Page 7 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“Barely.” She takes in the room, her eyes widening at the Viking invasion. “This is...”

“Amazing?” Nettie supplies.

“Insane?” Bess offers.

“Both,” Marina decides. “Definitely both.”

“You should take a selfie with one of the Vikings,” Nettie says, already moving toward another cutout. “It’s basically a requirement for attending.”

Marina laughs. “I’m technically working.”

“You’re technically at a party,” Bess points out. “Come on.”

We pose with three more Vikings, and I’m certain Nettie plans to wallpaper her cabin with these photos. The party swells around us with laughter, chatter, the clink of glasses, and women comparing notes on their favorite fictional Norsemen with the intensity of people defending their doctoral theses. Footnotes and everything. I won’t lie, I’m loving the sheer enthusiasm for all things literary—even if those literary things have a six-pack.

“So.” Marina smooths her skirt. “Are we ready for eight days of this?”

“I’m ready for eight years of this,” Nettie declares. “These women know how to party. And look at all these hot Vikings!”

“They’re not real,” Bess reminds her.

“Neither are the ones in the books, but that doesn’t stop anyone from enjoying them.” Nettie winks. “Although if I play my cards right, maybe I can convince one of these to come back to my cabin later.”

“The cardboard men,” Bess clarifies flatly.

“A girl can dream.”

Marina laughs, and for the first time since boarding, she looks relaxed. Actually relaxed, not customer-service relaxed. “I have to admit, this is a step up. Earlier I mediated a hostage situation involving a towel monkey. The wife refuses to unfold it, and the husband insists it’s meant to be unfurled.”

“I collect each towel animal until the cruise ends,” I say. “Ransom doesn’t seem to mind the terry-cloth zoo that I line up on the sofa.”

She nods. “You married the right man.”

“I so did.”

The wife is right. You don’t dismantle art. You dust around it.

Astrid Storm materializes from the crowd, gliding toward us in burgundy velvet that shimmers with every step. Her silver braid crown is still perfectly intact, and she’s holding a glowing blue cocktail that looks radioactive and probably tastes expensive.

“Ladies!” She air-kisses our cheeks without actually making contact, and her thick perfume holds the scent of honeysuckle. “Thank you so much for coming. Isn’t this marvelous?”

“It’s incredible,” I say honestly.

“We spared no expense. These Vikings alone cost—” She stops herself, laughing. “Well, let’s just say my late husband would roll over in his grave if he knew what I spent on cardboard men.”

Nettie raises her champagne flute. “They’re worth every dime, honey. They’re all giving me the bedroom eye. I’ve never felt more appreciated as a woman.”

“That’s the whole point.” Astrid laughs. “We deserve to be ravished, even if it’s only by our imaginations.” She takes a long sip of her glowing drink. “We’ve got two authors joining us on the trip too, so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to pick their brains about how they dream up these steamy scenarios.”

“Do they ever run out of ideas?” Marina asks.

“Honey, there are infinite ways to describe abs. Trust me.” Astrid winks. “I’m an end user myself. I don’t write them, I just devour them. My book boyfriends keep me very satisfied.”

We all laugh, and I’m starting to genuinely like this woman despite her slightly terrifying intensity when it comes to all things paperback.

The blonde woman from the gangway drifts past us, and Astrid snags her by the arm. “Poppy! Come meet some of our lovely crew members.”

The woman turns with a warm smile. She’s willowy and elegant, with honey-blonde hair cut in a sleek bob that looks professionally styled. She has classic Scandinavian features, cornflower-blue eyes, fair skin, and she’s wearing an expensive gold cashmere sweater paired with inky dark jeans. She radiates effortless wealth, the sort that never has to check a price tag.