Page 32 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

Ransom’s mouth claims mine again as we step under the hot water and it feels like heaven.

Maybe being locked in a luxury cabin with Handsome Ransom isn’t such a terrible fate after all.

Although I am definitely going to have words with Wes about his creative interpretation of crew privileges. Eventually. Much, much later.

Meanwhile, Sassy, our supernatural voyeur, simply grins and settles in for the show, fanning herself with entirely too much enthusiasm.

At least someone is having the time of their afterlife.

And if she wasn’t dead, I might have considered homicide myself.

CHAPTER16

While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition

Welcome back, pleasure seekers! While our newlyweds are busy securing the perimeter of their private balcony, let’s address today’s deliciously desperate question.

Dear Elodie,

Help! I signed up for private dance lessons on the ship, but I’m having second thoughts. The instructor is gorgeous, and I’m worried my husband might get jealous. Should I cancel?

Tangled in the Tango

My dancing darling,

Cancel? Oh honey, no. Those dance lessons are like a three-course meal of temptation—appetizing to look at, and delicious to sample, but your main course is waiting in your cabin. Use that gorgeous instructor to fuel your fire, then take those new moves back to your room for a private performance.

Pro tip: The Latin Heat class is particularly effective. Maybe warn your cabin neighbors first—last week’s participants got a bitenthusiasticwith their “homework.”

Dancing dangerously,

XOXO Elodie

Trixie

The memoryof this morning’s room service buffet still lingers in my mind. Wes really outdid himself by sending up a buffet to end all buffets. Champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and enough gourmet delicacies to feed a small army. The strawberries were divine, though, even with Sassy providing commentary on my technique for eating them.

Speaking of theSassyspecter…

I can’t believe I actually told my new husband I had aheadachelast night.

Of course, that was long after the shower, but still.

A headache! On my honeymoon!

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I did have one—a ghost-shaped headache named Sassy Forenza who spent the entire evening taking what appeared to be detailed notes while floating above our bed like a celestial tornado.

Let me be the first to tell you that romance is significantly harder to achieve with an otherworldly stenographer in attendance.

I really should see about getting her fired.

I certainly don’t need her. Although I wouldn’t mind quizzing her on what she knows about the deceased. I’ll have to find time to do just that, because the sooner I solve this case, the sooner I can get back to my honeymoon—headache-free and without a spectator.

But I’m no longer in my luxurious honeymoon suite coming up with excuses to give to my handsome new husband. I’m standing in one of the ship’s boutiques located in the Queen’s Mall, wearing what can only be described as radioactive pink couture, while said ghost passes through designer racks with entirely too much enthusiasm.

Of course, I met up with Bess and Nettie and brought them along as well. We indulged in first breakfast in the Blue Water café, a smorgasbord of blueberry pancakes, fresh baked croissants, cinnamon rolls because we now have a full-blown addiction, and a seven-layer chocolate cake—because why not? That led to second breakfast in the formal dining room where my body commanded that I indulge in the savory fare, eggs with Hollandaise sauce sitting on a pile of lox along with an everything bagel.

Everythingseems to be the keyword when it comes to my breakfast these days.

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