Page 70 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“That’s a felony in most civilized nations,” Bess fires back. “And Vermont.”

“At my age, if a man throws me over his shoulder and carries me anywhere, that’s not a felony.” Nettie fans herself. “That’s a spa day.”

“You’d dislocate a hip,” Bess says.

“It would be worth it. They make new hips. They don’t make new Ragnars.”

The room dissolves into debate, women calling out their own examples—theft, pillaging, general disregard for modern legal systems—and I’m sitting here trying to process the fact that my flirtatious ghost used to do people’s taxes.

And somewhere on this ship, or in whatever realm ghosts sulk when they’re not haunting cruise ships, Magnus Darkwater, also known as Gerald Winklebottom, accountant and LARP enthusiast, is having a full-blown existential crisis. Presumably itemized.

Turns out my sexy Viking ghost is a tax professional who got friend-zoned by Astrid Storm and never got over it.

Gerald Winklebottom became Magnus Darkwater to win Astrid’s heart—and someone else became a murderer to stop it.

I’m running out of time to figure out who.

CHAPTER 17

Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!

Dear Trixie,

It’s me again. I apologized, asked what my daughter wanted, and practiced Not Talking. It worked!

We had a real conversation, a wonderful hug, and I thought we were golden.

Then at Suomenlinna Fortress she asked about my wedding to her dad. She wanted to know how I knew he was the one. And if I ever had doubts. I froze. Because her father wasn’t my first engagement.

At twenty-six, I was engaged to someone else. For three years, and we had the whole wedding planned and invitations sent. Two weeks before the ceremony, I called it off.

My parents were furious. His family threatened to sue. It was a disaster.

I met her dad six months later, and it was completely different. But I never told her because I was embarrassed I’d almost married the wrong guy. So when she asked about doubts, I said, “Everyone has doubts, sweetie.”

She looked at me like she knew I was lying. “You’ve never had your heart broken. You don’t know what this feels like.”

I DO know. But I’m too chicken to admit I almost made the same mistake she’s avoiding. Should I tell her?

—Keeping Secrets in Helsinki

Dear Keeping Secrets,

YES.

Immediately. Stop hoarding the exact story she needs like an emotional dragon sitting on a pile of gold you refuse to spend.

Your daughter thinks she’s the only woman in this family who’s ever bailed on an engagement. And all the while you’re sitting on a called-off wedding from decades ago because you’re embarrassed you were human in your twenties?

If I were you, I’d tell her something like this: “I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly telling the truth at the fortress. I do know what it feels like. I called off my own engagement two weeks before the wedding. I never told you because I was mortified. And calling off that wedding was the best decision I ever made.”

She’ll be shocked. Maybe annoyed. But she’ll also realize she’s not the first woman in this family to trust her gut over everyone else’s opinions.

Tallinn is next. Tell her tonight. Balcony, dinner, somewhere private. She was brave enough to confess.

Your turn.

—Trixie