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Day Seven = At Sea
Day Eight = At Sea
Day Nine = At Sea
Day Ten = Southampton, England
While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition
Greetings,you yummy little minxes! Elodie Abernathy here (the ship’s resident expert in all things deliciously inappropriate). I’ll be taking over Trixie’s blog while the new Mrs. Baxter is busy with her own personal ship inspection with our hunky head of security. Don’t worry, she’ll be back once she’s thoroughly examined every inch of her honeymoon suite. In the meantime, you’re stuck with me and my expertise in all things nautically naughty.
So please, write in and tell me how I can make your life more delicious.
Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.
I always am.
At least the first time.
XOXO Elodie
Trixie
People thinkcruise ships are all about leisure, but the real magic happens in those few frantic hours betweenbon voyageandwelcome aboard.
It’s like watching an entire city pack up, move out, restock, clean, and welcome new residents—all while floating on glistening seas. The moment the last passenger waddles down the gangway (still digesting that farewell breakfast buffet), an army of crew members descends on the ship like a highly choreographed SWAT team armed with vacuum cleaners and fresh linens.
While housekeeping performs what can only be described as an all-out sprint through two thousand staterooms, the loading dock transforms into organized chaos. Fresh produce arrives by the truckload—enough to feed a small country or one very determined midnight buffet enthusiast.
The liquor supply gets restocked (because nothing depletes a ship’s rum reserves quite like a conga line of first-time cruisers), mountains of fresh towels appear, and every surface gets sanitized enough to meet surgical standards.
Meanwhile, new passengers begin to stream aboard with enough luggage to sink a battleship—although not this quasi-battleship—all while crew members smile and do their best to pretend they haven’t just turned over an entire floating resort in less time than it takes most people to decide what to eat for breakfast in the morning.
But it’s not morning, it’s late afternoon, and I’m not at the buffet trying to decide between French toast or pancakes—or in my case, both. I’m in one of the ship’s opulent honeymoon suites, and lucky,luckyme, I just so happen to be on my honeymoon as well.
“A little to the right.” I grunt, shifting my weight.
“I’m trying,” Ransom mutters with his breath hot against my ear.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, just stick it in, would you?” I pant, just about losing all of my patience with the man.
“Believe me, I’m giving it one hundred percent, but it doesn’t seem to fit.” He grunts twice as hard, and I can feel his muscles tense.
“I wish Wes were here so he could see this catastrophe firsthand,” I say with a sigh. “I bet he’d be livid.”
“Well, he is the captain. Everything that goes wrong on this ship is technically his fault,” Ransom growls out the words regarding his quasi-nemesis. “Trixie, I think we need to give up.” He blows out a hard breath. “This is clearly a lost cause. I wish we would have known what we were getting into from the beginning. I would have never agreed to any of this.”
“You and me both. What a disappointment.”
“Hey”—he pulls me close and nuzzles my neck as his five o’clock shadow tickles my skin. “Don’t let this disappoint you. We’ll have fun blaming Wes together. Just remember our motto, anything that goes wrong in this stateroom is all his fault. After all, he’s the one who gifted it to us.”
A dark laugh rumbles through the both of us as we stare up at the broken curtain rod.
It fell down with a crash last night—during the first night of our honeymoon and we promptly ignored it. But as morning came, far too much daylight poured into our cabin and we promptly ignored that, too. After all, we had much more important things to tend to—like each other.
And, oh my word, I always knew that Ransom was a beast when it came to justice, but now I know without a doubt that he’s twice the beast in the bedroom. It’s safe to say he’s also brought justice to the rumors of his sexual prowess, and he’s made sure to right all the wrongs I’ve ever had behind closed doors.
But I digress. Ransom and I squint at the window as the late afternoon sun reflects off the endless expanse of ocean, turning our honeymoon suite into a spotlight-drenched stage. The salt-tinged breeze sneaks through the open gap of the sliding door, carrying with it the distant sounds of passengers already enjoying their vacation.