Chapter 25 #2
“My charity did help children,” Val insists, her chin high.
“Just fewer of them than reported. And I want all my fans to know that while I may have committed a regrettable act of violence, I did it while wearing Vera Verigamo and never smudged my lipstick. That’s the kind of dedication I’ve always brought to my craft. ”
Not to be outdone, Beth steps forward. “And I want everyone to know that any woman would have done what I did. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you wealthy, aging soap stars with considerable assets and poor nutrition habits, you make a few adjustments.” She attempts to toss her hair dramatically, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the handcuffs and the fact that she nearly collided her skull with Val’s.
“Get her good side!” Marlie directs from above the cameras. “And don’t forget the reaction shots! Reaction shots are everything in a confession scene!”
Quinn and the security team flood the Golden Compass Lounge, cutting through the room’s theatrical chaos with their menacing badges and matching navy jackets. And as they take Val and Beth into custody, Marlie floats down between the two killers.
“Amateurs,” she sniffs. “When I poisoned the governor and pushed my sister’s husband off a cliff in the same episode, I got a three-minute standing ovation and a contract extension. You two wouldn’t have lasted a sweeps week on The Bitter and the Beautiful.”
The security team quickly escorts our confessed killers away, and that prompts Ransom to pull me close. His eyes take me in as he sighs.
“We make a great team,” he says with his voice low enough that only I can hear. “But I have to admit, I didn’t expect a double confession followed by a dessert-buffet tantrum.”
“It’s just another day on this floating paradise.” I wrap my arms around him tight. “Although I’m a little disappointed Harper didn’t turn out to be Dirk’s evil twin’s daughter with amnesia.”
“There’s always the sequel,” he suggests with a naughty smile that makes my heart race even faster than it already is.
Boomer, never one to miss an opportunity, gestures frantically to his camera operators. “Get in close! Closer! I want to see every eyelash!”
Ransom glances at the approaching camera with a raised eyebrow. “How about we give them a show?”
Before I can respond, his lips find mine in a kiss that starts as a gentle peck but quickly becomes something that will definitely require editing for daytime television.
The room erupts in applause and wolf whistles, but I hardly notice—I’m too busy discovering that solving murders with your hot husband is apparently quite the aphrodisiac. But I already knew that. Don’t judge. It just comes with the territory.
I’m only vaguely aware of Boomer shouting something about relationship goals, and Bess telling Nettie she owes her twenty dollars.
Like the season finale of The Reckless and the Breathless, justice has finally been served—not with the convenient timing of commercial breaks and improbable plot twists, but with real consequences for real crimes. Okay, so a few major plot twists, too.
The cameras continue to roll as the remaining guests digest the evening’s unexpected entertainment along with what’s left of the dessert buffet, and I can’t help but think that real life, with all its messiness and complications, makes for a far more satisfying story than anything scripted for television.
Though a little scripted romance never hurts.
“Is it me, or does this room feel like it’s on fire?” I tease when we finally come up for some much-needed oxygen. The lounge feels too hot, too crowded, too full of cameras and confessions.
Ransom sheds a short-lived grin. “Come on. I know just where to cool off.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the chaos—past Boomer shouting directions to his camera crew, past Bess and Nettie arguing over their bet, past Harper still dramatically weeping over the destroyed dessert buffet and missed opportunity to commit a homicide.
We slip through the side doors and out onto the exterior deck.
The frigid night hits us with a Norwegian cold front that makes my breath foggy, but I hardly notice. Because up above, the sky has decided to put on a show that makes every moment of tonight’s drama look small and temporary.
“Oh my goodness,” I breathe.
The Northern Lights dance across the darkness in waves of green and violet, rippling like silk curtains blown by celestial wind. They shimmer and pulse, casting an ethereal glow over the dark waters below.
“I’ve seen a lot of things on these ships,” Ransom says quietly, pulling me against him for warmth. “But this...”
“Yeah.” I lean into him, watching the lights swirl and shift and shimmer like magic. “This beats reality TV confessions and two killers.”
We stand there in comfortable silence, watching nature’s light show paint the sky. The aurora moves in slow, graceful arcs—here for a moment, then shifting, transforming, and always beautiful.
“Good work tonight, Mrs. Baxter,” Ransom murmurs against my hair.
“You, too, Mr. Baxter,” I whisper back.
For once, there’s no murder to solve, no ghost to interview, no crisis demanding attention. Just us, the Norwegian sky, and a moment of pure magic on our final night in Bergen.
Tomorrow, we sail for Copenhagen.
But tonight?
Tonight belongs to the lights and to us.