Page 76 of Fire and Ice Cruise

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.