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CHAPTER FIVE
The Caribbean sun warmedmy skin while I sat poolside with the three widows sprawled in their chairs beside me.
"Now, this is the life," Sylvie said with a sigh. "I could just live on a cruise ship and call it a day."
"People do that, you know." Marge turned, her oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes. "I saw a special on it once. Retired people sell all their stuff, and for about the same price as owning a home and paying for all your food, you can live on a cruise ship."
"Really?" Sylvie straightened up. "I wonder if I could convince Tom to be a permanent resident of a cruise ship."
"I don't think I could do it," Doris fanned her face from the sun's heat. "It's been two days, and I still haven't found my sea legs. My anti-nausea patch still hasn't kicked in. I don't think I'm made for the high seas."
We'd been on this ship for two days ... two days since the welcome party where I'd last seen Alejandro.
I passed a glance around the pool, my gaze ignoring all the hot, young men splashing around it and searching for the only one who now had my attention.
Nothing. No sign of him.
My head had been on a constant swivel since that night, just hoping for a chance to see him again. I'd even found reasons to parade around near the command center, hoping to catch him coming or going from inside it, but I never snagged another glimpse of my lion.
"I bet Roxie would love living on a cruise ship." Marge crossed her legs, and I cringed against the visual of the hairy limbs with the one smooth strip breaking apart the forest.
"Pants, Marge. You need pants. Or like one of those old-style swimsuits they made ladies wear for modesty. I think those covered the legs."
Marge arched an eyebrow and uncrossed then crossed her legs again, this time slowly and bringing the horrific offender close to me in the gesture. "I think they look cool like this. I'm setting a trend. Like a reverse mohawk."
"That isnotgoing to be a trend." I waved a hand to get her legs away from me.
"Quit yer bitchin'. Just be happy I shaved my face because it ain't pretty with these Italian genes. Getting worse as I age. I swear I'd look like Dumbledore if I didn't shave every morning. I loveHarry Potter, and I love me some Dumbledore, but even I have a limit to what I'll allow. No beards for me unless I get invited to Hogwarts to be a wizard. Then maybe I would sport one."
"Oh, man." Sylvie sat straight up. "I'm so glad I'm not the only one getting a hairy face! I swear, every day, I have a new hair pop up. I'm on a wax schedule now that has the little buggers under control, but why didn't I know about this part of aging? It's mortifying."
"I have them too," Doris admitted. "I spend at least a half hour a night just tweezing away."
They all looked at me. I arched an eyebrow. "What? I don't have facial hair." I spat out the lie. "Disgusting."
"Oh, really?" Marge leaned forward. "None, huh? Not even a straggler?"
I reached for my cocktail, slipping the martini glass stem between my fingers. "Nope. Not a one."
Her lip twitched. "Interesting. Then what exactly is that long, curly, black thing spouting out of your neck?"
My eyes bulged out of my head as I slammed my drink back on the table and covered the side of my neck she pointed at. "What? Where?"
"It's been there for days." Marge grinned. "I've been calling it 'Hairy Potter' just waiting for you to notice it."
"Marge!" I screamed, heat flushing my face as I imagined it blowing in the wind as I'd talked to all the young men who'd approached me. "You didn't tell me?"
With a snort, she shook her head. "And ruin this moment of letting you know that you've got a boar hair sticking out of your perfect neck after you've spent days on a cruise ship with it? After what you put me through with the waxing, not on your life."
My wide eyes met Sylvie and Doris. "Did you see it? Is it really there?"
"I didn't notice it if it makes you feel better," Doris comforted.
"Me neither. But I don't tend to notice those things. My daughter came home with her nose pierced, and it was a week before I saw it."
