Chapter 31
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hey there, mystery-loving readers!
Well, we’ve docked back in Greenwich after ten absolutely unforgettable days aboard the Emerald Queen!
My stiletto heels are officially retired as heroes (who knew designer footwear could be life-saving equipment?), my detective skills have been thoroughly tested by swingers and psychologists alike, and I’ve consumed enough chocolate to put Willy Wonka out of business.
From dodging murderous relationship therapists to watching Nettie charm the life out of a very dapper man, this Valentine’s cruise proved that love really IS a many-splendored thing—especially when it involves criminal confessions, international incidents, and enough romantic drama to fuel a dozen romance novels.
I’ve learned some valuable lessons. Always trust your octogenarian friends’ instincts about suspicious silver foxes, never underestimate the investigative power of a good stiletto, and sometimes the most dangerous relationships are the ones that look perfect on the surface.
Until our next adventure, keep your hearts open, your heels sharp, and maybe avoid any cruise activities that involve alternative lifestyle exploration—trust me on that one!
Here’s to love, laughter, and keeping the body count to a minimum!
XOXO Trixie
P.S. Note to self: always trust Elodie’s shoe choices. You never know when designer stilettos might save your life!
Day 10: Return to Greenwich, England
“We did it,” I announce as we stand at the gangway watching passengers disembark like survivors of the world’s most romantic shipwreck. “We survived another journey on our way to justice.”
Bess nods. “Nothing quite says successful Valentine’s cruise like watching half our fellow travelers file restraining orders before their feet hit dry land.”
Bess, Nettie, and I have once again joined Wes, Ransom, Elodie, and Tinsley right here at the gangway as we wave to departing passengers who seem resigned to the fact that their time on this floating paradise is over.
The Emerald Queen of the Seas sits docked in Greenwich like a floating monument to romantic ambition and homicidal tendencies, gleaming white against the gray English morning.
The scent of sea salt mingles with whatever expensive perfume is still clinging to passengers who’ve apparently bathed in eau de desperation for the past ten days.
Valentine’s decorations droop from the railings like romantic surrender flags that have finally given up the fight, heart-shaped balloons deflated and looking as tired as most of the marriages that boarded with us.
The gentle thrum of engines winding down blends with the sound of rolling luggage and conversations in twelve different languages, while seagulls provide their own raucous commentary on the romantic aftermath unfolding below.
Ransom, Bess, Nettie, and I have positioned ourselves at the same spot where we greeted passengers ten days ago, though now we’re conducting more of an exit interview than a welcome wagon.
Down the gangway, Elodie and Tinsley wave goodbye to departing passengers with a forced enthusiasm that shows they’ve learned to smile through any crisis.
“I still can’t believe Rex was married,” Bess mutters, sounding more than grateful she dodged that Montana ranch and lifestyle choices that would horrify most rational humans.
“I can’t believe Tinsley made out with a swinger thinking it was true love,” Nettie belts out a laugh. “That woman’s confidence is stronger than her judgment.”
Ransom ticks his head to the side. “I’m just glad the body count didn’t rise.”
“Speaking of romantic disasters,” I say, spotting a familiar couple approaching hand-in-hand with the kind of genuine affection that makes cynics reconsider their life choices, “here comes our success story.”
Claudette and Mark Sterling walk toward us like a before-and-after advertisement for marriage counseling that actually works.
They’re practically glowing with reconciliation, their body language screaming we remember why we fell in love instead of we’re held together by permanent ink and professional necessity.
“Well,” I say as they approach. “It looks like your Valentine’s Renewal Couples’ Retreat worked wonders for you two.”
“It certainly did,” Claudette beams as she pulls Mark in with a side hug. It looks as if she’s rediscovered that her marriage might actually be worth saving. She turns to her husband with sparkling eyes. “Do you want to share our news?”
Mark’s grin couldn’t get wider if it tried. “I asked her to remarry me last night, and she said yes.”
The cheers that erupt from our little circle could probably be heard in neighboring counties. Even the seagulls outside seem to approve, their cries taking on a more celebratory tone.
“And I told him he can have that forehead tattoo removed,” Claudette adds as if she just granted a presidential pardon. And she sort of did. “A simple wedding ring should suffice. Our trust has been fully restored.”
Mark nods meaningfully at her. “Mine, too.” His expression carries enough weight to let us know he’s learned the difference between public humiliation and private devotion. “Sometimes you have to lose everything to remember what really matters.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Bess says.
They say their goodbyes before disappearing into the crowd of disembarking passengers, like a romantic success story they are.
“Well,” Nettie says with a sigh, “at least someone’s marriage survived this floating relationship experiment.”
“I’m glad ours did, too,” Ransom says, dotting a kiss on my lips.
“Hear, hear,” I say, hiking up on my tippy toes and giving him a far more lingering kiss that comes with promises he can cash in later.
Rex and Candy come up together next. Although together would be a generous description of their body language.
They’re walking with the careful distance of people who’ve just discovered they have fundamentally different definitions of marriage, monogamy, and basic human decency. And I say good on Candy.
Bess immediately turns her back to the man, her nose pointed toward the harbor as if she’s suddenly developed a passionate interest in English maritime architecture.
“Bess,” Rex begins with a bizarre air of desperation. “If I could just explain—”
“Leave.” Wes steps forward with a captain’s authority that could freeze hell over. “Now. Before I personally escort you off my ship with the kind of fanfare that involves security footage and incident reports.”
Rex slinks away with his tail between his legs and his wedding ring probably burning a hole in his pocket, disappearing into the crowd like smoke from a very expensive mistake.
Candy looks our way and shrugs. “Thank you. I sort of feel like a woman who’s just been liberated from her own bad decisions.”
I nod her way because she has.
“What will you do now?” I ask, offering her a supportive hug because sometimes female solidarity requires physical contact and emotional backup—and usually ice cream, too.
“I’m single and ready to mingle as far as I’m concerned,” she declares with a newfound strength as if she’s just discovered her spine comes with excellent backbone support and then some. “I’m filing for divorce the minute my feet hit English soil.”
“Good for you,” I tell her, meaning every word. “You deserve someone who’s honest about their relationship status and doesn’t require a spreadsheet to track their romantic commitments.”
“The next time I decide to date,” Candy adds with grim determination, “I’m asking for references, a background check, and possibly a medical exam.
If they mention expanding consciousness or alternative lifestyles, I’m running in the opposite direction.
Take care, all of you.” She gives Bess’s arm a quick squeeze before heading off toward her new life.
“Sometimes the best relationship advice is knowing when to file legal paperwork,” I say.
“Take note of that, Ransom,” Wes is quick to say with a laugh.
“Already filed mine,” Ransom deadpans. “It’s called a marriage certificate.”
“That’s right.” I nod up at my handsome hubby. “And the terms are non-negotiable.”
Rob Stone floats over with his usual cosmic obliviousness, apparently having missed the memo about reading the room or acknowledging reality.
“What a beautiful journey, everyone,” he announces with that Zen signature smile of his. “The universe brought us all together for mysterious reasons, and I’m grateful for the cosmic connections we’ve shared.”
We all stare at him with the collective expression of people watching someone discuss feng shui while their house burns down around them.
“Rob,” I say carefully. “You do realize your wife killed someone, right? And that those cosmic connections destroyed at least three marriages?”
“Everything happens for a reason,” he replies with infuriating serenity, drifting away while humming something that sounds like whale songs mixed with pharmaceutical advertising jingles.
“I can’t decide if he’s enlightened or deranged,” Nettie says.
“Or an accessory,” Ransom says.
“At this point, the distinction seems irrelevant,” Bess replies, finally turning around now that the coast is clear of married swingers and cosmic philosophers.
“I can’t believe I almost moved to Montana for a married swinger,” she continues with a mortified disbelief usually reserved for discovering you’ve been walking around with toilet paper stuck to your shoe.
“At least your boyfriend was alive,” Nettie points out with a touch of optimism. “Mine was dead and still had better morals than Rex.”
Bess shakes her head. “Next time I’m falling for someone, remind me to ask for their wife’s contact information first. And possibly a certificate of single status notarized by three independent witnesses.”
Elodie and Tinsley join our little debriefing session, both looking like survivors of very different kinds of romantic warfare.