Chapter 21

Suddenly Single—What a Trip!

Hi, Trixie. It's Ned. After that disastrous talk with Shelby, I felt so low I ended up at the casino, trying to distract myself. Bad idea. I lost a whole pile of money, and now I'm green around the gills just thinking about it. It seems like I'm proving her right without meaning to. What a mess.

Busted on the ship,

Ned

Dear Busted,

Looks like Lady Luck took your dejection as an invitation to play hide-and-seek—with your wallet! Remember, casinos are like the sea—unpredictable and often unfriendly. Maybe it's time to steer clear of those choppy waters and find a hobby on dry land. How about knitting? It's harder to lose your shirt that way. In the meantime, enjoy a nice cocktail while seated by the sea.

XOXO Trixie

That nightafter getting back to the ship, Ransom invited me to dinner and, of course, I couldn't, wouldn't say no to the invite—or to the man who gave it.

After showering, I did a quick change into a sparkling nude-colored dress that hits just above the knee—a knockout of a frock that Elodie sent up as a part of the land-Ransom-between-the-sheets package. I also threw on a pair of nude-colored kitten heels before zipping to deck seventeen where Ransom stands looking dashing in an inky dark suit, his hair slicked back to reveal some salt and pepper at the temples.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmurs as he pulls me into a tight embrace.

"Hello, hot stuff," I say with a laugh on my lips as our mouths crash into a hungry kiss.

There's something happening here tonight, something electric, something terrifying, and I have a feeling these are the last few vestiges of normalcy the two of us will ever have.

"Hey"—he pulls back enough to examine me as I try my best to blink back tears—"it's okay. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want. We can just enjoy the night."

I blink past him into the open maw of the cheery-looking establishment. I let Ransom choose the place we'd dine tonight, and when he suggested the Mariner's Magical Whisper, I felt as if it was kismet.

The Mariner's Magical Whisper is the only establishment on the Emerald Queen with a paranormal flair to it. And honestly, I couldn't think of anything more appropriate.

It's as if he already knows my secret—and he should. I've told him more than a handful of times since we left Fort Lauderdale.

"Shall we?" He holds out his arm like a true gentleman, and for some reason, my heart is breaking.

"We shall," I say as I hook my arm to his.

The moment Ransom and I step into the Mariner's Magical Whisper it feels like we've been transported into a paranormal fairyland. It's cozy inside, a dimly lit sanctuary from the bustling energy of the ship with votive candles dotting each and every tabletop. The waitstaff is dressed as fairies and other magical creatures, and it makes you feel as if you've stepped into a fairytale—one gone awry because I'm about to inject a ghost into the situation.

The restaurant is known for its fusion of Caribbean flavors with French cuisine and is a hidden gem on the Emerald Queen, offering an intimate dining experience that's perfect for what I need to share tonight—if indeed I decide to go there. And in my heart, I already know the answer to that.

We're greeted with the soft sound of a jazz trio playing in the corner, their happy tunes bleating through the air and mingling with the hushed conversations. The décor is a tasteful blend of elegance and nautical charm, with walls adorned with murals of the sea while gauzy curtains flutter ever so slightly with the air conditioning.

Ransom, ever the gentleman, pulls out a chair for me at a secluded table by the window that offers a breathtaking view of the starlit ocean stretching endlessly into the night. The table is set impeccably with crystal glasses that catch the light and cast prisms around the room. The silverware is so polished you can see your reflection in it.

Currently, my reflection is ghastly, mostly because of the grimace I can't seem to lose. Confessing anything to anyone has never been my strong suit.

A waitress dressed in a lime-green tutu with butterfly wings on her back presents us with menus bound in buttery-soft leather. The scent of the sea mingles with the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen—grilled lobster, coconut-infused sauces, and the sweet tang of pineapple and mango. I have a feeling we're about to be promised a culinary journey that mirrors the adventure we've been on together. Yet nothing seems more adventurous—or potentially hazardous—than the conversation staring us in the face.

I quickly peruse the menu and nod. "The ceviche trio sounds amazing," I say, trying to sound light and breezy while my heart does its best to leap right out of my throat and onto a plate—doing its best impression of an appetizer itself. "Mango, lime, and a hint of jalape?o."

Jalape?o? Really?

I've never been one to increase the heat level of my meals, but tonight I think I'd rather take the heat physically than emotionally.

Although if Ransom's mouth is on fire, he might be less inclined to care that I can see the dead—because he just might rather be dead himself.

"Sounds perfect." Ransom nods as his eyes scan the menu, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere. "How about we follow it up with the spicy jerk chicken? We may as well take the heat all the way."

All the way to the bedroom, I muse to myself.

But I know I can't lure Ransom to my cabin or his before we cross the supernatural finish line. A part of me wants to blurt it all out right now and get it over with.

I agree to adding a little more spice to our lives and allow myself to get lost in the anticipation of the meal. But once the waitress takes our order, the reality of why we're here comes crashing back. Like it or not, the hardest, and probably the most heated, part of the evening is still ahead of me.

Tonight, I'm going to reveal to Ransom, once and for all, that ghosts aren't just part of my imagination but a very real part of my world. And I'm going to drive that point home no matter what the cost.

I reach across the table and take his hand. The warmth and his strength are both a comfort and a reminder of what's at stake. If I lose Ransom, it will feel as if I've lost everything.

"I see you're in the mood for some heat this evening," he teases, giving my hand a squeeze.

"I take it you're talking about the food," I tease right back.

"I am." His brows knit with concern and I'm betting it has nothing to do with food.

"The hotter the better," I say with no conviction behind it. "Maybe we can get the chefs to dust our food with ghost pepper while we're at it." It seems appropriate.

"Are you trying to test my bravery?" He's right back to teasing, and I can appreciate his attempt at levity.

Lord knows I need it.

"If I wanted to test your bravery, I'd challenge you to a dance-off," I say with a wink. "But then, I wouldn't want to embarrass either of us in front of the jazz trio."

Although, for as much as Ransom doesn't care to bust a move on the dance floor, he's actually pretty good at it.

"Agree." His chest rumbles with a dark laugh and that's the sound I live for. "Let's not steal their thunder. Tonight's about indulging in delicious dishes while I bask in your brilliant company."

"You do know how to slay me with words," I say as the candlelight flickers between us. "If you're lucky, I might just let you twirl me under the moonlight yet." I toast him with the glass of water in front of me. "Here's to a dance to remember. That is, if you want to be anywhere near me after you hear what I have to say."

He frowns at the thought. "Trixie," he says my name just south of a reprimand. "I can't underscore enough that no matter what you have to say, it won't change my feelings for you. I'm in this for better or for worse," he says, offering my hand a kiss just as the appetizers land before us. "You can trust me. I'm not walking away from you. Not now, not ever."

I'll admit, a swell of relief fills me just hearing it.

"Okay. Brace yourself. You're about to get the inside scoop all about me. And believe me when I say, it's a tale like nothing you've heard before. But first, let's do dinner. Or else, you might just lose your appetite."

He growls and frowns at the same time but more or less complies.

Soon enough, we endure the heat of both the ceviche trio and the spicy jerk chicken. We order dessert, a chocolate cheesecake for both of us, and we're about halfway through when a thought hits me.

"So what did the coroner's report have to say?"