Page 4 of Fire and Ice Cruise

Trixie grins. “Welcome aboard, Marina. Trust me, life on the high seas is never boring.”

She has no idea how right she is.

CHAPTER 2

Trixie

Day 1: Departure from Copenhagen, Denmark

“If Ransom gets bored without a real job, I’m blaming you.” Nettie jabs a rhinestone-encrusted finger at Wes while adjusting her captain’s hat—the bedazzled monstrosity she bought from the gift shop approximately six cruises ago and refuses to retire. It’s basically a fan favorite at this point—and it’s been in more guest selfies than the captain.

We’re gathered in the three-story atrium of the Emerald Queen of the Seas, surrounded by enough marble and crystal to outfit a chain of five-star resorts.

Outside the Copenhagen terminal, embarkation day chaos swirls in full force with luggage carts clattering across cobblestones, taxi horns blaring their impatience, and passengers hauling suitcases with the determination of folks who definitely overpacked.

Inside, the ship smells like fresh orchids, expensive cologne, and that particular brand of anticipation that comes with a brand-new cruise on the horizon. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the champagne fountain in the center of the atrium, where three couples are already posing for selfies despite the fact we haven’t even left port yet.

My name is Trixie Troublefield Baxter, and at forty-nine—soon to be fifty, heaven help me—I never imagined my life would include living on a luxury cruise ship while married to a man who makes grown women forget how to walk in a straight line. But here we are—and I am not sorry for it.

“I wasn’t the one who fired him.” Wes holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Take it up with corporate.”

“Oh, I plan to.” Bess crosses her arms, her red hair catching the light in that way that makes the years behind her look optional. “As soon as I figure out which corporate lackey made the call.”

I think we all know it was Quinn Riddle, Ransom’s counterpart in the security department—or more to the point his underling, or she was at least. But she wasn’t trying to get Ransom tossed out on his ear, she was yet again determined to shove me off the ship once and for all. Boy, did that blow up in her face.

The thing is, Ransom was fired. Let go. Terminated. Shown the door. And none of us are happy about it, not even Quinn.

“Welcome aboard!” I call out to a passing couple, and my smile feels stapled on at this point. If I pop a cheek muscle, I’m suing corporate myself.

Ransom stands beside me in dark slacks and a crisp white button-down that does absolutely nothing to downplay the jet-black hair, the cobalt blue eyes, or the body that could stop a speeding train. No uniform. No badge. Just Ransom being Ransom, which is frankly enough.

Just my devastatingly handsome husband trying to figure out what to do with himself for the next ten days.

A woman in a floral sundress catches sight of him and promptly drops her purse, spilling lipsticks and loose change across the marble floor.

I really should start keeping a tally. That’s the fifth one this morning. I can’t blame them. It’s easy to be distracted by Ransom. I’d charge a finder’s fee, but I’m already his wife.

“You know what you need?” Elodie sidles up to us, her blonde hair styled to perfection despite the sea breeze wafting through the open atrium doors. Elodie Abernathy would be one of my on-ship besties. She’s sort of a self-proclaimed man-eater, but thankfully she seems to be one of the few women immune to my handsome hubby’s charm. “A hobby. Pottery. Macramé. Competitive origami!” she all but shouts in her adorable South African accent.

“I was thinking more along the lines of consulting,” Ransom says dryly.

“Boring.” Elodie waves a manicured hand. “This is your chance to discover your inner artist. Trixie can teach you watercolors.”

He glowers dead ahead at nothing. “I’d rather walk the plank.”

“See?” Elodie chortles out a laugh. “You’re getting into the spirit already of trying something new.”

“I don’t care what hobby he picks up,” Tinsley snarls without bothering to look up from her electronic notepad, her chestnut hair falling in a glossy wave over one shoulder. “So long as he figures out how to properly manage his wife.” She shoots me a side glance. “Trixie, please try not to trip over any dead bodies this cruise. Your husband isn’t here in any official capacity, which means if someone gets murdered, we’re all in deep⁠—”

“Tinsley,” Wes cuts her off with a warning look.

She shrugs. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Insurance is still arguing about the last incident.”

“Maybe I should wear a disclaimer sign,” I mutter. “Warning: May Cause Death In Your General Vicinity.”

“I’d buy that shirt,” Nettie says with a wink.

“Of course you would.” Bess huffs out a laugh.