Chapter 25
Wes and Marina make their way over, weaving through the glittering crowd as though they’ve been doing this together for years instead of days, while the Second Act Society Soirée rages all around us.
Marina reaches me first, her midnight blue dress catching the light from approximately seventeen chandeliers.
“Happy birthday, Trixie.” There’s a warmth in her eyes that lets me know she means it, and that she looks a bit mournful over how we left things last time, too. And, well, that goes double for me.
“Happy birthday to you as well,” I say, and we exchange a hug that feels genuine and like an apology in every single way.
Wes shakes Ransom’s hand, some unspoken captain-to-former-security exchange happening that I can’t quite read. Then he turns to me with that rare, genuine smile. “Trixie, fifty looks good on you.”
“Fifty looks tolerable on me,” I correct. “Let’s not oversell it.”
“She’s been this way all day,” Nettie announces. “Tragic and dramatic.”
“I’m neither of those things.” I wince because it may not be true.
“You’re both of those things,” Nettie counters.
“And they both look good on her,” Ransom teases as he wraps his arm around my waist.
We all share a laugh, and I can’t help but note that when Marina laughs, it transforms her whole face. For the first time since Copenhagen, she looks light. Unburdened. Like maybe she’s allowed herself to believe, just for tonight, that everything might turn out okay.
The lights above flicker once, then twice.
The room quiets as Silas and Holland step up to a small platform near the champagne fountain. Someone hands Silas a microphone and the music drops to background level.
“Good evening, everyone!” Holland’s voice carries warm and confident across the ballroom. The gold sheath she’s wrapped in looks elegant and yet very expensive.
Hey! I think that might be one of the sofa wraps from her collection. I knew I should have purchased it while I had the chance.
“Thank you all for joining us on this incredible journey,” she begins. “The Second Act Society exists because we believe it’s never too late to reinvent yourself, to pursue dreams you thought had passed you by, to become the person you were always meant to be.”
Scattered applause breaks out and a few enthusiastic cheers come from the back.
Silas takes the microphone, his expression shifting to something more somber. “Before we celebrate tonight, we need to take a moment to honor someone who should be here with us. Gideon Vale was our fearless leader, our visionary, the man who believed that everyone’s story deserves to be told.”
The room goes respectfully quiet as it should.
“Gideon challenged us.” Holland’s voice cracks slightly. “He pushed us to be honest about our pasts, to own our mistakes, to use our experiences, good and bad, as fuel for transformation. He believed that redemption wasn’t just possible. It was necessary.”
Nicolette appears beside them, taking the microphone with a nod to the crowd.
“Gideon was complicated,” she says, and there’s something raw in her voice.
“He wasn’t perfect. He made enemies as easily as he made allies.
But he was brilliant at what he did. Helping people navigate the messiest parts of their lives and come out stronger on the other side. We’ve lost someone irreplaceable.”
She hands the microphone back to Silas, who clears his throat.
“Gideon would want us to celebrate tonight. To embrace this moment. To remember that second acts aren’t just about starting over.
They’re about doing it better the second time around.
” He pauses, then adds with a wry smile, “Though I have to say, it’s nice to have one evening where nobody’s worried about Gideon exposing their sins.
The man kept excellent files on everybody. ”
Nervous laughter ripples through the crowd. It’s the sort of joke that lands because it’s true, and everyone knows it.
Silas’s expression brightens. “And speaking of second acts, we have two very special birthday girls with us tonight. Trixie Troublefield Baxter and Marina Maxwell, both turning fifty today. Ladies, come on up here!”
Every eye in the ballroom swivels toward us.
Marina and I exchange looks of pure horror.
“Absolutely not,” I whisper.
“We have to,” she whispers back.
“We really don’t.”
But Bess is already nudging me forward, and Nettie is practically shoving Marina, and before I know it, we’re climbing onto the platform while approximately two hundred people stare at us with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
The opening notes of “Happy Birthday” start, and the entire ballroom joins in.
I stand there next to Marina, both of us frozen in matching smiles that probably look more like grimaces, while the Golden Era Ballroom sings to us in slightly off-key and in unison. The chandeliers sparkle, the champagne fountain bubbles and all the while cameras flash our way.
Okay, I’ll admit it. This is mortifying and wonderful in equal measure.
The song ends with applause and a few wolf whistles, Nettie’s contribution, and we’re finally released back into the crowd.
The lights flicker again, then the music starts back up with something with actual bass this time, something you can’t ignore. Bodies hit the dance floor immediately as the energy cranks from celebratory to full party mode in approximately three seconds.
Nettie materializes with a wild look in her eyes. “CONGA LINE!”
“Nettie, no—” Bess starts.
Too late.
Nettie has already grabbed someone’s shoulders and is snaking through the crowd, picking up followers as though she’s the Pied Piper of bad decisions.
Within minutes, fifteen people are conga-ing through the Golden Era Ballroom, and I’m pretty sure at least three of them are ship staff who got swept up in the chaos.
Bess sighs heavily and heads straight for the buffet. “She can conga. I’m going to eat my weight in shrimp.”
Wes and Ransom appear at our sides with perfect timing, as always. Wes turns to Marina with that smile that’s been showing up more and more lately. “Feel like hitting the dance floor?”
Just that fast, Marina’s face lights up. “I’d love—”
Before she can finish her sentence, a crew member appears at Wes’s elbow, looking apologetic. “Captain? We need you on the bridge. There’s a bit of a weather situation.”
Wes’s expression shifts instantly into captain mode. He looks genuinely disappointed. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He disappears into the crowd, leaving Marina standing there looking like someone just canceled her birthday.
I turn to Ransom with a shrug. “You up for dancing with two birthday girls?”
Ransom opens his mouth to answer just as his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, reads the screen, and his jaw tightens. “Quinn needs me. If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll make this quick. Hold those dance cards open for me.”
He steps away, already typing a response, leaving Marina and me standing there like wallflowers at prom.
Marina gives a little laugh. “And then there were two. You feel like shaking it on the dance floor anyway?”
I’m about to say yes, that I’m more than ready to dance and celebrate and pretend fifty isn’t terrifying, when I spot Nicolette.
She’s standing alone at the far end of the ballroom, silhouetted against the windows. Outside, the Icelandic sky is turning a deep shade of purple, dramatic and moody, and she’s staring at it as though it holds answers she desperately needs.
Marina leans close, her voice dropping. “I found out some interesting things about our new friend Nicolette. We had a little heart-to-heart earlier, and let’s just say she did some oversharing.”
My pulse kicks up. “Are you willing to do a little oversharing yourself?”
Marina nods. “Wes told me you’re the best sleuth on this ship, bar none. Far be it from me to stall your investigation.”
“What did you glean?”
Marina glances at Nicolette, then leans in close and whispers in my ear.
And what she tells me makes my blood run cold.
“Oh wow.” I fan myself for a moment. “I say we have a little chat with our new friend.”
I’m already moving.
We make our way across the ballroom, leaving the party behind. The closer we get to the windows, the cooler the air becomes. This corner of the room exists in a different climate zone. Even the music sounds more subdued here, muffled by distance and glass.
Nicolette doesn’t turn around when we approach. She just keeps staring out at the darkening sky.
“Nice view, isn’t it?” I say, keeping my tone light.
“Stunning,” Nicolette counters, finally turning to look at us. Her expression shifts when she sees both of us standing there. “Well, if it isn’t both birthday girls. Welcome to the fifty-plus club. Fair warning. The wisdom is great, but the hot flashes can be a real killer.”
We all share a polite laugh. Surface-level and party-appropriate.
I take a breath and dive in. “Too bad Gideon isn’t here to celebrate with us.”
Nicolette’s expression hardens. She turns back to the window, her champagne flute catching the light. “Well, I’m sure wherever he is, he’s finding someone to make miserable.” She lifts her glass toward the window in a mock toast. “To being free of manipulative bastards.”
“He really did make you miserable, didn’t he?” I ask, watching her carefully for even the most nuanced glance.
Marina steps closer. “Nicolette, I shared a few things with Trixie. About what you told me earlier. About the tech CEO’s divorce. About how Gideon helped you leak information at exactly the right time.”
Nicolette goes very still.
“About how you’ve built a career on strategic press leaks during divorces,” I continue quietly. “Maximizing settlements by weaponizing information. It’s brilliant, actually. Morally questionable, but brilliant.”
“And Gideon was going to expose it,” Marina adds. “In his documentary. He told you he was including you as part of ‘weaponized scandal culture.’ It would have ruined you.”
I nod. “You would have lost all you had worked for. Your entire career.”
Nicolette’s knuckles go white as she grips her champagne flute.
I take another step closer. “Is that why you did it? Is that why you killed him?”
Nicolette gasps, an actual audible intake of breath.
“Trixie? Are you serious?” She steps back, looking between us with something close to fury building in her eyes.
“You both think I did this, don’t you?” She gives a laugh that sounds more like a threat.
“You wish.” The words come out sharp, directed at Marina.
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t care about the documentary. In fact, I was rooting for it.”
I inch back. “That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” Nicolette’s voice rises. “I was ready and willing to sue the life out of him, no pun intended. In fact, I was already planning a class action lawsuit that included everyone he’d ever wronged through malicious intent.
That man knew how to harness someone’s dirty little secret and turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. He built a career on ruining people.”
She’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling, adrenaline surging through her words.
“Oh sure, he’d tell you to pay up to keep quiet,” she goes on. “But payment didn’t shut him up. He was cruel, rude, and downright diabolical.”
She pauses, collecting herself with visible effort.
“And you.” She points a perfectly manicured finger at Marina. “You’re just as bad. How dare you break my trust! I don’t suppose you filled Trixie in on a few of those gems you shared with me, did you?”
She turns to me, her expression cold. “Did you know your friend here is a wanted woman? That she’s running away from trouble so big it would make the eye of a hurricane feel like a welcome embrace?”
I gasp and turn to look at Marina.
Marina lifts her chin, offering Nicolette a pleading look that screams don’t do this.
Nicolette huffs. “But I’m not like you, Marina. I know how to honor a secret divulged to me in private. Now if you ladies would excuse me.”
She stalks off, her heels clicking against the floor, disappearing back into the glittering crowd without a backward glance.
Celeste materializes in a shower of hot pink stars, grinning as though she just discovered the key to the open bar.
“Well, well,” she purrs, looking between Marina and me. “If it isn’t the birthday girls. Having fun interrogating murder suspects at your own party? Very on-brand for you, Trixie.”
I can hardly hear her.
I’m staring at Marina, whose face has gone pale, whose carefully constructed composure is cracking at the edges.
“I think it’s time we had a little talk,” I say quietly.
Marina sighs and resignation fills every corner of her expression.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I think it is.”