Page 27 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

I keep hearing about the Romance Package add-on for my upcoming cruise. Is it worth the extra money? The rose petals and champagne seem a bit cliché.

Romantically Resistant

Dear Resistant,

The ship’s Romance Package is like a little black dress—it’s just the beginning of your evening’s possibilities. Sure, they’ll scatter rose petals on your bed, but the real fun is finding creative ways to pick them up. And that champagne? Let’s just say there’s more than one way to appreciate its bubbles.

Although between us, skip the chocolate-covered strawberries they offer. I’ve found much more interesting ways to enjoy both chocolate and fruit. The room service menu has some delightfully creative options if you know how to read between the lines. Just ask for Elodie’s Sultry Special. You’re welcome.

Sailing suggestively,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. And yes, room service is discreet. Trust me on this one.

Trixie

Laughter ripplesacross the promenade deck as Bess, Nettie, and I make our grand entrance, although I can’t blame a single soul for their reaction.

The polished teak gleams beneath our feet while the ocean sparkles beyond the rails, but neither view can distract from our faces.

Tinsley scurried back to work after that catastrophe of a brunch—probably to avoid being seen—and Sassy vanished, muttering something about needing to haunt someone who didn’t actually scareher. That says a lot, considering she’s the ghost in this supernatural equation.

Bess, Nettie, and I exchange a sideways glance at one another. We look as if we’re victims of an explosion that took place at the cosmetics counter—and were severely injured, perhaps even maimed beyond recognition.

Between my blue teardrop, Bess’ neon blush, and Nettie’s Easter egg surprise eyes, it’s clear we’re starring in our own circus sideshow right this minute.

“Would you look at that?” Nettie points across the deck at a woman sporting electric blue teardrops painted down both cheeks. “Another victim of the Luscious and Lethal makeover massacre. And compared to us, I’d say she got off easy.”

“Yup,” Bess says. “And she only had to kill six people in prison to do it.”

I give a mournful chuckle. “And there’s another one.” I nod toward a passenger whose face resembles a sunset gone wrong. “At least we’re not suffering alone. We’re like the sisterhood of the traveling disaster.”

Bess nods. “Sisterhood of the somewhatedibletraveling disaster,” she adds. The three of us agreed that the “food” left a lot to be desired.

“And why is my stomach suddenly burning?” As if I had to ask.

“Mine feels like a volcano that’s about to erupt.” Bess groans as she nods to a woman to our left. “Hey, look! There’s the leader of theluscious and lunatic pack,” she says as the woman passes and we can see up close that her lipstick extends well past her natural lip line.

“I think Tinsley and I got the worst of it,” I say, peering at my reflection in a shop window. “Elvie must have really put her broken heart into our transformations.”

“Or her revenge,” Nettie adds as she sidles up next to me. “Although I have to say, this eyeshadow does bring out the crazy in my eyes.”

Bess snorts. “Everything brings out the crazy in your eyes.”

The sound of footsteps closing in causes us to turn around and the three of us gasp on cue.

Ransom and Wes are headed this way and they both stop dead in their tracks at the sight of us. Their faces freeze in that special way that says they’re trying very hard not to react—and that in and of itself is a pretty horrible reaction.

Their mouths contort as they reach for words that never quite make it past their lips. Mostly because their mothers raised them not to say anything if they don’t have something nice to say.

Wes squints over at us. “You look”—his lips press tight, because evidently, he cannot tell a lie.

“Colorful,” Ransom finishes diplomatically while his eyes enlarge a touch as they dare inspect us. “Very colorful and”—Ransom searches for the right word as if he’s hunting for a life preserver—“festive.” He rocks back on his heels with a hint of relief.

Wes nods. “Like Christmas came early,” he adds. “And brought all its colors with it. Every single one of them.”

“Save it.” I hold up a hand. “We know we look like we raided my paint supplies—in the middle of an earthquake.”

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