Cruising With Miss Christmas (Cruisin’ With Curves)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ E lspeth.”

My brother’s image, the planes of his face hard with displeasure, fills my vision. His voice is strangely and incongruously soft, gentle, almost deferentially sweet. His whispered tones confuse my already woolly mind.

What on earth is going on? Why is my brother trying to wake me?

“Elspeth!”

His voice is more insistent now. His hand touches my arm. I jump at his touch so vigorously that I almost headbutt him in the face.

“Elspeth….argh!” he cries, his accent strangely morphing from his usual Scottish lilt to Italian as he recoils to avoid coming into contact with my jolted head.

I open one eye, not quite able to understand what’s going on. My head feels heavy and my mind is reeling. The prickle of my skin under the glare of the sun is the first reminder I have that I’m not in Scotland anymore. And that I’m not in my bed on our family farm, but on a sun lounger on the Infinity Voyager, currently cruising in the glorious Caribbean.

And that the man trying to rouse me is not in fact my brother, Lennox, but Lorenzo, the incredibly handsome Italian barman who has been making me the most delicious cocktails I’ve ever tasted in my life, and generally looking after me since I embarked two days ago.

And that the reason I have a woolly head is because, for the first time in my life, I have a hangover. And it is a killer.

I open my other eye. The midday sun sears my brain and I yelp. I grope towards the table next to my sun lounger for my sunglasses.

“You are wearing them,” observes Lorenzo, trying and failing to stop his lips curving into a smile.

“This is your fault, you know,” I grumble. I groan as I struggle into a sitting position. The movement makes my head pound.

“You would hate me even more if you developed heat stroke. Here, drink this.”

“What is it? Vodka?”

“Water.”

I take the glass and sip it gingerly.

“Is it going to stay down?” Lorenzo asks.

I take another testing sip then nod.

“Good.”

He sets the glass on my table. He tweaks the strand of tinsel wrapped around my parasol then stands back to admire his work.

“Excellent. You’ll be right as rain in no time. Now, don’t forget, the Christmas karaoke contest starts in ten minutes.”

“Sounds exciting,” I groan, resting my head back against the lounger and closing my eyes.

“It is. You are on last, I think. Just keep your ears open. The compere will call you up…”

“Uh, what? Why would…um, no, Lorenzo. I’m not singing.”

“Ah, you did put your name down.”

I sigh. I wasn’t aware that awakening a previously dormant impulsive streak was a side-effect of turning twenty-five. This is not the first terrible decision I’ve made recently.

“Shall I get you a drink?” Lorenzo asks.

I nod.

“Do you like pina colada?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I mutter with a sigh.

I stare out over the sparkling expanse of the ship’s eponymous infinity pool. My plan is to keep my eyes locked on the horizon and to somehow block out the throng of people who have packed into the Aqua Bar and are currently waiting for me to start singing a Christmas song.

Between the throbbing of my own pulse, Lorenzo’s words echo in my ears, “The prize is dinner with the Captain at the Christmas Ball.”

It seemed like too good an opportunity to turn down when I was seven cocktails in, but now in the baking light of day and before what feels like the majority of the passengers aboard, I’m regretting my life choices. Again.

I mean, I don’t regret my last-minute decision to join the Infinity Voyager’s world-famous Christmas cruise. I’m loving every second of this luxury yuletide-in-summer experience. However, right now I could do with a lie down in a dark room and some silence. But there are what feel like thousands of faces looking up at me, waiting for me to sing In the Bleak Midwinter.

Banging song choice, I know.

The compere flashes a dazzling smile and encourages the crowd to cheer as he plonks the microphone in my hand. I take a deep breath and allow my eyes to close for a moment. But as they flutter shut, a streak of ginger flashes across my vision.

No, that’s not possible. It can’t be him. He can’t be here.

A polite cough from the compere reminds me that I’m supposed to be singing. I push my wayward thoughts to the back of my mind and begin to sing.

The final note of the song hangs in the air over the infinity pool for a fleeting moment. My eyes catch his over the gently lapping blue water of the pool. The air chokes from my lungs.

How can this be?

Our eyes remain locked together as a wave of sound rises through the bar, swelling until it becomes too much for the confines of the bar area and crashes down over us like a wave breaking on the shore.

The crowd bay their appreciation of my efforts, and the compere takes my hand, raising it aloft and proclaiming me the winner. Applause rattles my eardrums. I try to smile, try to be grateful for their kind regard, but I’m lost.

Hector Daigh is here. Right here, on the Infinity Voyager.

The crowd jostles at the bar, with passengers cramming to congratulate the contestants. The compere flashes a final smile and jumps from the bar, melting into the crowd. Something bumps against my leg, a stray arm perhaps, who knows, and my legs wobble. There’s no room to correct my feet and I topple from the bar.

I press my eyes closed and wait for the impact. But it doesn’t come. Strong arms break my fall. Many strong arms. I open my eyes to a blaze of blue as I’m hoisted into the air.

What is happening?

I lie frozen on the bed of hands that holds me aloft. They chant my name as the precarious platform below me starts to move.

“Hey, put me down…” I protest, but my erstwhile saviours are intent on displaying me to my adoring crowd.

If I wasn’t dying of embarrassment before, I sure am now.

I protest again, but my cries go unnoticed over the cheers of the crowd. I grit my teeth as we parade round the pool, waiting in rigid fury for the moment my feet are back on the ground.

We make a final turn and the bar comes into view. Thank goodness. The crowds are beginning to disperse, with passengers returning to their sun loungers, drinks, and holiday reading. At the bar, Lorenzo gives me a sympathetic smile as he wipes the bar top.

My champions seem to sense that the finishing line is in sight too. One, lured by the prospect of a chilled beer proffered by a companion, leaves his post, destabilising the already precarious balance beneath me. The sudden gap in provision causes my head to dip towards the sparkling waters of the pool.

Panic ensues amongst my bearers, whose efforts to rectify the problem serve only to cause more chaos. With all the elegance of a sack of potatoes falling off the back of a truck, I find myself unceremoniously plunged into the pool.

I don’t even have time to scream.