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Now that I have a strategy, it's time to put the game in motion.
I shower and apply my makeup, not too much, but enough color and shine to stand out. The next step is my hair. Pulling itback from my face, I tuck it into a sophisticated bun and secure it with a silver clip. After searching the closet, I put on a low-cut black cocktail dress and black strappy sandals. Dressed, I slip a black lace shawl over my shoulders and head to the dining room.
I'm full of both dread and anticipation as I make my entrance and saunter to the table we'd occupied at lunch, Iris and the other three ladies already there. I'm a few yards away when Dane comes out of the kitchen and sees me. He makes an abrupt halt.
And gawks.
I give him a dazzling smile and sit at the table, a sinister chuckle escaping my throat.
"You look lovely, dear." Iris beams at me. "Your entrance has attracted quite a bit of attention, especially from the staff. Keep it up, and you'll be able to take your pick."
"Always the hussy. I'm sure Brittany has more decorum than that," Dahlia snaps, her comment followed by a scowl at Iris.
I smile at the two ladies, amused by their continued banter, which I'm hoping is in jest.
Rose nudges me with her elbow. "They're sisters and would do anything for each other regardless of the jabbing comments. It's all show."
"It is not," Dahlia retorts with her nose pointed upward.
"You love me, and you know it," Iris laughs.
"I do not." Dahlia's denial is followed by another scowl.
"My sister calls me 'hussy' because I've been married a few times," Iris says in her ever-present happy voice.
"Six times, to be exact." Dahlia snaps the words out with an arch of her brow. "We'll see if she can refrain from making it seven."
Rose reaches over and lightly touches my arm. "Dahlia and I are widows with one marriage each. Marigold has never been married, and Iris, as you can see, keeps a separate bank account dedicated to divorce lawyers."
Iris's face lights up, and she smiles mischievously. "Not true. I make my husband pay my lawyer fees."
I can't help but giggle at the ladies, who once again dress in pastels. But this time, they're decked out in makeup and an assortment of jewelry. A scan of the tables nearby tells me dinner in the main dining room is one of the highlights of the cruise, with jeans and stretchy pants replaced by slacks, blazers, dresses, and pantsuits.
"Oh, look, my dear. Your adorable gentleman friend is coming to our table," Iris says.
I look toward the kitchen to see Dane coming toward me with a bottle of wine in each hand. And he's smiling.
Hmm. I'll have to put a stop to that.
"Good evening, Miss Bri…"
"Madam. You can call me madam." I give him a broad smile, which contradicts my unease.
"Madam, may I pour you some wine?" Dane eyes me warily. "I have a white and a red. They're both Hungarian wines. The white is sweeter and lighter."
My gaze slides around the table, and I notice the ladies already have wine. "The white, please."
Dane leans forward, his body several inches from mine, and fills my glass. My pulse quickens, with him standing so close, and my eyes shift to his hand as he holds the bottle. He has long, nicely shaped fingers, and I remember how they felt when they touched me, the tips pinching my nipples and sliding down my skin.
No! You can't go there. Stop. Stop. Stop!I turn away, dropping my gaze to my lap.
"Ah, you've met my friend Dane," Luka says, coming to our table. He's our waiter from lunch this afternoon, his nametag pinned to his vest. "Dane usually works upstairs in the lounge but is helping me this evening."
"You two are friends?" Iris eyes Luka as if he were a piece of candy she's dying to pop into her mouth.
I can't blame her. The man is gorgeous with short-cropped hair, a nice build, model-like facial features, and a foreign accent.
"Yes, of course. We're coworkers and friends. This is Dane's first season on a cruise ship, so I'm showing him the ropes. He's learning from the expert," Luka teases as he grins at the ladies.
