by Adele Hart
“I’ll be there and I’m bringing a guest.” The thought occurs to me in that second that Libby could be my dinner companion for the night. I must locate her room number and invite her.
“A guest? Is this going to be a female companion?” He pushes a bunch of buttons and the horn sounds and the ship lurches forward. We are on our way.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I met her on the ship today.” It is odd that I’ll have a companion because I never mix business with pleasure. The people who dine at the captain’s table are special guests. They are people who reserve the suites and pay for the most expensive accommodations. These evenings are boring affairs where the guests blather on about their accomplishments while dining on the finest offerings Cross Cruises can provide. We serve the best caviar. The finest wines. The most decadent desserts. It is our way of thanking our valued patrons for investing in us. Boring—yes. Necessary—absolutely. We didn’t get to be the top-rated luxury cruise line by being one of the herd. We lead the herd.
There’s nothing like being at the helm of a ship where only miles of ocean are before you. The only thing that beats it is standing on deck with the wind in my hair. After saying goodbye to the captain, I head to the pool where the band plays and the guests imbibe too much.
It’s a good place to watch the crew in action, and if I’m being honest with myself, I hope I’ll find Libby.
Once on deck, the cruise takes on a different feel. There is the behind-the-scenes regimented schedule that every ship needs to make it run like clockwork. The passenger areas are carefree and loose.
This is a singles cruise, which is the wildest party the cruise line hosts. It only takes a few drinks before keys are exchanged and the trouble begins. We bring extra security on these cruises because testosterone is a dangerous thing. Men turn to Neanderthals where women are concerned.
Up ahead a group of women dance on the edge of the pool. Their bikinis are nothing more than dental floss and a Band-Aid. The men flex their muscles. Some flex their beer bellies. There’s always someone for everyone. It’s the three-drink rule. What is deemed a five when sober soars to an eight or better when drunk.
I was young once. But at thirty-eight, I’m looking for something different. I scan the crowd around me in search of her. In a day where most women go for blonde, Libby’s dark hair should be easy to find, but for some reason, it isn’t.
Step by step, I walk through throngs of people only to find dark hair connected to the wrong body. They are pretty enough but they have the wrong eyes. The wrong curves. The wrong everything.
As I wander my way around the ship, I keep a keen eye out for her. When I get to the desk, I ask the attendant to look up Libby Ferall.
“I don’t have a Libby Ferall, but I have two sisters named Justice and Liberty Ferall in room 8096. Justice Ferall is the travel blogger covering the cruise. Would you like me to ring the room for you, Mr. Cross?” The girl looks up at me and flutters her lashes.
“No thanks,” I look at her name tag. “Candace, I appreciate the information.”
I’m having a hard time not laughing my ass off. Who in the hell names their kids Liberty and Justice Ferall? If I wasn’t intrigued before, now I’m hell bent on getting to know her, if only to find out how fucked up her parents are.
The elevator dings and I climb in and press floor eight. I know she is staying close to me because we share the same muster station, but with her in room 8096 and me in 8150 we are practically neighbors. There are only a few dozen rooms that separate us. A few dozen too many.
Five minutes later, I stand in front of her door. The valet scurries over to see if I need help, but I’m pretty sure I can knock on a door by myself so I send him away. I take in a deep breath and raise my hand.
Tap
Tap
Tap
My knock is forceful enough to hear over the drone and hum of the engines, but not loud enough to cause alarm. I wait several seconds and knock again.
When it comes to Libby Ferall, I am batting zero. I shove my hands in my pockets and start toward my room.
Out of all the floors on a ship, I love the concierge floor the best. It has nice amenities and a few extra perks like a concierge to schedule excursions and reservations at our specialty restaurants. It also has a library. As I pass the room that’s stocked floor to ceiling with books, I find exactly who I’m looking for. Libby sits on the overstuffed chair with her computer in her lap and a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her long hair is pulled up in a clip and hangs haphazard in every direction. She’s a fucking goddess.
To watch her in her element is a beautiful sight. She isn’t interested in selling her wares to the masses. She’s tucked up in the library and something has her full attention. I walk in unnoticed and pull a book from the shelf. In the corner is a chair turned to face her directly. I slide into it without notice and watch her from a distance. Her head moves back and forth with every line she reads. Occasionally her eyes get big and every few minutes a little giggle will burst from her lips.
Her fingers tap at the keyboard, making whatever she’s doing sound like a symphony. I open the book in front of me not wanting to appear to be the stalker I am. Over the binding, I watch because she mesmerizes me.
Out on the deck, there’s a live band, and the alcohol is flowing. Men are coming out of the woodwork to meet girls like her, and yet, she’s alone, working. And I have never been so happy.
“There you are.” A woman’s voice calls from the door. The thin blonde walks inside and stands in front of Libby, blocking my view. “You should be upstairs dancing that ass of yours off.” She says it like there was something wrong with Libby’s perfect ass.
“I’m working. I have a deadline.”
The blonde lets out a growl. “I brought you so you could let loose and have a good time. You’re always so serious and buttoned up.” The woman plants her hands on her hips and cocks them to the right opening up my view to Libby. It also opens her view to me. She tilts her head to the right so she can get a better look at me. A laugh slips from her lips until she turns back to the blonde. Then they spread into a thin unhappy line. I lift the book in front of my face but keep my ears tuned into their conversation.
Libby leans forward and whispers, but it’s a library so every sound carries. “I’m not serious and buttoned up, Justice. I know how to have a good time, it’s just not how you have a good time.”
Justice looks toward me then lowers herself to Libby’s sitting height. “You should try it my way. It’s great exercise. Super for stress reduction.”
“What do they have that I can’t get on my own?”
Her sister stands and crosses her arms over her chest. “A tongue and a personality,” she says. “Besides, my companions don’t require an endless supply of C batteries.” She pivots and looks toward the door. “I’m going back to the party. Catch you later, sis.”
I make sure the book is in front of my face as she walks out. That conversation was full of valuable information, and I don’t want Libby to know I heard every word. Justice is promiscuous. Libby is not. Justice is a risk taker. Libby is not. Justice takes her job in stride. Libby takes hers seriously.
“Asa? What are you doing in the library? I would expect you to be on deck with all the other revelers.”
I lay the book in my lap. “I’m not that guy.”
She leans forward and puts her laptop on the table that sits to her right. “What kind of guy are you? You don’t seem like a library type of man either.”
I lift the book into the air and wave it around. “I love the library. I’m totally a library guy.” That is the truth. I am an avid reader. I have a library in every home I own.
“Lover of romance?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Her eyes go to the book as if she is making sure it’s real.
“I love everything about romance.”
She sits back and gives me a contemplative look. “You’re a strange one, Asa. I’d never take you f
or a Jude Deveraux kind of guy.”
“Who?”
She stands and walks over to me and plucks the book from my lap. Turning the front jacket to my face, I see the cover and let out a laugh. Of all the books to choose from in the library, I pick a historical bodice ripper.
I can go forward with my lie and tell her I’m trying a new author, or I can be honest. Since I believe all relationships are built on a foundation of honesty, I come clean.
I stand in front of her. “I came here looking for you, but when I found you, I just wanted to watch you.”
She looks up and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not sure if I should be afraid or flattered.”
“Be neither. Just be my date at dinner.” I walk past her and shove the book back into the shelf. “I’ll swing by your room and pick you up at seven.” I don't wait for her answer. Instead I take a right turn out of the library and walk to my room.
Three
Libby
Did he just ask me to dinner? I look around the empty library in confusion. There is no one else here so it must be me. But why me? Asa is gorgeous and can have any girl on the ship. Sure he’s older, but I like the maturity I find in men who have lived a little.
My first instinct is to refuse. I could just not answer the door when he shows up, or I could lose myself in the crowd on the top deck, but the curious part of me has me rushing back to my room to get ready. It’s been a long time since I had a date, and something tells me he’s not the type you pass up.
I think back to the last time I was with a man. Tony seemed like a decent guy, but often looks can be deceiving. He flattered me when he wanted me and after years of saving myself for the right guy, I gave in to him only to find out that I was an ‘unsatisfying lover’. I thought my first time would be painful, and I expected it to last more than three strokes. Neither happened.
I walk down the hallway thinking that if I find red beads hanging on the door, I will lose my ever lovin’ mind and my sister might be the first safety blemish on Cross Cruise’s record when I toss her overboard.
When I get to the door, there are no red beads anywhere in sight, and a sense of relief floods my system. I enter the room for the first time and find my suitcase at the end of my neatly made bed.
Justice’s bed is rumpled and her clothes are already tossed around the room. I let out a noisy exhale because this is my life for the next seven days. Looking at us, everyone thinks I’m the older sister, not because I look older, but because I act older. I’m the sensible one, the one who drives the speed limit. The one who pays her bills on time. I’m the boring one.
I unpack my suitcase and look through the dresses I brought. The one thing I know about dinners on cruise ships is they are a fancy affair, and I can’t wear blue jeans and a peasant blouse. I try on three dresses before I decide on a silver blue maxi dress. It covers my less fortunate features or maybe I should say it covers a multitude of things like my thighs, hips, and bottom.
I leave my hair down because there’s no time to do anything else with it. It’s thick and long and takes an hour to dry and half that time to curl. I don’t have an hour. I look at the clock and see that I have less than fifteen minutes. He said he would pick me up, but how did he know which room? I sit on my bed and watch the clock tick by minute by minute. The minute hand hits the twelve and my pulse quickens. I’m forced to take several long calming breaths.
It clicks to a minute past seven, and I tell myself he isn’t coming. When a soft tap sounds on the door, I jump inches off the mattress.
One more look in the mirror proves I’m as put together as I can be.
When I open the door, I can’t believe my eyes. Asa stands there dressed in a silvery gray suit and a tie that nearly matches my dress. It’s like we coordinated our clothes. In his hand is a single pink rose.
“Sorry I’m late. I got stopped in the hallway.” He places the flower in my hand and holds out his arm for me to take. “Ready?”
I bring the rose to my nose, but it’s not the flower I smell. What wafts around me is Asa. Now he smells like sandalwood and sunshine and sex appeal.
“Yes, I’m ready.” I hold onto his arm and he leads me to dinner.
“You look stunning, Libby. That color brings out your eyes.” My hand sits over the elbow of his right arm and he slides his left hand over it. My skin tingles from his touch. The beat of my heart sounds loudly in my ears.
“You look handsome yourself. I love that tie.” I want to run my fingers up the silk to the knot at his neck and beyond to his chiseled chin. I itch to trace his full lips with my fingers or wet them with a sweep of my tongue. I bury the wild thoughts that will never happen. Those are fantasies better left for books.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. The rich timbre of his voice covers me like warm chocolate sauce.
We walk down the long corridor until we arrive at the bank of elevators. Once inside, Asa pushes the number five.
“I could eat.” In truth, I am starving. Justice rushed me from the hotel room this morning and all I got to gobble down was a banana.
He leans in close and says, “I love a woman who eats.”
“Really?”
“Yes. There are so many things in life that should be devoured without guilt.”
A shiver runs down my spine to my freshly trimmed sex. The man confuses me. It sounds like he’s talking about food, but there’s an underlying current that says something more.
As we walk through the ship, people stare. It’s like Asa has some power over them. “They are staring at you,” I say as we pass by a row of ship personnel that do everything but bow before him.
“You’re wrong. They’re staring at you. You are strikingly beautiful. I’m surprised I didn’t have to beat anyone back from your door.”
“You are quite the flatterer, and since you mentioned it, how did you know which door was mine?”
He gives me a brilliant white smile. “I’ve got friends in high places.”
A uniformed man ushers us into the dining room to an enormous round table filled with a half dozen or so other guests. Some part of me is disappointed that we will dine with others. It isn’t every day that a man who looks like Asa asks me to dinner. I hoped to have him to myself, if not for a few minutes longer.
A man dressed in white with braids of gold embroidered down his sleeves stands to welcome us. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Asa Cross and his beautiful guest.”
I almost fall off my heels at the mention of Asa’s last name. That it is Cross can’t be a coincidence. My head snaps back so I can look at him. “You’re Asa Cross, as in Cross Cruises?” I ask.
He gives me a nonchalant shrug and then turns back to the others at the table. “Nice to meet you all.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “This beautiful woman is Liberty Ferall.”
Again my eyes snap in his direction at the mention of my full name.
He brushes his lips across my cheek until they are close to my ear. “I’ve got connections.” Then he pulls my chair out and helps me sit, which is a good thing because his nearness makes my knees start to buckle.
The women at the table gush with excitement, while the men deflate in Asa’s presence. It’s funny to watch a man who thinks he’s an alpha male come into contact with a real one. And Asa is the real deal. He exudes power and control. It seeps out of his pores into the surrounding air. It’s probably why I noticed him right away. When he enters a room, no one else exists.
Wine is served, and our food is ordered, and while we wait, the captain answers questions about the ship while Asa answers questions about the industry. There are twelve ships in his fleet around the world. Six of them dock in the United States, and they go everywhere from Mexico to Alaska. There are four in Europe and two in Asia.
The women coo and flirt, but Asa focuses his attention on me. My wine is never empty, and my plate is always full. He seems to take great joy in feeding me. Once the dinner is cleared, he asks the waiter to bring
the table a sampling of all the desserts.
“Can a captain really marry people on the ship?” The strawberry blonde sitting next to the captain asks.
Captain Christos gives a hearty laugh. “That, my dear, is a myth. The captain of a ship has a large amount of authority, but marrying people isn’t one of the items he’s authorized.”
“Wow, I’ve read many a book where there was a shipboard romance and a wedding,” I say, my voice drenched in disappointment because now each time I read the trope, I’ll know it can’t be true.
“Fiction. It’s a wonderful thing. It gives us the wings to soar and the permission to dream.” The captain says to me. “What do you do, Ms. Ferall?”
“I go by Libby, and I’m an independent editor. I mainly work on romance novels.”
Asa turns and smiles as if something clicks in his head. “I’m a recent Jude Deveraux fan. Have you read any of her work?”
I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up inside me. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”
He drapes his arm across my shoulders. “I can’t wait to talk to you about them. I see a book club in our future.”
I give him a little poke in his ribs. “I bet you do.”
When dessert arrives, Asa insists I take a bite of everything. I’ve never known a man so intent on making sure a woman enjoys her meal. When Tony took me out, he always told me the nutritional value of everything. Knowing that one bite of chocolate cake was the caloric equivalent of an average breakfast took away the joy of eating. But not one word came from Asa’s mouth about calories or sugar content.
I look across the dining room searching for Justice, but I don’t see her. Chances are she is on a dance floor in one of the clubs or she is behind a closed door with red beads hanging from the handle. Food isn’t a priority for her. That’s why she looks the way she does—skinny. We all have our vices. Hers is men, mine is chocolate. I take a final bite of the chocolate soufflé and set my spoon down. “What a perfect end to a perfect evening.”
