap tap. Tap tap. The keys click in rapid succession.
“You’re in a balcony stateroom on Deck Twelve.”
She hands us our cards, one by one.
“These are your ship IDs and room keys. Don’t lose them. You’ll get a text when your cabin is ready.”
Max snatches his with reverent excitement.
Blakey studies his like it might reveal superpowers.
Beckett shifts closer—not touching me, but close enough that I feel the warmth of him.
I tell myself it’s nothing. Just pretending everything is normal.
Wait…
“There’s only one room listed here,” I say. “I booked two.”
The attendant, a cheerful twenty-something woman in a navy polo, frowns at her screen. “I’m sorry, but it looks like your reservation is for one stateroom, Mrs. Carrington.”
“That can’t be.”
She nods apologetically. “That’s what I have. One stateroom for Beckett, Ashley, Maxwell and Blake Carrington.”
No. No, no, no.
“I booked two rooms. Adjacent to each other. I even noted it in the comments—capital letters.”
The attendant clicks around a few times, and then scrunches up her face. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Carrington, but it says right here, one balcony stateroom, booked on March 29th.”
I pull out the paperwork I printed out last week, smoothing out the creases and scanning for the booking details. “Look. Two rooms, it says so right... here...” Except that isn’t what it says. One balcony stateroom.
No. I distinctly remember choosing two rooms when I made the booking.
Easy fix, though.
“Well, we need two. You can just add that to my card.”
Before I finish, the woman is shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. The ship is fully booked. There are no vacant cabins available.”
“There has to be something. Will you look again?”
Tap tap tap… Frowning. “Nothing, I’m afraid.”
I can feel the color rising up my neck. I do not make mistakes like this. I’m the woman who not only keeps my own life organized, but other people’s too. I’m a professional life organizer, damn it.
There’s no way the boys, me, and Beckett, and my sanity can survive this.
“Everything okay?” Luna has crept up behind me.
I let out a silent screech before turning around. “Just a little mix-up with our booking. Nothing to worry about.”
Beckett leans one elbow on the counter, looking irritatingly calm. “It’ll be cozy,” he says.
Cozy.
Sweat prickles at the back of my neck. Luna looks crestfallen.
“But… You can’t share with the boys! This cruise is supposed to be romantic for you!”
Then Mom steps up.
“Wait. Wait… I’ll stay with the boys,” she declares. “That way, you and Bex can take my stateroom.”
“Mom, no—”
“Don’t argue,” she says, waving off my protest. “It’ll be fun. Me and my grandsons. We’ll order room service, watch movies.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mom. We’ll make this work,” I say quickly. It’s got a balcony. Bex can sleep out there. “Really, there’s no need—”
But Luna’s already nodding decisively. “Nope. I insist, Ash. Bex has finally gotten some time off, and the two of you are going to have a romantic cruise. You need it.”
I so do not need this.
I look over at Bex, who just shrugs, and I realize, regardless of what I want—or need—this battle has already been lost.