Page 15 of Filthy Rich

“Eh,” she says around a tiny sip. “I’ve seen better in Miami. But I hope it cheers you up. I’ve caught you looking glum a couple times today, Mary Poppins.”

I cringe. Not that again. I hoped she’d give it a rest for the remainder of the evening, but no such luck. I should’ve known.

“I’m not glum,” I say.

By some miracle, no bolt of lightning zooms in to strike me dead for this outrageous lie.

“I’m just jet-lagged,” I add, as though either one of us believes me.

“I’m not sure why you’re so determined to kid a kidder, but I’ll let it go for a minute while we enjoy the view,” she says.

“Much appreciated,” I say, making no real attempt to hide my relief. After the last thirty-six hours or so, I just don’t have the energy for acting.

Instead, I mirror her posture, put my elbows on the railing and take a minute to appreciate this glorious Mediterranean evening. The dying sunlight hits the waves just right as we cruise along, creating a glittering cascade of sapphires and diamonds against the water. The breeze is balmy but not yet cool and carries the perfect tang of saltwater.

Mrs. Hooper sighs with unmistakable contentment. “I don’t know about you, Tam, but I could get used to this.”

“Me too.”

“How do you like your cabin?”

I grin because it’s a dumb question and we both know it. But I glance back over my shoulder at it and take another second to bask in this whole “working European vacation” vibe.

Our adjoining cabins are the same, art deco chic with mirroring queen-size beds, fluffy linens, chairs, deluxe bathrooms and sliding glass doors overlooking the balcony. They are exactly the kind of first-class accommodations that Rose and Cal experienced during their time on Titanic before Jack’s interference. Much better, actually, because I don’t anticipate any unfortunate incidents with an iceberg.

“My cabin is fantastic,” I say, turning back to the sunset. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t thank me, honey,” she says with a wry smile. “If I could have figured out a way to shoot you from my cabin to one for you down in steerage, I wouldn’t have paid for all this extravagance. But there’s no way for you to be at my beck and call if you’re five floors below me, is there?”

“I’m just grateful to be here.”

Mischievous wink from Mrs. Hooper. “Well, you earn your keep putting up with me, don’t you?”

“You’re not so bad,” I say, winking back. “But it is time for me to check your blood pressure and get a finger stick. Let’s go.”

We head inside, where Juniper jumps down from her special pillow on Mrs. Hooper’s bed and trots over to get in the way. She brings her stuffed squirrel with her, weaving between our feet just to cause maximum chaos.

“Don’t forget to give Junie her hundred strokes before bed,” Mrs. Hooper tells me. “Just because she’s on vacation, there is no need to slack off on her beauty routine.”

“I would never forget Junie’s beauty routine,” I say, shooting the dog a sidelong glare. Junie, as per usual, bares her tiny little teeth at me and adds one of her warning growls for emphasis.

“I’m beat,” Mrs. Hooper says, sinking heavily into the chair in front of her dressing table, where I’ve set up all her medications and medical supplies. “We covered a lot of ground today, didn’t we?”

“We certainly did,” I say, wrapping the cuff around her arm. “It’s a great ship.”

I should mention that this is no Disney cruise, with kids running around and giant, furry mascots waiting around every corner. It’s got every possible amenity, including multiple theaters, gyms, spas, salons, saunas, swimming pools and, probably, helipads and casinos. Dinner tonight was a fantasia of lobster, shrimp and more luxury grocery items than I’ve ever seen in my life. And that was just at the casual buffet, where I ate dinner alone. I have no idea what it was like in the formal dining room, where grownups like Mrs. Hooper and her fancy friends in their glittering dresses and diamonds dined. Probably truffle-wrapped swan’s eggs and the like for appetizers.

Anyway, we toured it all from top to bottom, had our dinner then came back to the cabins to unpack. Actually, I unpacked while Mrs. Hooper critiqued my unpacking and Juniper bit my ankle every chance she got.

Now here we are.

“I’m going to increase your dosage tonight,” I tell her, removing the cuff. “Your blood pressure’s a little high. I want to get it back down ASAP.”

“Of course it’s high.” She flaps that bejeweled hand. “I ate my body weight in anchovies at dinner. Then I washed it down with about a bottle of champagne. Anyone’s blood pressure would be high after that.”

“As your nurse, I feel compelled to point out that that’s the kind of thing you might not want to do,” I say with a sigh.

She scoffs. “I know you’re young and naïve, but you are deluded if you think I’m going to give up what few pleasures I have left at my age,” she says with one of her glowers. “I haven’t had sex in years. Men don’t notice old widows like me. My knees hurt and my ankles are swollen. What else do I have besides food and drink?”

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