Page 7 of Revenge Honeymoon

They surveyed the port and all the other cruise ships waiting to depart. Slowly, their ship maneuvered toward the ocean.

Emily leaned over the plexiglass panel that acted as a railing and took in the distance from balcony to dark blue waves. “This is going to be the best damned vacation you ever took, Rubes.”

* * *

Ruby and Emily stood in front of the elevator waiting to ride down to Deck Two where the photographer would shoot their honeymoon photos.

The former bride held back a laugh. “I can’t believe I talked you into the photo shoot.” She wore the outfit she had selected to wear with Tyler for the event: a beautiful floral print dress with cap sleeves, a cinched in waist, and a flared, full skirt.

Emily had been present when her friend had picked it out. They’d gone on a shopping spree with Tyler’s credit card. He’d insisted that she buy whatever she wanted since her father had paid for the cruise. They’d purchased shoes, hats, and bags; dresses, shorts, and bathing suits; make-up, scarves, and perfume.

“If your father paid for it, we’re doing it,” Emily said.

“That’s the spirit.” Her friend smiled. “We get to keep an eight-by-ten portrait without any extra cost, and I want something frameable.”

Emily noticed a tall, scrawny husband paired with a large-bosomed, stocky wife ogle her friend. A not so unusual occurrence, Emily knew. Ruby had the air of a fashion model: perfect posture, tall, slim and a cloud of thick, auburn hair around an angelic face. The dress fit her so well and in all the right places, it was hard not to stare.

Ruby, oblivious as usual, stepped into the open elevator door with a regal bearing that made everyone else feel unimportant. The doors closed. The tall husband managed to stand to the left of Ruby, and it was almost as if he’d died and gone to heaven. His wife finally noticed the distraction two inches from her new husband and linked her arms with his, tugging him closer to her ample side.

Emily yanked at her outfit, something borrowed from Ruby. Although their heights were different by a number of inches—Emily being the shorter of the two—their sizes were almost the same. But Emily’s distribution of weight didn’t translate well for some of the clothes Ruby had brought along on the cruise. Emily had wider hips and a fuller bust. The dress she’d chosen was a bit tight at the hip and had a straight skirt, so as she walked the hem rode up her thighs.

It was a wild print that clashed horridly with the pretty floral Ruby wore, and the jilted bride thought it would make for an outrageous photo.

“I think I should’ve worn pants.”

“You look great.” Ruby addressed the full elevator, “Doesn’t my wife look fantastic?”

Emily nudged her. “Please, Ruby.” The last thing she needed was an elevator full of newlyweds staring at her in her too-tight dress.

Too late.

A half a dozen pairs of eyes looked her way.

The stocky wife with the tall husband smiled with relief at the discovery the gorgeous model woman was a lesbian, “Oh, yes, honey, you look amazing in that. Just amazing.”

“Thanks,” Emily mumbled.

“See, babe?” Ruby glowed. “Amazing.”

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. The two best friends masquerading as a honeymooning couple exited into the crowded lobby of the photography studio.

“Number sixty-two? Sixty-two?” called out a young woman dressed in the uniform of the ship’s crew. “I’m looking for couple number sixty-two—the Moskowitzes?” She tapped a pen on the clipboard she held.

“Over here.” Mrs. Moskowitz, middle-aged and wearing bright pink culottes and a zig-zag print top, stepped forward. “Honey, it’s our turn.” She practically shoved her husband toward the woman with the clipboard.

She checked them off and ushered them past a velvet rope and toward the photographer’s set-up at the other end of the room. “Maxwell will be your photographer tonight. Your photos will be available tomorrow evening. Give him your number.” She handed the couple a bright yellow paper square with the number sixty-two printed on it.

Emily’s ears perked up at the name “Maxwell.” It couldn’t be, could it?

Surrounded by a crush of newlyweds, Emily couldn’t see much—only the fake tropical backdrop, a cluster of bright lights, and several couples lined up nearby waiting for their turn.

Where was beautiful, perfect, sexy Maxwell?

Emily tingled at the thought of her fantasy man posing her, telling her what a great model she was, and even asking her out on a cruise ship date where they could stare at each other lovingly over shrimp cocktail and champagne. Maybe her dress was sexy tight, rather than embarrassingly tight. So sexy, he wouldn’t notice Ruby at all.

“You need to check in with Martina,” said a male crew member who corralled the couples like a group of unruly wild mustangs. “The one with the clipboard.”

Emily’s dream bubble popped.

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