Page 61 of Filthy Rich

“Ravenna?” he calls.

Wait, what? Ravenna? His wife? But she’s dead.

Stricken, I follow his line of sight and discover a tall woman standing about ten feet away. She’s fit and beautiful, with rippling black hair that hits the middle of her back and a wide smile behind her harlequin mask.

I watch in sickening slow motion as he hurries over to her with all the focus of a heat-seeking missile.

“Ravenna,” he says, grabbing her arm. “I knew you were still alive.”

The woman yanks her arm free and lowers her mask. “Scusi?” she says, edging away from him.

An Italian woman, then, I realize with relief. Not Ravenna. Not the love of his life.

Lucien blinks and backs away, color flooding his face again. “My mistake.”

The woman frowns and hurries off with several furtive glances behind her, eager to reach the minimum safe distance from the madman—leaving me to rush over to Lucien to make sure he’s okay. I don’t know what just happened here, but I know it was nothing good if he’s seeing his dead wife.

I put a hand on his arm. It’s stiff as a wooden plank, vibrating with tension. “Lucien…”

“Let’s go,” he barks, breaking free and turning away so I can’t see his face. “We need to get back to the ship before it leaves without us. And you need to get ready for Mrs. Hooper’s surprise party.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TAMSYN

“I feel so foolish,” Mrs. Hooper says for what feels like the millionth time that evening. “I really thought the kids were coming for my birthday.”

I work hard to keep a suitably grim face as we exit the dining room after dinner that night and head for Mrs. Johnson’s cabin. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they weren’t coming?”

“What?” I say, startled. “We did! I told you. Your friends told you. Everyone told you. You just didn’t want to listen.”

“Well, you know I’m hardheaded, Tam,” she says sadly, shaking her head. “I get something in my mind, and I don’t want to let it go. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“You’re not so bad,” I say with a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder.

“If the kids hadn’t video-called me earlier, I’d still be expecting them to show up. But there they were back in Daisy’s apartment in New York.” She ducks her head and dabs her teary eyes with the same handkerchief she’s been using all through dinner. “Unless they can teleport, they’re not showing up here anytime soon.”

“No,” I say.

“They barely took five minutes out of their busy days to make the call.”

She’s right, but she doesn’t need my saying it, so I change the subject. “I’m so sorry that all your friends got food poisoning at lunch and couldn’t join us for dinner. Not much of a birthday for you at all, was it? Although I’m glad you didn’t get sick.”

“Never eat the clam dish,” she says, nodding wisely and tapping her temple as we arrive outside Mrs. Johnson’s cabin and knock. “You won’t catch this old girl getting sick from some nasty old clams.”

“Well, we’ll just quickly check on her and the others, then get back to the cabin.” I’m finding it harder and harder to keep a straight face as my excitement builds. “It’s been a long day.”

She knocks again. “Good plan, Tam. I’m beat.”

“Come in,” Mrs. Johnson calls from the depths of the cabin.

I fall back, letting Mrs. Hooper go first through the door and?—

“Surprise!”

There’s an explosion of confetti, good cheer and the grinning faces of all of Mrs. Hooper’s friends, several of the new acquaintances she’s made on the ship and the captain. Oh, and Juniper is there, dancing among everyone’s feet. True to his word, Lucien waved his magic wand, and several of the ship’s employees descended on the cabin this afternoon to decorate. I snuck out during Mrs. Hooper’s pre-dinner nap and oversaw the operations, which feature flowers everywhere—including massive bouquets from her kids—profusions of pink and white balloons, a Happy Birthday banner and a fabulous red velvet cake—Mrs. Hooper’s favorite.

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