Chapter 3 #2
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 that I woke up this handsome look 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 for Trophy 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 clipboard and her 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.
Boomer sighs dramatically, but signals to an assistant, who scurries off toward the bar. He returns moments later with a substantial-looking steak knife, which Boomer hands to Val with exaggerated caution.
“Perfect!” Madison beams. “Now, Val, I need you to really sell this. Make them believe you want me dead!”
Val’s smile turns predatory as she grips the knife. “Oh, honey, that won’t be a stretch.”
“And... action!” Boomer calls.
Madison wastes no time in flashing a vindictive smile at Val. “Your charity’s been getting a lot of attention lately. For a charity, it’s amazing how much of the money seems to disappear.”
Val advances on Madison, the knife raised in her hand, her eyes blazing with what seems like genuine hatred. “You think you can come after my charity?” she shouts so loud, champagne flutes rattle. “I’ve worked too hard to let trash like you destroy everything I’ve built!”
“Cut!” Boomer shakes his head as he interrupts the mood. “Val, honey, it’s too specific. Keep it vague and threatening. We’ll worry about building the storylines later.”
They reset and try again. And again. By the fifth take, Val is gripping the knife so tightly her knuckles have turned white, and Madison is micro-managing every aspect of the scene.
“Higher angle with the knife—it catches the light better!” Madison barks. “And don’t you dare block my good side!”
After what feels like forty-seven takes, Boomer finally declares the scene wrapped. The knife is handed to a production assistant who places it on an equipment table in the corner near the makeshift set.
“And that’s a wrap on our teaser, folks!” Boomer announces. “Enjoy the party—but remember, the cameras are always rolling!”
The crowd disperses quickly as the novelty of watching two women fake-threaten each other wears off in favor of the open bar and gourmet buffet.
Bess and Nettie make a beeline for Victor Darkmore and Dr. Luca Carrington Jr., armed with questions about storylines from the ’80s that the actors themselves have likely forgotten. And Wes is promptly swarmed with a crowd of women, all clamoring for selfies with the captain.
As for me, I seem to be spellbound by the buffet, so I make my way over.
The spread is generous and inviting, with chilled shrimp piled high with lemon wedges glistening nearby, smoked salmon folded into soft, silky rosettes, and rows of pastries that are golden at the edges and whispering promises of butter and sugar.
From here, I watch the room with the detached focus of someone observing a reality show where everyone thinks they’re the main character.
And really, there probably is no better analogy.
Val corners Madison near the shrimp tower, and I can’t help but notice that her smile is tight. “If you ever mention my charity work on camera again, even in rehearsal, we’re going to have problems. Big ones. Bigger than your boobs could ever hope to be, and only slightly smaller than your behind.”
Madison gasps and nearly inhales the olive right out of her cocktail. “Well, well…someone is rattled. Too bad, Toots. Transparency is so important in the non-profit sector, don’t you think?” She stalks off with a satisfied smile on her face.
Talk about your unfriendly encounters. I don’t think those women are going to have any trouble at all drumming up the drama. I have a feeling Boomer knew exactly what he was doing when he hand-selected those two for the show. They’re basically ratings gold.
Just a few minutes later, Beth approaches Madison, looking visibly panicked beneath her serene exterior. They’re speaking in hushed tones, so I edge my way over and catch a few snippets.
“You promised you wouldn’t—” Beth starts, and she looks near tears.
“I promised nothing. Think of the ratings—”
“Please, Madison. Think of my family—”
Madison pats Beth’s arm with all the warmth of a cobra. “We all have secrets, darling. Some just make better television than others.”
Beth walks away looking like she might cry, or possibly commit a felony. At this point, it might be a fine line.
Shortly afterward, Harper strides over and engages Madison in what appears to be a civil conversation until I drift close enough to pick up on Harper’s icy tone.
“Business is business,” she seethes, ironically looking every bit the serious businesswoman she is. “You agreed to our terms.”
Their terms? I take a moment to examine the woman.
“Terms change,” Madison is quick to inform her. “It turns out, the network offered me a better deal.”
Harper looks as if she’s been slapped in the face. “You’ll regret this. I’d put my money on it.”
What in the heck was that all about? Madison isn’t just bringing the drama—she is the drama.
It’s safe to say my curiosity is more than piqued, so I decide to follow Madison, who slips behind some production equipment set up in the corner of the lounge.
I bet she’s gone off to powder her nose in private, or more likely, record a gloating social media update about how everyone adores her despite the stark reality around here.
Three separate women just threatened Madison within twenty minutes. If this were a game of Clue, I’d be placing my bets.
However, I am definitely not interested in playing any mystery game, let alone Clue, but if that ghost I saw is any indication, then I’m already starring in that game whether I like it or not.
The party rages around me as bodies swarm near the buffet.
Both Bess and Nettie are melting in a puddle before soap royalty.
And as much as I’d love to join them, I have a handsome hubby to hunt down.
For all I know, he’s been detained by an entire gaggle of trophy wives. Newsflash: he’s already got one. Me.
I drift through the crowd for at least twenty minutes before I decide to make my way back to the buffet, but I’m starting to feel like a salmon swimming upstream with all of these bodies pressing against me.
Try as I might, I can’t seem to get around a crowd of women swarming some newfangled soap stud I don’t even recognize.
I’ll admit, I’m a little rusty when it comes to daytime drama.
Instead, I decide to trek around the crowd and land somewhere behind all of the equipment here to shoot the teaser.
The lighting is dimmer back here, and the sounds of the party are muffled. I take a few steps forward, and my foot hitches on something before I go sailing through the air and landing over something soft yet not so friendly to my stomach.
I look down and wince.
Are those legs? I landed on a couple of legs?
Oh, please tell me they belong to some ridiculous prop mannequin. I pull back and get a better look at the human-shaped landing strip I’ve found myself on and gasp.
Madison stares at the ceiling with her eyes wide open and her mouth locked in a scream. A knife—the same knife from the promo—protrudes from her chest as the handle gleams under the ambient light.
Madison won’t be posting any social media updates tonight.
Madison Rothschild is dead.