Page 13 of Revenge Honeymoon

The man’s eyes widened. “Come this way, ladies. Right this way.”

Ruby and Emily entered the dining room. It was in a circular design at the prow of the ship. In the center was an open space with a staircase winding down to the next level of dining. The maître d’ handed them over to a server who led them to the steps, unhooked a velvet rope, and ushered them past. As they descended the stairs, a grand piano on a raised stage became visible. A woman in a long black dress and a string of pearls pounded out a concerto. Tuxedoed servers rolled carts throughout the room covered with heaping plates of food. Another server filled wine glasses and water goblets.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Emily gasped.

“This ain’t the Cracker Barrel,” Ruby quipped.

Both women laughed.

“This way, please.” The server led them away from the piano and toward the back of the room. In a corner, behind a potted plant, and right next to the swinging doors of the kitchen sat Maxwell the Photographer. “Your table, if you please.” He handed them their menus and disappeared.

Emily stood stock still.

Ruby grinned and took a seat. “Well, look at that. Who would’ve guessed?”

Max pushed back his chair and stood. “Would you like to sit here? You can see the pianist better.”

A slight smile quivered on his full lips. But that couldn’t be. Max was confident. Max was gorgeous. Max had nothing to be nervous about.

Emily waved off the offer. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“Oh take it, Em. He’s being nice. Let him be nice.” Ruby’s face was hidden behind her menu, already plotting her appetizers by the look of it.

Nice. Right. It was niceness. Max couldn’t help but be nice. Just like when he let her borrow his jacket.

Emily took the offered chair. “Oh, darn. I should’ve brought your jacket.”

Max pushed in her chair. “How could you have known we’d share a table?”

Oh, wondrous chivalry. Emily’s insides nearly melted at the gesture. But it was probably more niceness. Yes, that’s what it was. Nice men doing nice things.

“Where’s your date?” Ruby asked. “The maître d’ told us it was a table for four with two available seats. Wouldn’t she want the view of the pianist?”

A darkness came across Max’s perfect, masculine features and somehow made him even more appealing. “I don’t have a date.”

“Oh.” Ruby shrugged and returned to her menu. “Okay, I’m getting the Shrimp Cocktail first, and then the Spinach Artichoke Dip with Naan Bites.”

Should Emily ask more about his lack of date? Would that be the appropriate thing to do? Her insides squirmed at the opportunity to find out more about what kind of woman—Penelope somebody-or-other if she remembered correctly—would skip out on a tropical cruise with the most perfect male specimen on the planet. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But surely he was close to one of the top ten male specimens on the planet.

She found herself handling her salad fork imagining at any moment she’d need to stab someone in the arm who might disagree.

Before she could speak, Max hailed a server. “Could I get another?” He held up an empty wine glass.

“Of course, sir.” The server nodded. “Were you drinking white or red?”

“Red.” Max swirled the dregs of his wine in the bottom of his goblet glass and drew his brows together.

With a snap of his fingers, the server drew the attention of the sommelier who poured for a large table of six near the landing of the stairs. “While you are waiting, are you ready to order?” He smiled widely at the trio.

Emily, who’d been so focused on her dream man, had no idea what was on the menu. For once in her life, she couldn’t care less about what to eat. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” She pointed at her friend who probably had already created a mental list of everything she wanted to try and in what order.

The topic was slipping away from her. They were about to be buried in Q&A about each item on the menu—because sometimes that’s what Ruby did—and requests for suggestions, then changing her mind, then going with the suggestions, ad infinitum.

“I’d like to try—” Ruby began.

“Did your date stand you up?” The words came out of Emily’s mouth in a rush. She’d built up the question in her mind for too long. Oh, God, that was tacky. Oh, God, he would hate her for being so crude. Oh,God, why didn’t she just stick her nose in the menu and pick something instead of insert herself into this man’s probably horrible heartbreak?

“I’ll have the French Onion Soup.” Max gave her a sidelong glance while facing the server.

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