by Maggie Way
Pausing to gaze out at the seemingly endless expanse of water, Cam pulls me into his arms. When he tilts his head and moves in for a kiss, I comply, but keep my lips tightly shut. I don't want a replay of his post-wedding aggressive tongue maneuvers. I'll need to address that with him when the cameras are off.
"Shall we head down to our room?" he asks me, sounding incredibly debonair.
"OUR room?!?" I screech, forgetting for a moment about the camera.
T.J. quickly appears, as if out of thin air. He has evidently been watching the entire exchange from some hidden viewing station with a live feed of my wedding night. I try not to be irked––after all, I have agreed to let the entire world watch this play out. "Darling, darling," he gives me a condescending smile, "You just married the man. Surely, you didn't think you would maintain separate cabins?"
I don't respond because that is exactly what I thought. I'd had no reason to believe that I wouldn't be spending the duration of the cruise in my tiny cabin adjacent to Syd's transformation station. Instead, I lift my chin, feeling defiant and intending to hold my ground on this. I don't want to be portrayed as a prude on the show, but sharing a room with someone I just met––husband or not––is crossing the line.
The other brides must also be balking at sharing rooms with their newlywed husbands, right? I'm assuming they weren't aware of the planned sleeping arrangements either, although Cam seems to be in-the-know. This makes me wonder what else he knows that I don't. Is he privy to some inside information? Or was this all contained in the lengthy contract that I'm now wishing I had at least perused before signing?
Stamping my foot in frustration, I announce, "I'm not sleeping with a man I just met." The idea is preposterous, and I am frustrated that we are even having this discussion.
Cam remains quiet, apparently opting to let the smooth-talking producer handle me. "Ruthie, Babe, we have to give the viewing audience what they want, and they will want to see the happy newlyweds slip into their suite to spend their first night of unbridled passion in each other's arms. What happens inside the suite is your business. You are free to sleep on the balcony for all I care, but we need a shot of the two of you heading into the room to make your union official by consummating this marriage." My head whips around to him at the last part. "Or at least we need to make the viewers think that," he quickly amends. "Come on," he coaxes me, sliding an arm around me and starting to walk, "you won't believe the accommodations we have for you. It's a major upgrade from that closet-sized room we had you in earlier."
Not wanting to have a full-on hissy fit on camera, I acquiesce. Sharing a room with Cam is not ideal, but I guess it will give us a chance to get to know each other. He is my spouse, after all, so it probably makes sense for us to spend some time together. Shaking my head at the foreign, yet thrilling, idea of having a husband, I silently marvel at how much has already happened today.
Deciding to gracefully accept this new arrangement, I add some pep to my step as we walk to our new quarters. Vowing to use this time to get to know my new husband and to try to make the best of this sticky situation, I turn to flash a reassuring smile at Cam. He clears his throat when we reach the closed door that T.J. indicates is ours, and I realize that this is probably just as awkward for him as it is for me.
In an effort to calm us both and to make us feel more like a team, I grasp Cam's hand in mine before asking, "Shall we?"
"That's more like it," T.J. nods his approval.
Cam sweeps the door open and lets me walk in first, still firmly grasping my hand. "Wow!" I gush when I get a good look at our suite. The elegant room is large and ornate––a night and day difference from the tiny and sparse room I had used earlier.
"Let's try that one more time," T.J. suggests firmly. "This time carry her over the threshold."
"Oh, right," Cam agrees as we head back out to the hallway.
Swooping me up into his strong arms, Cam then struggles to reopen the door. T.J. leans around to twist the handle and shoves the door open for him.
Once inside, we both turn to T.J. to make sure he is happy with this entrance. He circles his hand in the air at me as if he is expecting more. When it dawns on me what he is after, I say, "Wow," but my false attempt at enthusiasm falls desperately short.
T.J. pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "That will have to do," he decides, not even attempting to hide his disappointment in my unimpressive acting skills. Shuffling the cameraman out, he calls over his shoulder, "Have fun, kids!"
"We will!" Cam responds far too enthusiastically as he gently places me back on my feet. His affirmation makes me rather concerned about what he thinks is about to happen.
Relieved to be camera-free for a bit, I poke around the elegant room. Opening a drawer, I am pleased to see that my belongings have been transferred to this room and neatly put away. Opening the massive closet, I chuckle at their lack of subtlety when I see the white lacy negligee that is hanging front and center. "Yeah, right," I mutter quietly before quickly closing the door. I don't want Cam to see the skimpy ensemble and get any ideas. Grabbing some of my own sleepwear from the drawer, I escape to the bathroom.
When I emerge from the bathroom, my face has been scrubbed clean and I have donned a faded red Coca-Cola tee shirt and white cutoff sweatpants. My go-to jammies make me feel comfortable and relaxed. I am planning to try to get Cam to make his bed on the foldout sofa, but if he refuses, I will sleep there.
"Sexy," Cam remarks, not bothering to mask his sarcasm.
"I was going for comfy, not sexy," I tell him honestly, noting that he has stripped down to black boxer briefs that are undeniably bulging in all the right places. While I don't mind seeing his toned body, especially his tight rear end that I am now getting a nice view of, I'm somewhat uncomfortable that he is wearing so little clothing. We are practically strangers, after all. Reminding myself that his current outerwear is no more revealing than most swim trunks, I bend over to retrieve my fuzzy socks from the drawer.
He has the audacity to whistle at me while my booty is in the air. The high-pitched sound annoys me. It's not like I'm a piece of meat. I straighten, planning to give him a piece of my mind about respect and common decency, but when I turn, what I find leaves me utterly speechless.
Cam has shucked his underwear and is now sprawled out across the enormous California King-sized bed, like a starfish, with his limbs outstretched towards each corner of the bed. My mouth falls open and my eyes widen at the shocking sight of him––all of him. His massive erection is straining upward toward the ceiling. He brings one hand down to circle himself and rubs up and down his length a few times before saying in a husky voice, "Come and get me, Mama."
I stand there for a moment, stunned into immobility, unable to form a cohesive thought. "OMG!" I shriek, finally regaining my senses enough to cover my eyes with one hand in a feeble attempt to unsee what I had just witnessed.
"What?" His clueless question surprises me enough that I peek out between my fingers just in time to see him lean up on one elbow, his other hand still enthusiastically stroking his penis.
Can he possibly be this clueless? I wonder. He notices me peeking at him and flicks his tongue out at me in a disgusting come-hither gesture. Yes, apparently he is that clueless, I decide as I whirl around to return to the bathroom. Once inside, I click the lock into place and slide down the door to sit on the cool tile floor.
It takes him a while to respond to my exit, which makes me wonder if he gave up on having me join in on his party and decided instead to finish what he started as a solo mission. Eventually, he tentatively knocks on the door.
"What?" I ask flatly, making sure there is no friendliness that could possibly be misconstrued in my voice.
"What's wrong?" he asks, truly seeming perplexed.
For some reason, his completely insensitive and oblivious question infuriates me. "YOU are what is wrong." I yell back at him. "How could you do that?" I ask incredulously. "What were
you thinking?" The questions are spilling out of me rapid-fire. I don't give him a chance to respond. "On what planet did you think that would be okay? Are you crazy??"
Realizing that I don't even want to hear his answers, I stop asking the questions that are floating through my head. He uses the silence to respond. "I don't know...am I crazy for thinking that my WIFE might want to make love on our wedding night?"
"I don't even know you," I remind him.
"But you married me," he points out. "It's implied that a couple will have sex on their wedding night. Everyone knows that."
I can't fight with his logic. The two of us just made vastly different assumptions about what would be acceptable behavior on our first night as a married couple, which also happens to be the first night we've known each other.
"It's not happening," I tell him firmly.
"Yeah, I kind of figured that out," he admits, and I decide that maybe he's not quite as dense as I had feared. "You can come out. I won't bother you any more tonight," he promises.
I don't like the fact that he added the 'tonight' on the end, and as sincere as he sounded, I visualize opening the door, only to find him standing there with his penis out and at the ready. "I think I'll sleep in here," I decide.
"Suit yourself." I hear him pad back over to the bed and shut off the lamp.
Turns out Prince Charming isn't so charming after all, I mumble to myself as I retrieve towels to devise a makeshift pillow and blanket before climbing into the bathtub to attempt to get some sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
"I want my old room back." I announce to T.J., who seems completely surprised to see me.
"I figured you'd be getting some rest after a raucous night of headboard banging," the producer says crassly before sliding the last bite-and-a-half of his raspberry danish into his mouth. Jamie snorts with laughter at his crude comment, solidifying my suspicion that she has a crush on him.
I had gotten up early and snuck around to avoid waking Cam. He had been sprawled across the bed and snoring loudly. He was at least wearing his black boxer briefs, which was an immense relief.
After quietly donning a hot pink bikini and a brightly-colored cover-up and exiting the room, I made a beeline for the main dining hall–– assuming I would find someone from the show eating breakfast. Tracking down T.J. was ideal because he will be able to do something about the unfortunate room situation. While I don't relish returning to the tiny room I started out in, I'll do that if it's the only option to get away from Cam.
"Your wedding night didn't make all of your dreams come true?" T.J. is still being inappropriate, so I don't bother to answer. Instead, I give him a narrow-eyed glare that says I'm not backing down. Somewhat to my surprise, it works. "Okay, okay." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "You can go back to the tiny room you used yesterday, if it's that important to you."
I smile, proud of myself for negotiating my way back to my former room, until T.J. looks at Jamie and sneers, "That hunk must be downright awful in the sack for her to be this desperate to get away from him AND the massive honeymoon suite I secured for them." Turning to me he asks, "Did you see that balcony? It's to die for."
Thoroughly annoyed by the assumptions he is making, as well as the way he is badmouthing Cam, I start to retort, but then I think better of it. Opting instead to make a break for it while I'm still ahead, I turn on my heel and flounce away with my head held high.
The fact that my hackles were raised by his criticism of my new husband cracks me up. Cam behaved like an unbelievable pig last night, and I want nothing more to do with his overt and unwanted sexual advances; nonetheless, I don't appreciate anyone else picking on him.
It's like he's already family, I decide, chuckling to myself. I'm exactly the same way with my sister. As teenagers, she and I used to get into some raging fights where I would call her names that I regretted soon after. If anyone else ever dared to say similar things about her, I would have released my inner ninja on them, and I know Roxy has always felt exactly the same way about me. We have each other's backs––as a family should.
Deciding that I'll retrieve my personal belongings after Cam is up and out of the suite (and secretly hoping that the mysterious elves that magically move and unpack my stuff will take care of that chore), I head up to the pool deck.
Looking around, I marvel at row after row of perfectly aligned, white lounge chairs and wonder where they were stowed during our wedding ceremony. I'm pleased to find a full breakfast buffet with heaps of sizzling, delicious-smelling food. After loading my plate, I hear Syd yelling and waving me over to his table, "Ruthie...over here!"
Giving Syd and his table companions a friendly smile, I join them. After introducing me to the other stylists, Syd asks me, "Bacon much?" He grins to let me know he's teasing, as he indicates my plate that is piled high with a crispy, savory mound of bacon.
"Yesterday was rather stressful, so I feel like I deserve it," I answer simply, shrugging my shoulders.
"You go, Girl!" Syd high-fives me, but the blank stares from the other stylists indicate that they aren't impressed with me––at all.
Wondering if they are loyal to their own contestants, I choose not to take their snubbing personally. Maybe they get a bonus if the person they assist wins, I decide.
"My dear," Syd says seriously as he lifts a lock of the frizz on top of my head. "What has happened to your hair?"
"I slept in a bathtub and didn't take the time to tame it before bolting out of the room this morning," I deadpan.
The group at the table laughs as if they think I'm joking. "That looks more like screwed-my-brains-out-last-night hair," one of the other stylists inserts dryly.
Rather than correcting her, I shrug my shoulders. Obviously, everyone is going to think along those lines. Wanting to move the subject away from my wedding night activities, I turn to Syd. "You know what I really need?"
He shakes his head, waiting for my answer. "Sea salt spray!" I reveal.
"Well, we have plenty of that." Syd chuckles as he waves a hand out to indicate the vast ocean surrounding us.
"No, for my hair, Silly. Sea salt spray is the only thing that gives my hair texture and tames the frizzies. It's really a miracle worker. We should try to track some down."
"I'll see what I can do," Syd promises before changing the subject. "I, for one, slept like a baby last night. The gentle motion of the ship lulled me into the most restful slumber. It felt like being rocked in a cradle."
"You remember how that felt?" I ask him, surprised.
"Mm-hmm," he reveals. "My momma rocked me to sleep just last week." Lightly shoving a hand at my shoulder, Syd starts cackling at his own silly joke. The boisterous sound of his laughter is contagious and soon everyone at the table is giggling with him.
Abruptly stopping, he turns to me and asks excitedly, "Have you heard what is on the agenda for tonight?"
Having used the pause as an excuse to stuff an entire piece of bacon in my mouth, I respond with a shake of my head. I'm feeling nervous about what is coming, but I try not to let it show on my face.
"We all get to gather in the theater to watch the first show!" he exclaims, grabbing my arm like this is the most exciting news in the world.
"Already?" I ask, stunned.
"Yep––the magic of the internet, Baby. The show will stream worldwide at the click of a button," he confirms. "They are editing the video from the wedding now. By tomorrow morning, you will be a household name!"
"Yay," I say, with a lot less eagerness than Syd has shown. I was hoping for more of a chance to prove myself as a lovable person before they drop the first episode.
"It will be fab!" Syd promises.
I pray that he's right.
Chapter Fourteen
After breakfast, Syd insists on 'fixing' me. I shower in my tiny cabin, which (amazingly) already has my stuff in it, before letting him have his way with my hair and makeup––fully trusting him now.
When he spins m
e around to reveal my much less glamorous daytime look, I am pleased with the results. He has done just enough to accentuate my eyes and cheekbones, but I don't look too made-up. Turning from side to side, I admire the simple, smooth ponytail he has pulled my hair into.
"You're really talented at your job," I gush to him. "I look fantastic in about half the time it would take me to look pretty good if I were doing it myself."
"Why, thank you." He mock bows at me before leaning down to kiss my cheek and adding, "It helps when you get to start with a lovely blank canvas."
Touched by his sweet compliment, I feel my cheeks turn pink under the blush he has just expertly applied. I'm not sure if a camera is rolling in this room, but I hope they caught this tender and sincere moment for the show.
I spend the rest of the day feeling queasy with anxiety about how I will be portrayed on the first episode of the show. Will I become beloved by the viewing audience? Or will I be shown as an awkward, accident-prone dork? They want viewers to like me, right? Maybe they will leave my mishaps on the cutting room floor.
It is apparently a somewhat schedule-free day, so I utilize the time to check out our spectacular floating home. An ever-present camera stalks behind me, recording my every move, but within a few hours, I barely notice its presence.
At one point, I see Cam walking towards me from a distance on the promenade deck. Not wanting to have an uncomfortable confrontation with him that will play out on camera, I quickly turn right to slip into a lounge and out the other side to avoid running into him.
Feeling somewhat at a loss for what to do, I decide to go up to the sun deck for a quick round of putt-putt. Tiffany and Paul are there choosing golf clubs, so I ask if I can join them. They politely agree and the three of us (and two cameramen) set off on a round of miniature golf.
Watching the two of them, I am surprised by the level of intimacy the two opposites already seem to share. Tiffany claims to have never played golf before, so Paul stands close behind her at the first hole to help her swing her club. He whispers something near her ear that makes her giggle with pleasure as she leans back into him.
