Page 4 of Something Beyond Fame

“You know you’re going to pay for that later.”

She gave me an icy look and then a smirk. “That’s half the fun. Angry sex is great. Anyway, what happened with you?” she asked, looking at me with a sudden intense interest.

“Me? Nothing. Why?”

She waved her pen up and down as her gaze surveyed my face. “You’ve got that… look.”

“I do not have the look,” I replied with a huff, although we both knew I absolutely did.

I thought about the expensive blonde woman a lot over the next few days. I don’t know what it was about her. Maybe it was the way she seemed like she wanted to be anywhere else. I kept seeing her around the ship, and our gazes would meet. Her blue eyes were distant and tough looking. Her skin had this caramel glow I longed to touch. At times her perfectly highlighted hair slipped from her band and curled softly around her beautiful heart-shaped face.

There were definitely times on this cruise, as with all the other cruises, that fans wanted to sleep with me, although so far on this trip I had refrained. I’m not a saint. I had fallen into more than a few beds here and there in the last five years, even though it absolutely wasn’t allowed. The entertainment staff were given a little more of a free pass than the other staff members when it came to guest relations, but even then it was a sackable offense if I were to have been caught.

But I wasn’t going to get caught, so it hadn’t mattered. I generally waited until the last day or two of the cruise so I knew it wouldn’t get awkward. No one wants drama or sad goodbyes. Better to enjoy and let go than hold onto something that can never be.

I was a feeler. Fell into the feels every chance I got. My head ran away with my thoughts, hoped and imagined more. After so many heartaches and heartbreaks, I had gone for the no feelings approach. I didn’t want to know anything about the woman except to capture a moment with her, and it was working out okay if it weren’t for the total loneliness I felt.

But this time, the expensive blonde woman drew me in, and I felt this magnetic pull that was so hard to explain when I’d committed to shutting down my feelings.

The ship had stopped on the coast of Ireland and I wanted to explore.

I headed into Cork, deciding I wanted a taste of Ireland, and I’m pleased I did.

A leisurely walk down the coastal road on a sunny morning was heavenly. It seemed as if the locals weren’t anti-cruiseships as some of the banners had indicated at the port, and most were happy to say good morning, chat, and ask questions in their soft Irish accents.

The town itself was well-loved. At least fifteen locals were out doing small chores—repainting a wall, digging up weeds, repairing a curb edge. The sense of community was overwhelming.

The sail away was a highlight, standing at the very front of the ship watching the people from the shoreline wave to us as we left the port side and headed out for the Irish sea. It was only ruined for a brief moment as the horn sounded and made my ears ring for about ten minutes.

It had been a long time since I’d performed in Ireland. Life was simpler then. I was shipped off to an outdoor festival. Rihanna was the soundtrack of the season, the rain poured and the beer flowed. I learnt how to pull my first pint in an Irish pub. It took me a week to understand a word of what the locals said. I was isolated in the middle of nowhere with no signal on my flip phone and an iPod classic for company. But it shaped me at that time and taught me peace in simplicity. The honesty in less. How a happy heart didn’t need much to find smiles.

I wish I still felt like that.

I decided to dine at the Elite Members Club on the ship that night. Guests would sometimes buy me gifts like that, and I had a few reservations I could cash in, so I called through to the pretentious front of house and got ready.

I went for a suit. Fitted, perfectly pressed dress pants that did more for my ass than a dress ever could. A shirt of the palest blue that made my gray eyes spark, unbuttoned a little lower than what could be considered as conservative. Killer heels because I absolutely loved my fucking heels.

I slipped inside the big double doors, but someone was in front of me, and I recognized the curve of her body and her pale golden hair even from behind. “Did you make a reservation?” the host asked the woman in front of me in a bored tone as hier finger slid across a glassy iPad screen.

The expensive blonde woman shook her head softly, a slight annoyance spreading across her already pink cheeks. Even though I recognized her designer dress and knew it cost more than a year of the host’s salary, clearly the host didn’t register that. Of course the dress was stunning, the shade of blue mirroring magazine covers. She was outfitted in the height of fashion. Her hair was curled to absolute perfection in glossy swirls of gold, and the soft blends of her eye shadow looked as if it were applied by a professional. She sparkled in the dimly lit foyer, and yet I could tell from her stance that she’d rather be anywhere else.

“No, I…” she began. But a bored expression quickly shifted to exasperation as the host smoothed out nonexistent creases from her freshly pressed suit before her gaze rose to give the expensive blonde an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Madam, this is La Côte de Louxor. We don’t accept walk-ins.” Her nose curled in dismay as if she had uttered a word that should be banned from current vocabulary.

“Yes, I—I am aware,” she stuttered, feeling more pressure, I’m sure, as she felt me behind her, not to mention my eyes on the curve of her ass. Now she was aware that she had an audience to witness her interaction. “I don’t have a reservation, bu…” She hadn’t even started the enunciation of her T before the host’s voice sliced through her again like a knife.

“Then you are probably aware that we have a waiting list even for our elite guests. No reservation, no table.”

The hose didn’t ask her to leave, but disdain laced through every word, and the way she pursed her lips gave a very clear indication that from her point of view, the conversation was very much over.

I watched as her eyes filled. Irises that shimmered in a cerulean blue now swam like storm-filled seas. It wasn’t anger but frustration that brought on the surge of overwhelming emotions. The words seemed to be caught in her throat, and each breath appeared increasingly labored.

She stepped back, the heel of her brand new stiletto dragging through the plush, freshly valeted carpet before it caught. She stumbled, a tiny slip of balance before my palm found her lower back.

My hold was firm, steadying, commanding and yet gentle. The slow spread of fingers guided her back onto balanced footing. I was taller than her, both of us in heels. My hand lingered, not touching, just close enough to catch her again if she wavered.

I knew before she knew.And then I spoke with confidence. I’m Raven Ramsey, after all.

“We have a reservation.”

---