Page 75 of Fire and Ice Cruise

“Trixie, honey, happy birthday.” Her smile is warm, genuine. “Here’s to the next fifty years. And a word of advice?” She glances at Ransom with approval. “Keep that handsome husband of yours alive and breathing for the next five decades and you’re golden.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say with a laugh.

“Though fair warning,” Nicolette continues, “the first fifty years are the hardest. After that, you stop caring what anyone thinks and life gets significantly easier.”

“I’m already there,” Nettie announces.

“You’ve been there since birth,” Bess mutters.

Nicolette winks at me and glides away toward the champagne fountain, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.

“I like her,” Nettie says. “She’s smart and sassy. What more could you ask for? Except me. I’m both and I’m Nettie Butterworth.”

Bess nods. “That’s part of the problem.”

Holland and Silas wave and make their way over as well, both dressed to impress. Holland in gold silk, Silas in a charcoal suit that makes him look distinguished and slightly dangerous.

They’re holding hands, which strikes me as both sweet and heart-warming. The perfect couple. They run a business together and have a family. They’re the ideal partnership.

Or a really good act.

“Trixie!” Holland offers me a quick hug, and she holds the scent of fresh-picked lilacs. “Fifty looks good on you,” she says warmly. “Though I have to say, I’m jealous. You get to do it on a cruise ship surrounded by friends. When I turned fifty, I was in a hotel conference room eating rubber chicken and pretending to enjoy team-building exercises.”

“That sounds like torture,” I say as we share a little laugh.

“It was character building,” Silas corrects with a smile.

She shrugs. “Everything is character building if you spin it right.”

“That’s very Second Act Society of you,” Ransom observes with a nod.

“We practice what we preach.” Silas squeezes Holland’s hand. “And speaking of practicing, we should get to that champagne fountain. Someone needs to make a toast before this crowd gets too drunk to appreciate it.”

They head toward the champagne fountain, and honestly? They look happy. Good for them.

The music shifts to something with actual bass that makes my shoulders want to move. Nettie is already swaying to the beat, while Bess is pretending not to sway but totally is. Laughter erupts from three different corners of the room at once. The champagne fountain keeps doing its bubbly, ridiculous thing, and I’m here for all of it.

Nettie elbows me. “You see that?”

“See what?”

She nods toward the entrance, and my breath catches.

Wes stands in the doorway, looking sharp in his dress uniform—white jacket, gold buttons, captain’s authority written into every line of his posture. And on his arm, looking absolutely stunning in midnight blue silk, is Marina Maxwell.

My mouth falls open.

And to make things all that much more spectacular, Marina is smiling. Really smiling. Her crimson locks are swept back, her face lit with something I haven’t seen since Copenhagen. Joy, maybe? Or hope. Or the temporary relief that comes from pretending everything is fine for one perfect evening.

Wes says something to her and she laughs and touches his arm as they step into the ballroom together—like a couple!

The Golden Era Ballroom glitters around them, nothing but gold and champagne and celebration, while somewhere in this sparkling crowd walks someone who strangled a man with his own scarf.

“Well,” Nettie says, following my gaze. “This just got interesting.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around my waist. Bess moves closer. And I watch Marina Maxwell walk into her fiftieth birthday party on the arm of a man who might be falling for her, while secrets and lies swirl through the golden air like champagne bubbles waiting to burst.

Happy birthday to me—and maybe to the killer, too.