Sneak Peek!
Days of Our Knives Cruise
Book Description:
From all-you-can-eat buffets to Broadway-worthy musicals, a library full of yummy BOOKS, the Emerald Queen has them all. Don't miss out on friendships, romance, and mystery. All board! Take a cruise today without packing a bag!
Cosmopolitan Magazine calls Addison's books, “…easy, frothy fun!”
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
A Note From Addison
Hello, dear reader! It’s me—Addison! *waves*
I usually tuck my note at the very end of the book, but this time I’m putting it right up front. I simply couldn’t help myself because I had to tell you how much fun I had writing this story!
I grew up watching just about every soap opera I could get my eyeballs on. And when the VCR came along? Let’s just say I no longer had to resort to creative methods to keep up with my stories. By the time I was in college, I fully confess to scheduling my classes in a way that allowed for maximum soap-watching while I was supposedly studying (it was research into my future story-telling career!).
When Luke and Laura got married, my mom drove my sister and me straight to my aunt’s house, where every one of my aunts was assembled and ready to witness the biggest, soapiest wedding of all time.
And when Jenny fell off that jet ski? She took my little heart right along with her.
Oh—and that time that a serial killer was roaming Salem? You can bet I enjoyed every mystery-loving minute of it. And don’t even get me started on Victor and Nikki Newman. It’s not too late for them to adopt me, right?
And really? A certain soap never gave us enough of Tad and Dixie!
All of which brings me to one serious confession. Since we’re already fully embroiled in daytime drama, I’ll just say it—hand to Heaven, this was the most fun I’ve ever had writing a book! I hope the joy that I felt, and just a touch of delicious absurdity that goes hand-in-hand with soap territory, comes through on every page. (Okay, fine, there might be a LOT of absurdity, but it’s the soaps, I was practically mandated.) The soap operas in my book are all fictional, but the heart and soul of every soap I’ve ever watched is in there.
And in classic soap fashion, don’t miss the big twist at the end. Because honestly? It changes everything. (I mean it!)
Oh—and that twist I just hinted at? It’s not what you think. In fact, you’ll want to read the special preview of the next book in the series to fully appreciate it.
Bon voyage, and happy reading!
XOXO Addison Quartermaine
I mean, Addison Newman
Okay, fine, I mean Addison Kane
Okay, this is really it—Addison Jax (if you know, you know!)
XO Addison DiMera 😉
Itinerary: Norwegian Fjords Cruise (10 Days)
Day 1: Departure from Greenwich, England
Day 2: At Sea
Day 3: Stavanger, Norway (Pulpit Rock cliffs, charming old town, oil capital intrigue)
Day 4: At Sea / Scenic Fjord Cruising
Day 5: Flam / Sognefjord, Norway (deepest fjord, Flam Railway, tiny village)
Day 6: At Sea / Scenic Fjord Cruising
Day 7: Geiranger, Norway (Seven Sisters waterfall, UNESCO site, isolated village)
Day 8: At Sea
Day 9: Bergen, Norway (Colorful Bryggen wharf, fish market, funicular to Mount Fløyen)
Day 10: Copenhagen, Denmark (Disembarkation)
Hey there, mystery-loving readers!
Ready to join me aboard the Emerald Queen for the most dramatic—and potentially deadly—Norwegian fjords cruise ever? I’ve packed my warmest sweaters, my waterproof boots, and enough chocolate bonbons to survive whatever soap opera chaos awaits! From the towering cliffs of Stavanger to the breathtaking Geiranger fjord, I’m determined to soak up every drop of Nordic magic—along with plenty of aquavit and those divine Norwegian cinnamon buns that make life worth living.
Here’s to fjords, a little mystery, and hopefully keeping the body count to a minimum this time around. But I have a sinking feeling that this time, the drama won’t stay on the screen.
XOXO Trixie
Day 1: Departure from Greenwich, England
“I’m not looking at a single man on this entire cruise.” Bess crosses her arms over her chest hard enough to crack a rib. “Not one. I don’t care if he’s serving drinks, serving dinner, or serving time. My eyes are staying firmly fixed on the horizon. I’ve had it with men. Besides, dating at my age should be illegal.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about cruise ship life, it’s that a woman can only swear off men until the next devastatingly handsome specimen walks by. Which, on the Emerald Queen of the Seas, happens approximately every seven minutes.
“Oh sure.” Nettie honks out a laugh that could wake the dead—which, considering my new talent, isn’t just a figure of speech anymore. “Just like you swore off chocolate for breakfast, and I caught you inhaling six chocolate croissants from the buffet this morning like they might sprout legs and escape.”
“That was called emotional support pastries,” Bess shoots back, her red hair shaking with indignation. “Besides, we’re in England, it’s practically cultural immersion.”
We’re actually standing in the three-story atrium of the Emerald Queen of the Seas, surrounded by all nineteen decks of her glorious floating opulence. Outside the Greenwich port terminal, the controlled chaos of embarkation day swirls with luggage carts rattling by like miniature freight trains, taxi drivers honking with glee, and seagulls conducting targeted bombing raids on anyone daring enough to carry exposed food.
Inside, the ship gleams with enough crystal chandeliers to make a Vegas casino feel underdressed. Fresh orchids spill from Venetian glass vases, and there’s enough marble underfoot to impress Italy. The entire ship holds the scent of fresh ocean air, expensive perfume, and that particular scent of anticipation that comes with a brand new cruise on the horizon.
My name is Trixie Troublefield Baxter, and at forty-nine, I never expected to be living on a cruise ship. But here I am—the ship’s art instructor no less, greeting passengers alongside my handsome husband, who makes other women walk into walls. Literally. I’ve witnessed three collisions in the past hour alone.
Bess Chatterley stands to my left in a sensible blue cardigan and pressed slacks, looking every inch the retired home economics teacher she is. An eighty-something redhead as sharp as a razor, she taught at Honey Hollow High for thirty years before her husband, the cheating dentist, traded her in for his secretary. Now she lives on the cruise ship, systematically draining his bank account one shore excursion at a time. It’s the kind of revenge that comes with complimentary turndown service, and I am here for it, especially since I’m doing the exact same thing.
Nettie Butterworth bounces beside her, wearing a rhinestone-bedazzled captain’s hat from the gift shop and a tropical print muumuu that could cause eye damage at fifty feet. Nettie is also in her eighties, she has wild gray curls, and a past that includes what she loosely calls farming in Vermont.
A little over a year ago, both of these wonderful women convinced me to make the Emerald Queen my permanent address after my ex decided our marriage vows were more or less helpful suggestions.
“Welcome aboard!” I chirp to the next wave of passengers, and my smile is starting to feel like it’s been stapled in place.
Ransom steps in close next to me, and I swear three women near the fountain just started fanning themselves with their boarding passes.
At fifty-four, Ransom Courtland Baxter, my far too handsome husband, is six feet plus of former FBI agent wrapped in a crisp black suit that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His dark hair has just enough silver at the temples to make him look distinguished, and those blue eyes could melt polar ice caps—and I’m pretty sure they have. The man’s jawline alone could slice hard cheese, and when he does smile, which is about as rare as a solar eclipse, it’s a devastating look that makes women forget their own names, and maybe the names of their friends and family, too. Ransom just so happens to be the Head of Vessel Security, and he’s not only intimidating, he’s the kind of hot that makes rational women make irrational decisions.
“That dress should be illegal, Mrs. Baxter,” he murmurs, moving close enough that his cologne, something woodsy and expensive, makes every last one of my neurons misfire.
I bite down a smile. “Too much cleavage for greeting duty?”
“Too much temptation for a working man.” His eyes do that slow sweep that makes me tingle from head to toe. “I’m supposed to be maintaining ship security, and yet here I am, fantasizing about the most beautiful woman on it.”
A tiny laugh bubbles from me. “That’s highly unprofessional, Detective.”
“Good thing I’ve never been accused of being professional.”
A woman glances our way, and as soon as she locks eyes on my handsome hubby, she walks straight into a potted plant the size of a wine barrel.
“Oh wow.” I tap my finger on his chest. “I think that’s number four today. I really should start keeping score.” I lick my lips and wink at him.
Wes clears his throat from his post to our left, looking dapper in his captain’s whites, his dimples flashing like they’re part of the uniform. With that dark hair and those green eyes, he’s basically maritime catnip.
He nods our way with a smile. “Perhaps we could save the shameless flirting for after hours?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Elodie pipes up next to him. Elodie would be one of my on-ship besties. She originally hails from South Africa and is a textbook man-eater. With her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the sea air, those pale blue eyes that don’t miss a naughty thing, and twenty years of cruising experience under her belt, she’s essentially a predator in designer heels. Lucky for her, she gets those heels at a steep discount since she manages the queen’s mall here on the ship. “Loosen up, Captain. Some of us want to see the sparks fly before dinner.” She nods my way. “Go ahead and devour him, Trixie. I’ll record every delicious minute of it on my phone for posterity—and for a few online sites that would pay the big bucks for this.”
Tinsley doesn’t even look up from her clipboard. “I don’t care if you show cleavage from your boobs or your toes, Trixie,” she says, finally giving my cobalt blue dress a once-over, “but I had better not see a dead body this time around. We’re still arguing with insurance about the last one.” She taps her watch as her chestnut hair falls in a glossy wave over one shoulder. “And as fascinating as this mating ritual is, some of us have actual work to do.” Tinsley would be our resident cruise director and president of the I do not care for Trixie Troublefield Baxter fan club.
“Some of us need to get under a man now and again,” Nettie whispers loud enough for the crew in the engine room to hear and earns a scandalized gasp from Tinsley. “What?” Nettie squawks. “At my age, you take your thrills where you can find them. My grandmother always said, ‘If you can’t run with the big dogs, at least try to sniff their behinds.’”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes,” Bess grunts. “Speaking of trouble on the horizon,” she says, nodding toward the gangway, “here it comes with designer luggage.”
Three women are attempting to board simultaneously through the narrow gangway entrance, which is working about as well as trying to fit three cruise ships through a cat door.
“I specifically requested priority boarding,” the platinum blonde in the middle announces to anyone within earshot. She has that yoga-sculpted body that screams personal trainer at dawn, green juice by eight, and I admire her for it, too.
“The producers promised me a suite upgrade,” says the stunning woman to her left with caramel highlights framing a face that looks like it’s used to getting exactly what it asks for.
“Could we please just get onto the ship?” The third woman shouts. This one is a pretty strawberry blonde, and her wrist is adorned with enough understated gold that screams old money. “The cameras arrive in twenty minutes.”
“Did she say cameras?” I whisper to Ransom, and he nods with a sigh as if he were already resigned to the incoming chaos.
The moment those women spot Wes in his captain’s whites, it’s like watching sharks smell blood in the water.
“You must be the charming Captain of this gorgeous vessel!” The platinum blonde practically purrs at him while extending a manicured hand. “I’m Madison Rothschild. You probably know my husband—he plays Victor Darkmore on The Bitter and the Beautiful.”
“What?” Bess gasps, as do Nettie and I.
“Valentina Cruz-Henderson,” the caramel-highlighted beauty interrupts, somehow managing to edge Madison aside while maintaining her smile. “Please, call me Val. Former Miss Venezuela, now a philanthropist, of course. My husband is Santino Henderson—he plays Santino DiAngelo on Days of Our Nights.”
More gasps from Bess, Nettie, and me.
Val squeezes Wes’s arm as if she’s testing for muscle strength. “Such a strong ship you have here, Captain.”
I can’t help but frown at the woman. We all know she’s less interested in the ship and more interested in inspecting the captain’s seaworthiness, for lack of a better word.
“Hello, I’m Beth Williams,” the strawberry blonde manages to edge in. “My husband is Lance Williams—he plays Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. on Criminal Hospital.”
The collective gasp from our side of the atrium could probably be heard in Norway.
“Criminal Hospital!” Nettie shouts with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just won the lottery.
Okay, let me get this straight—the cast of The Bitter and the Beautiful, Days of Our Nights, and Criminal Hospital is traveling with us? We really did hit the lottery! A very soapy, very lusty, very glued-to-the-edge-of-our-seats lottery. Honestly, that’s the very best kind.
Tinsley’s clipboard slips through her fingers. Bess completely abandons her male-oriented boycott to stare. And Elodie’s pale blue eyes grow wide with naughty potential.
“Captain,” Tinsley purrs. “I may need to reconsider my no workplace relationships policy,” she purrs. “Some things are worth getting fired over, and I’d say Dr. Carrington’s bedside manner deserves a thorough evaluation.”
My mouth falls open just hearing it. Tinsley is typically strait-laced and sticks to the books when it comes to the rules. But then the ship is about to be overrun with some serious soap hunks. I can’t blame her for throwing both her employment status and all caution to the wind.
I’m about to say something when my attention gets hijacked in the most dramatic way possible.
Standing just behind the trio of soap divas is a woman in a flowing emerald green evening gown with shoulder pads the size of a small aircraft carrier, and slowly she steps into view. I’d recognize that dark blonde hair and those piercing green eyes anywhere—eyes that don’t just scan a room, but assess it for lighting, leverage, and applause.
“Oh my goodness,” I cry out without meaning to. “It’s Marlie Rothschild, the original Victoria Darkmore, here and in the flesh!” I give Ransom’s arm a tug without taking my eyes off of her. “She’s the woman whose dramatic hospital bed scenes got me through three bouts of flu and one particularly nasty breakup in college. The actress whose trademark hair flip I practiced in my bathroom mirror for weeks!”
“I can’t believe she’s here, live and in person,” Bess says, craning her neck. “Where is she?”
“The queen of daytime drama herself?” Nettie cries with delight as she, too, cranes her neck trying to catch a glimpse among the army of passengers storming the ship. “I lived for her famous ballroom confrontation scenes! I hadn’t realized she was still working on The Bitter and the Beautiful—I thought she’d moved on to bigger projects years ago. Heck, I thought she was dead.”
“Welcome, ladies,” Wes intercepts the trio of women with a solemn nod, despite the fact he’s fighting a smile, “perhaps we should let you board so you can get settled before filming begins?”
“Oh, sweet heavens.” Nettie grabs my arm hard enough to leave marks. “Trixie. BESS. Look who’s behind them.”
“I said I’m not looking at any more men—OH MY WORD.” Bess abandons her man-boycott faster than a cat ditching a bathtub.
Four men swagger through the entrance, and I swear the collective swooning could power the ship all the way to Norway without fuel.
“Victor Darkmore!” Nettie practically shrieks. “I used to fake the stomach flu to watch him steal companies andwives on The Bitter and the Beautiful!”
“That’s not Victor, that’s Dirk Rothschild,” Elodie corrects, suddenly interested. “Madison’s husband. He just plays Victor on TV.”
“He’ll always be Hunka Hunka Victor to me,” Nettie shoots back.
“And to me,” I say with a sigh, and Ransom inches back to get a better look at his quickly unraveling wife.
Elodie straightens. “Wait, just a soapy minute. Is that Santino DiAngelo?” Tinsley’s professional composure cracks once more. “From Days of Our Nights? My mom recorded every episode on VHS. And boy, did I ever watch them. Sometimes twice.”
“His third resurrection was the best,” I admit, because we all have our guilty pleasures. I may have watched a few episodes twice, as well.
“And there’s Lance Williams!” Bess calls out, forgetting all about her boycott. “He plays Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. Oh, that man delivered half the babies in Evergreen Valley while shirtless.” She swoons just thinking about it.
And I swoon just thinking about those abs! I cringe a little as I look at Ransom and quickly mouth the word sorry.
The platinum blonde, Madison, gives a snide smile our way. “Cool it, girls, those men are taken.”
“Oh, so are we,” I say, circling my arms around my lethally handsome husband.
“Speak for yourself,” Nettie gravels it out, and suddenly, I’m fearing for every man on this ship.
Marlie moves closer to the other women, watching Madison with what looks like amused tolerance. There’s something oddly familiar about the way Madison holds herself—almost like she’s channeling Marlie’s famous ram-rod straight posture.
But Madison is too busy scrolling through her phone to notice those around her. She stops cold at something and gasps before a shrill scream escapes her.
Marlie rolls her eyes at the woman. “She’s always so dramatic.”
And just like that, I know this cruise to Norway is about to become a lot more interesting than fjords and midnight sun. And perhaps more dramatic than all three of those aforementioned soap operas combined.
Because if there’s one thing more dramatic than a ship full of soap opera stars, it’s a ship full of soap opera stars with real-life rivalries simmering beneath the surface—and everyone knows a good rivalry can be murder.
Bring on the bonbons. Something tells me we’re going to need them.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****