He said something to her and she laughed—that tinkling sound again.
Then she focused on me, and her mouth spread in a wide smile. She stuck her hand out to me.
“Natasha Ainsley.” Her voice had a slight accent that I couldn’t place.
Her smile was contagious. I smiled back and took her hand.
“Gia Santella.”
Shooting a glance at the older people surrounding us, she spoke in a low voice. “Happy to see someone my age here. We are going to have so much fun together. I think you’re my type of woman, Gia Santella.”
I was at little taken aback by how forward she was, but also secretly pleased.
We sat there grinning like fools at one another.
Just then, four massive SUV’s pulled up and a few dozen people our age showed up.
“Thank God,” Natasha said, reading my mind. We wouldn’t be the only people in our twenties aboard. She winked at me. “Let’s get this party started!”
She leaned over to me. “Are you into the Marvel Universe? You know, like The Avengers?”
I blinked. What the hell was she talking about? “Isn’t Marvel a comic book company?”
“Yes. TV and movies, too. Superhero stuff.”
What was she? Twelve? I shrugged. “Sorry, no.”
“What?” She drew back and looked at me with wide eyes. “Okay. Well, you look like one of The Defenders characters, Jessica Jones. You kind of remind me of her, too—your voice, your mannerisms.”
“Okay,” I said and lit a cigarette. “Cool.”
She eyed my cigarette hungrily, so I held out my pack. Her eyes flitted to her husband. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
But then she gave me a slow wink.
I smiled.
The younger group boarded the walkway
They were obviously Greek or Italian or Spanish. Men with black curly hair and blinding white smiles. Women with startling blue eyes against bronzed skin. Young. Sexy. Rich.
One man, at the front of the group, leaned back against the rail casually, facing Natasha and me. Slowly, he lifted his sunglasses, and his eyes roved my body. He ogled me nakedly, starting at my stiletto sandals and raking his gaze over me.
I watched him coolly, waiting for his eyes to reach mine. When they did, I lifted one eyebrow, stared pointedly at his crotch, and ran my tongue over my lips.
It had the desired effect. He quickly looked away.
Natasha, who had observed the entire subtle exchange, burst into tinkly laughter.
“We’re going to get along just fine.”
The smile on her face faded. She was looking over my shoulder toward the shore. Her cheeks blossomed pink.
“What is she doing here?” Her voice was low and vicious.
Turning, I saw a woman step onto the gangplank, flanked by two men pulling luggage racks stacked with suitcases. Even from here I could make out the Louis Vuitton logos. The woman wore a tight black dress, high-heeled black pumps and had her hair pulled back in a bun. She wore huge Jackie-O-style sunglasses. As she grew closer, I saw that she was older, maybe in her forties or fifties, it was hard to tell.
I shot a glance at Natasha. She was leaning over whispering to her husband. His brow was furrowed and he seemed to be trying to calm her down. The only words I could make out were him saying, “I have no idea.”
Before the woman in black reached us, Natasha tugged on Henry’s arm and pulled him to the front of the line waiting to board, pushing past other people. The captain released the red rope separating us from the ship, and the minor stampede to board began.
Chapter Four
Hair of the Dog
I lost track of Natasha and the woman in black as I boarded.
A man in white approached me immediately, introduced himself, and then guided me to my cabin.
My clothes had already been unpacked. My sandals and dresses were all neatly displayed in the closet. My stash of booze was lined up on the dresser, along with a welcome basket of dates, oranges, and grapes alongside a plate of gold-wrapped Godiva chocolates. A shelf above the headboard was filled with brand new candles in frosted glass containers.
The suite was insanely luxurious and yet comfortable and inviting at the same time.
I flopped on the bed, overwhelmed by loneliness and grief. I couldn’t help but imagine walking into this cabin suite with Bobby. I’d take his hand, lead him to the bed and undress him, kiss every inch of him, and then spend the rest of the day making love to him. We would emerge for the formal dinner, our faces flushed, our bodies still tender. Everyone would look at us and know—and not only because I’d have that freshly-fucked look—makeup a little smeared, hair a little messy, a languid, sleepy contentment suffusing every inch of my body.
But no.
I was here in this cabin by myself. I poured some bourbon, gulped it down, and then poured another few fingers into the crystal glass. I repeated it until a fuzzy glow overcame me. I flopped on my back and stared at the ceiling, denying that the wetness sliding down my cheeks was tears. I woke curled in the fetal position, shivering from the aggressive air conditioning with the setting sun coating everything in the cabin with a surreal orange glow.
My head pounded. At first I reached for my bag to unearth some pills, but then I thought, “Fuck it. I’m going full hair-of-the-dog on this trip.” I turned up the thermostat to seventy-seven degrees, poured another drink, and brought it into the shower with me. I stood under the pounding water and sipped my drink until I felt halfway normal again.
When I was done with my shower, I peered into the closet.
What I wanted to do was pull on my soft and worn-in leather pants and a cozy sweater, but the dinner invitation that had been slipped under my door said formal wear was required.
I tugged on an ankle-length black dress with spaghetti straps. It had a deep scoop neck, but revealed no cleavage. The back of the dress dipped down to my lower back, revealing a long slice of my spine, but nothing inappropriate. It would do. I slipped on long dangling emerald earrings that had been my mothers, two slashes of Kohl eyeliner and called it a win.
The dining room was like a Titanic scene. A sweeping staircase deposited us in the room. Women wore floor-length, bedazzled gowns with white gloves. Are you fucking kidding me? And men wore tuxedos. Armani, no doubt.
Another white-coated attendant took my arm. “Miss Santella, I will escort you to your seat.”
I gave him a double take. How did he know my name? He led me to a table at the rear of the room where I saw Natasha and her husband already seated.
Henry rose and kissed both my cheeks. Natasha pulled out the chair beside her. “Please sit by me!” She leaned over and whispered, “I asked for them to seat you at our table. I hope you don’t mind?”
I was flattered, but didn’t know how to answer so I simply smiled.
It felt strange, but also good to have someone want my company. I can’t say that it’s always been that way in my life. Especially when it came to women my age. Most of the time, they liked me to sit far, far away from their husband or boyfriends, which always confused me, since the last thing I was into was home-wrecking.
Natasha was turned toward me, talking, but kept her hand behind her holding Henry’s. Every once in a while, she would turn to him and kiss him on the cheek.
“Are you a newlywed?” I asked, eyes narrowing.
Her laugh was infectious. “Hardly. Six months now. But to be honest, I feel like a newlywed. Henry treats me like a princess. I’m so lucky.”
When the waiter brought a plate of sushi as an appetizer, Natasha plucked one off the communal plate for Henry and then passed the plate to me.
“You don’t like sushi? I’ll eat yours.”
She smiled. “I normally do, but …” She gestured to her abdomen.
It took me a few seconds to get it. “Oh,” I said. “Oh. Are you… are you…?”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “We’re trying.”
But then s
he grew somber and said in a low voice, “It’s been six months. I’m heartbroken it’s taking so long. That’s why Henry took me on this cruise. I was depressed. The doctor said maybe the stress of trying and having nothing happen was causing nothing to happen.”
I nodded. I didn’t know much about trying to get knocked up—since I’d spent my entire adult life trying not to get that way—but I plastered a sympathetic look on my face.
I eyed her glass of wine. She lifted her chin, haughtily. “In France, all pregnant women drink.”
I didn’t know if that was true or not, but it seemed like another good reason to move to Paris.
Henry cleared his throat and she brightened. Whether it was fake or not I didn’t know, but she smiled and took Henry’s arm.
“I have the most marvelous plan,” she said. “Henry and I discussed it this afternoon. There are so many excursions I want to take on this cruise, but right before we left, Henry’s doctor said he should probably sit most of them out. We are visiting some friends of Henry’s in Ibiza. But for the other excursions, I was wondering if you might want to go with me. To keep me company. You don’t already have your excursions planned, do you? The last time to sign up is tomorrow morning. If you go with me, we’ll pay for the excursions, won’t we, sugar?”
Henry nodded, lifting an eyebrow.
“That sounds great,” I said. “On one condition—I pay my own way.”
Natasha pouted.
“I insist.”
Henry met my eyes and nodded. “Fair enough.”
Natasha took out the brochure of excursions from her bag, and we spread it over the table.
“This sounds phenomenal.” I pointed to an excursion to explore St. Michael’s Cave in Gibraltar. “Want to do this one?”
She hesitated and then smiled. “Um, sure. I’m a little freaked out by underground, but maybe it will be okay.”
Henry laughed. “It’ll be fine. It’s as big as a house inside.”
“If you say so, honey,” she said and squeezed his arm.
Natasha mentioned wanting to swim with the dolphins in Gibraltar while we were there, and I readily agreed.
“It looks like we get there early morning and don’t leave until close to midnight. We can do both.”
Then I spotted the tour of Tangier and Casablanca. “This one looks like fun.” I held the brochure up to Natasha.
She paused. Her brow furrowed. She didn’t answer.
Henry said, “You talked about wanting to do that when I first mentioned the cruise.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe you didn’t pick that one first.”
She shifted and looked down. “When is that again?
“Second to last port—right before Lisbon.”
Her mouth formed a small circle. “Oh. For some reason, I’d thought it was one of the early stops. It doesn’t matter, though.” Then she smiled. “Yes, yes, let’s sign up for that one, too. For sure. Silly me. That’s been my dream since I was little.”
Henry said, “I can’t believe you’d even hesitate. That was one reason I picked this cruise line.”
She looked distressed. She pinched her lips tightly together, and her cheeks blossomed red.
“Darling?” Henry took her hand in his.
She exhaled. “I guess I feel guilty. I thought maybe one day I could just stay on board with you, and we could hang by the pool. When we talked about going to Casablanca, I’d thought we could go together. I didn’t know your stuffy doctor would restrict you to the ship. I would feel so badly leaving you here alone.” She seemed sheepish.
“Nonsense!” Henry said heartily. “You and Gia are going to do that excursion. No debate.”
She smiled, but it was still a tight smile. “Okay. I’ll be sure to sign us up at the desk first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said.
I noticed her features darken, but she was looking at a group at another table. The woman in black was holding court. All heads were turned toward her. I could barely make out her voice, but she said something, held up her wine glass, and everyone burst into laughter and applause. Without the large sunglasses that had hid her face earlier, I could see she was beautiful in an Isabella Rossellini-type way.
“Is she Italian?” I said to Natasha.
My new friend looked at me with wide, horrified eyes. I realized I’d made a major faux pas bringing up the woman in her presence.
Natasha quickly gulped down her wine and then turned toward Henry. She slipped her hand into his lap and I was certain it was to make sure his attention was fully on her.
When the waiter brought Henry’s plate, Natasha scraped the au gratin potatoes off onto a small plate. She did the same with hers. “We need to watch your cholesterol, Henry. Maybe we can have some for lunch tomorrow, but let’s skip it for tonight, okay?”
Henry didn’t disagree. Why would he? She made it sound so reasonable.
Henry winked at me. “She’s always careful about what I eat. Keeping me on track. Says she wants to keep me around a while.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “What are you fifty?”
It elicited the desired laughter I’d hoped for.
“Add two decades onto that,” he said.
I widened my eyes in surprise. “You’re kidding?”
Later, after the waiter cleared our dessert plates and Henry stood, waiting by her chair.
I glanced over at the other table, but the woman in black was already gone.
“Let’s hang out tonight,” Natasha said, lacing her fingers through mine. I pulled my hand away. I wasn’t used to her affection. It made me slightly uncomfortable. “Henry is an old fuddy-duddy and goes to bed early. But I’m ready to party. Let’s go hit the club. We can dance until we drop.”
Henry laughed and leaned over to kiss her brow. “Have fun, you two.”
As soon as Henry left, Natasha leaned toward me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Got any of those cigarettes?”
On the Riviera Deck, we stood outside, leaning against the rail, smoking.
“What’s up with that woman? The one in black?” I said.
“Long story. She and Henry had a thing once. She always manages to pop up wherever we are. They still share the same circle of friends, so I have to see her everywhere: Cannes. Rio. Aspen. St. Tropez. I don’t know how she possibly knew we were taking this cruise. She’s such a witch. She’s only here to make my life hell.”
“That sucks,” I said.
“Tell me about it.” She exhaled an expert stream of smoke in front of us that drifted out over the dark sea below. Not a smoker, my ass.
“Let’s not talk about her,” she said. “Let’s talk about you. Why are you here alone, Giada Valentina Santella?”
“Long story,” I said, repeating her own words.
“Give me the Cliff Notes.”
“My boyfriend died last year. My gay best friend thought this cruise would help me get over it.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” She blinked rapidly. Was she crying?
For some reason, I didn’t want to tell her that Bobby had been murdered. I wasn’t sure why.
Natasha leaned over, arching her neck toward me to see my face.
“Oh, Gia. How awful.”
Her breast was touching my bare arm. She left it there. I wasn’t sure if it was an accident or on purpose, but I moved away. It’s not that I’ve never imagined being with a woman. I mean, women are sexy. But right now, I had quite a few objections to being hit on by my new friend. For one, Natasha was married.
Shit like that counts for me.
I may have slept around a little—okay, a lot. But once I committed to monogamy, that was it.
In addition, I didn’t need someone else to have sex with. God knows that’s never been a problem for me. What I really needed was a friend. A platonic friend. A homegirl. Darling was right.
Sex always fucked up friendships. Period.
Natasha must have sensed my though
ts, because she backed off. She flicked her cigarette butt into the sea below us.
I made a face. “That’s classy.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re right. Nobody should litter. I’m such an awful person. Please forgive me.” She took my hand again in hers. “I’ve been hanging out with a douchey crowd in Cannes for too long. They are pigs when you think about it. I’ve developed some terribly horrendous habits as a result. I’m sorry. I need more friends like you.”
I forgave her.
“Let’s go find that club. I need to move,” I said.
The Star Bar was a club at one end of the Baja Deck. It had low ceilings, low lighting, and lots of sweaty bodies. The dance floor was packed. It looked like the entire crowd of Greek young people were there, plus some other people I’d never seen who must have boarded after us. The ship held 300 people so there were most definitely new faces. I made a point to dance with the cutest ones. The DJ was good, and Natasha and I danced for three hours before we both slumped, exhausted, in a corner booth.
“God, I needed that,” I said to her. “Thanks.”
Gulping her third glass of water in as many minutes, Natasha pushed back her damp bangs and yawned. “Me, too. We should do this every night. Plus, it’ll help burn off the calories from all this rich food.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about shit like that.”
She eyed me. “Well, you probably don’t have to.”
I shrugged.
“If I had your curves, I wouldn’t worry as much, either. But any weight I gain goes to my gut. Not attractive.”
“Shut up. You are fucking gorgeous.”
“I agree.” A voice said. I looked up. A blond woman stood over our table.
She was petite and curvy and wore a silver tank top and tight black leggings. She had big blue eyes and dimples.
“Do you want to dance?” She ignored me. She was speaking to Natasha.
I watched Natasha take the woman in and then smile. “Well,” she hesitated and looked at me.
“I’m beat,” I said. “I’m heading to bed.”
Natasha hesitated for a second and then said, “Me, too. Thanks anyway.”
Black Widow Page 3