Chapter 10
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Dear Trixie,
I’m obsessed with the desserts on cruise ships, but always feel guilty about indulging.
On my upcoming Norwegian fjords cruise, I want to try everything without abandon!
I’ve heard rumors about a legendary midnight chocolate buffet on the Emerald Queen that features some sort of Norwegian specialty dessert that’s so good it once caused a soap opera star to faint dramatically.
Is this true? And do you have any strategies for sampling all the sweet treasures without completely derailing my wellness goals?
Sweet Tooth in Stavanger
Dear Sweet Tooth,
The midnight chocolate buffet aboard the Emerald Queen is indeed the stuff of legends! I happen to know that this time around the centerpiece will be a Norwegian skillingsboller—cinnamon buns that are so light and perfectly spiced they’re basically edible clouds.
As for the fainting soap star incident—let’s just say that Santino DiAngelo has a flair for the dramatic both on and off screen.
Was it really the chocolate soufflé that overwhelmed him, or was it the fact that his ex-wife, from seasons twelve to seventeen, happened to be reaching for the same dessert?
The mystery remains, though I can confirm our pastry chef now lists that soufflé on the menu as “The DiAngelo Delight.”
As for enjoying cruise desserts without regret, I’ve perfected a three-part strategy:
The one new dessert per day rule makes each choice special.
The share with a friend approach—half the calories, double the gossip!
Or you can use the fjord reset program—where every steep Norwegian hike earns you one extra dessert.
Remember, calories consumed while watching the Northern Lights or sailing past dramatic waterfalls simply don’t count. That’s not just my opinion—it’s practically maritime law!
XOXO Trixie
P.S. If you see Bess and Nettie hovering by the dessert table at precisely 10:30 P.M., join them!
That’s when the pastry chef brings out the test batches for tomorrow’s menu.
They’ve somehow charmed their way into becoming the unofficial quality control team.
Okay, fine. I’m a part of it, too! See you at the dessert table!
Day 4: At Sea / Scenic Fjord Cruising
Nothing prepares you for Norwegian fjords. Not pictures, not National Geographic specials, not even the extremely detailed descriptions from Bess and Nettie, who have apparently memorized the ship’s brochure word for word.
The massive rock formations rise from the sea like nature’s skyscrapers with their peaks draped in snow so pristine it makes my wedding dress look dingy—both of them, actually. Waterfalls cascade down craggy faces with water so clear you’d think it fell straight from heaven, and in a way, it did.
The sky is a brazen blue, the air is fantastically freezing, it’s all so perfect, and yet somewhere out there, a killer thinks they’ve gotten away with murder.
Day four finds us at sea, cruising through this postcard-perfect scenery while simultaneously filming the least natural reality show in television history. The juxtaposition would be poetic if it weren’t so absurd.
Ransom and the other husbands aren’t in this scene, much to Ransom’s relief. And thus, his absence at the moment, but he did say he would stop by as soon as he finished with his security briefing.
The Emerald Queen’s promenade deck has been transformed into a floating television studio with a live studio audience of bundled passengers, all sipping something warm and waiting for the cast to bring the real heat.
Cameramen dodge passengers while Boomer barks orders with the authority of a man who believes his coffee cup is directly connected to his power level.
The higher the caffeine, the louder the commands. And it seems to be true.
I’m bundled in my practical gray wool coat and scarf, feeling distinctly underdressed next to my fellow cast members. The trophy wives have approached cold-weather fashion as if the fjords were actually a photo shoot with convenient glacial backdrops.
Val Cruz-Henderson sports a white ski outfit clearly designed without firsthand knowledge of snow. It’s trimmed with enough gold to destabilize a small economy. Her caramel locks remain mysteriously untouched by the sea breeze, which leads me to suspect industrial-grade reinforcement.
Beth Williams is wrapped in layers of pastel cashmere that make her look like an extremely expensive Easter egg.
Her strawberry-blonde waves peek out from beneath a matching hat, and her face maintains that perfect balance of dewy freshness and expert makeup I’ve never managed to achieve—even indoors.
Harper Bailey stands slightly apart from the others, surveying the fjords through her designer glasses with her signature clinical detachment.
Her structured dark coat gives her the air of someone accustomed to appraising masterpieces, and she has a leather notebook tucked under her arm like a contract waiting to be signed.
“All right, ladies!” Boomer claps his hands.
“For this scene, you’re discussing your social media strategies while casually admiring the fjords.
I want cattiness, I want competition, I want passive-aggressive compliments that are actually insults.
Think Real Housewives meets National Geographic—all that raw, ancient beauty behind you while you completely destroy each other. ”
“Say less,” Val purrs, adjusting her white fur hat. “Destroying others happens to be my specialty.”
Duly noted.
It’s so bone-shatteringly cold out that crew members begin circulating with trays of clam chowder and split pea soup served in sourdough bread bowls.
A mercy I’m ever so grateful for. The aroma is heavenly, but I can’t help but notice none of the trophy wives are actually partaking in the feast. Apparently, calories don’t count on television unless they’re being counted against you.
“And... action!” Boomer calls.
Val immediately adopts a pose that suggests she personally sculpted the fjords as a weekend project. “Isn’t it marvelous what a good filter can do for these views? My last post got over fifty thousand likes. The algorithm simply adores dramatic landscapes with a human element.”
“Filters?” Beth’s voice drips with saccharine. “Oh, Val, I didn’t realize you used those. I’ve always found natural lighting more authentic. My followers appreciate genuineness. I guess some people need a little assistance.”
That was a lethal zinger if ever there was one. Honestly, I didn’t think sweet little Beth had it in her.
Harper adjusts her glasses, looking every bit the business maven she is.
Or at least the one she’s trying very hard to portray.
“I find that social media posts do better when you pair luxury with something dramatic. The fjords help. Hashtags matter, of course. But timing is everything.” She shoots a dark smile at the camera as I desperately try to read between the lines.
All three women turn to me expectantly.
“Oh.” I point to myself and nod. “I, uh, I mostly post pictures of my breakfast,” I offer.
“True story. My children have begged me to stop. They’re both off in college and much more interested in what they’re having for breakfast than what I’m shoveling into my pie hole.
My waffles went viral once, but only because the whipped cream formed what people kept insisting was a ghost. There was a whole thread. ”
And yet, knowing what I do know about my supernatural quirk, it indeed could have been an otherworldly being.
Val’s smile freezes. Beth coughs delicately into her cashmere sleeve. Harper writes something in her notebook that I suspect translates to social media hopeless case.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Marlie’s ghost hovering near the dessert table, where she’s methodically passing her translucent hand through crepes and watching passengers shiver inexplicably when they take a bite.
Her 1980s power suit and massive shoulder pads look oddly at home against the dramatic fjord backdrop.
Meanwhile, at a table near the railing, Bess and Nettie are living their best lives. Boomer, in a stroke of casting genius, or perhaps sadistic humor, has recruited them as extras, positioning them with several of the soap hunks to create believable fan engagement—and then some.
The cameras turn in their direction.
“I’ve been watching The Young and the Heartless since the first episode,” Nettie tells Bridge Blackthorne, who appears both flattered and mildly concerned by her encyclopedic knowledge of his character’s romantic history.
“In fact, I still have my Bridge Blackthorne’s Romantic Conquests scrapbook.
Volume three was my favorite—your evil twin period was so deliciously complex. ”
Bess, not to be outdone, has cornered Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. “I actually wrote for Criminal Hospital briefly in the ’80s,” she lies with impressive conviction. “I created that storyline where your character performed brain surgery during an earthquake while simultaneously defusing a bomb.”
“I don’t remember that episode,” Luca says with his brows furrowed. Oh wow, if he could have only managed that face in all those episodes that called for his character to look befuddled, he would have swept the Emmys.
“It was before your amnesia storyline,” Bess explains smoothly. “Which, of course, erased it from your character’s memory. Very method of you to stay consistent.”
“Back to our scene, ladies!” Boomer redirects the cameras our way. “Val, I want you to escalate the social media rivalry with Trixie. Maybe imply her amateur status is bringing down the show’s brand.”
Val nods, immediately shifting into character. “Sweetheart,” she says to me, her voice dipped in honey and venom, “perhaps I could help you with your social presence? It must be so difficult joining our little group without any life experience.”
“That’s perfect!” Boomer enthuses. “Now get more physical. Maybe fix her scarf like you’re helping but actually making it worse—or like you’re getting ready to strangle her.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter, my eyes quickly scanning the hundreds of faces lined up to watch a quasi-homicide. Speaking of homicides, thankfully Ransom is nowhere to be found. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of his wife being mock-strangled for the sake of questionable entertainment.
Val steps toward me, reaching for my scarf with her perfectly manicured nails and begins adjusting it, gradually wrapping it tighter and tighter around my poor little neck.
“The key to good social media,” she continues, pulling the scarf a little snugger with each word, “is knowing exactly how to... position... yourself—advantageously.”
The scarf tightens uncomfortably, and my breathing gets cut off just enough. Val’s eyes have a strange gleam that doesn’t feel entirely scripted. For a moment, I wonder if I’m about to become the second homicide victim on this cruise, done in by cashmere strangulation.
“CUT!” Boomer shouts, and I can hear the glee in his voice. “That tension was magnificent! The metaphorical strangling becoming semi-literal—brilliant improvisation, Val!”
What improvisation?
Val releases my scarf as her camera-ready smile returns. “Sorry if that was too tight,” she says, actually sounding sincere. “I got a little carried away with the moment.”
“No problem,” I rasp and cough, readjusting my scarf as I take a full step back from the cashmere strangler. “Although if you’re looking for a new career, maybe stay out of the accessories aisle.”
She laughs, a genuine sound that momentarily cracks her polished veneer. “You’re funny, Trixie. It’s refreshing. Most people in this industry take themselves so seriously.”
“I guess someone has to,” I say. “Otherwise, the illusion collapses.”
Val grins. “You have no idea how much maintenance goes into the illusion. I’ve invested years, and a small fortune, in keeping time at bay.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job,” I tell her.
“All right, everyone, take fifteen!” Boomer announces. “We’ll reposition for the champagne toast in the scene next. Remember, we’re celebrating friendship while secretly plotting each other’s social demise!”
The crew gets busy rearranging equipment just as my phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out to see a text from Ransom.
It seems Quinn has pulled him into some security situation involving a passenger who claims their diamond bracelet was stolen during last night’s show.
Convenient timing for Quinn to keep Ransom away from watching the taping—and away from me.
It’s probably for the best. He’s not the biggest fan of our budding television careers anyway.
I look up, and across the deck, I spot Beth at the dessert station, absentmindedly stirring a cup of what looks like hot chocolate—all by her lonesome.
She looks younger, more vulnerable standing in front of the stunning vistas before us.
Her eyes keep darting to where her husband, Lance—or rather, Dr. Luca Carrington Jr.—is still being charmed by Bess’s outrageous soap opera fabrications, and, well, Nettie’s boobs.
It seems to me that this is the perfect opportunity for a little one-on-one investigation. Ransom might be occupied with Quinn’s wild diamond chase, but that doesn’t mean this case needs to stop.
After all, Beth and I are castmates now.
What could be more natural than a friendly chat between two reality TV colleagues?
I grab a couple of bread bowls of clam chowder and head toward Beth, ready to serve up some comfort food with a side of interrogation in this episode of As the Chowder Turns.