Page 43 of Fire and Ice Cruise

Marina turns to me, mascara-streaked cheeks and all. She attempts a laugh that doesn’t quite hold its shape. “Well. That was not what I expected.”

I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” She dabs at her cheeks with a cocktail napkin that is losing this battle. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about you,” I tell her. “I consider you a friend.”

“Well, thank you.” She clears her throat. “What did you think of all this?”

“I came for intimacy tips and I think I got a front-row seat to somebody’s marriage imploding in real time.”

Marina glances toward the front of the room. “Do you think she and Silas are okay?”

“I think maybe they’re reinventing,” I say. “And reinvention can be messy.”

The way he left sure got my attention—not politely or quietly, but with enough noise to make a statement. I think about the tightness around Holland’s smile. I think about Nicolette’s little hint that the Rowens have a marriage that looks better from the outside than it feels from the inside.

Nettie appears with another plate of food. “Well, that was depressing and inspiring at the same time. I think I need more chocolate.”

“You need therapy,” Bess says.

Nettie nods. “I need chocolate-covered therapy.”

We make our way toward the buffet, and I spot Holland standing alone near the windows, staring out at the slate gray ocean. She looks exhausted and relieved and sad all at once. I’m about to go over when Nicolette intercepts her, and they have a brief, yet what looks like an intense conversation that I can’t quite hear. Holland shakes her head at something Nicolette says, then shoots something back at her until Nicolette storms off.

“Interesting,” I murmur.

“What’s interesting?” Marina asks.

“Everything.” I link my arm through hers. “Absolutely everything.”

Because here’s what I know—people don’t just reinvent themselves for fun. They reinvent themselves because staying the same has become unbearable.

And sometimes, when staying the same means living with a secret that could destroy everything, murder starts looking like a viable option.

CHAPTER 14

Conversations buzz through the Mermaid Lounge as the fifteen-minute break kicks into gear.

Women cluster around the refreshment table, loading plates with second helpings while dissecting Holland’s lecture in hushed, excited tones.

The chocolate fountain gurgles away, the scent of coffee mingles with perfume and the faint salt air coming through the cracked windows, and someone is laughing so hard near the cheese platter that she snorts.

Holland Rowen stands alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the dark ocean rolling past us, and it’s time to make my move.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Bess and Nettie, who are currently engaged in a heated debate about whether the cucumber sandwiches qualify more as food or a drink.

“They’re garnish pretending to be a meal,” Nettie argues.

“They’re refreshing and low-calorie,” Bess counters.

“So is ice water, but I’m not calling it lunch.”

She has a point.

Marina is already loading up a plate.

I leave them to it and make my way over to Holland, weaving through groups of animated women discussing desire and second acts and whether anyone actually enjoys dating apps.