Page 40 of Revenge Honeymoon

For thirty minutes he took photo after photo. Newlyweds kissing by the bar. Newlyweds splashing in the pool. Newlyweds grooving to Bob Marley. More innocent. More fun-filled. Less sexy.

Although the job as ship’s photographer sounded like loser-level photography work when he’d accepted it, the emotions he captured on the pool deck reminded him of why he loved what he did so much. Each shot was a moment in time and could reveal the soul of an individual. A smile, a look, even wrinkles. The whole of the human experience displayed on a face.

How would he think about the work if it were for a gallery opening?

He changed the angle of his shots and used the muted light from the cloudy afternoon to wring what he could out of ordinary photos. The kinds of photos he’d avoided taking to make sure he kept his portfolio professional

What would Penny say? Would Penny think these photos were jejune—her favorite descriptive word—and low brow?

Penny had thought she was dating an artist. She thought his photos were brilliant and groundbreaking. Until his gallery showing had been a bust, and he hadn’t sold a thing. Well, he sold one framed piece to his neighbor, who caught him hauling all of his work back home.

Max hadn’t even charged the guy full price.

Penny had been embarrassed by the transaction.

He lowered his camera, his mind numb.

“Hey, mister.” A middle-aged woman wearing a caftan and glittery high heels waved at him from a clump of deck chairs twenty feet away. “Could you take our picture?” She gestured at a woman standing next to her in the same get-up. “We’re twins!”

An emptiness filled him. His work had been reduced to vacation photos and pictures for brochures. Not the dream he had five years ago when he’d left a dead-end corporate job to pursue his passion for photography.

“Sure, ladies.” He used all of his mental energy to give as real a smile as he could muster. “I’ll be right there.”

As he grabbed his camera bag, he caught one more glance of Emily and Ruby relaxing by the pool. If only he could’ve kept his word and spent the afternoon lazing with them, drinking some crazy beverage, and chatting about meaningless fluff. But why would they want to hang out with a failed photographer? Pathetic.

Chapter11

That Wasn’t the Assignment

As the hour grew later and the gray clouds thinned, it was obvious Max had stood them up.

Emily ran through the last conversation she’d had with the photographer after breakfast. He’d been upbeat, funny, a little bit flirtatious—or so she thought. Maybe his declaration about her being ‘cute’ had been merely a kindness.

Her heart shrank a few sizes.

She scanned the happily married couples around her. Yeah, that would probably never be her. Even Ruby had been let down by men. Amazing, stunning Ruby. If Ruby couldn’t find a man who wanted to marry her, why did Emily think someone would want to settle down with her?

And not even marry, for God’s sake. For some reason, she couldn’t even find a decent guy who wanted to date her. According to the internet, that supposedly meant she was too confident and too self-reliant, therefore, men feared her.

The internet was bullshit.

The clouds parted, and the sun shone down on the pool deck. What had been comfortable only a few minutes earlier—bathing suit covered by T-shirt and shorts—quickly became too warm. Emily guzzled the last of her massive margarita, frowned at the sweat forming on her brow, and whipped off her T-shirt.

“That’s it, Em! Revenge honeymoon!” Ruby cheered making a toast in the air with her empty margarita glass. Noticing she’d run out of booze, she rose from her deck chair. “I’m gonna go order two more of these. But you go, girl.”

Without Max around, who was Emily trying to impress exactly? No man wanted her anyway. She could walk naked across the deck and nobody would bat an eye. Soon enough she’d be a single woman in her 30s with no prospects and probably cellulite and sagging boobs. May as well make the best of what she had while she had it. Whatever ‘it’ was.

Ruby danced her way across the deck toward the bar, making a few complete spins with a couple of stumbles.

Emily shed her shorts. She hoped she didn’t have a wedgie. The bikini bottoms were a little high cut for the size of her rear end. For a brief moment, she had a flash that the whole ship stared at her and laughed behind their hands at the spectacle.

Then the alcohol fuzzed out her worries. Why did she care so much? These were all married men and women around her. On their honeymoons. They had better things to think about than a slightly pudgy woman who could use a few crunches in a too tiny bikini. Honeymoons should be about sex, sex, and more sex. Not some rando on the pool deck with an overinflated view of herself in a swimsuit.

She adjusted the metallic green top that had crept up a little when she shed her T-shirt. Maybe the next size up would’ve been better?

Whatever.

“What’s a ‘revenge honeymoon’?” one of the ship’s roving staff, wearing purple-rimmed glasses and a short bob hairstyle, asked as she swept away their empty margarita glasses.

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