Cruising for Love (The Escape Series Book 2) (7 page)

After breakfast, Syd insists on 'fixing' me. I shower in my tiny cabin, which (amazingly) already has my stuff in it, before letting him have his way with my hair and make-up––fully trusting him now.

When he spins me around to reveal my much less glamorous daytime look, I am pleased with the results. He has done just enough to accentuate my eyes and cheekbones, but I don't look too made-up. Turning from side to side, I admire the simple, smooth ponytail he has pulled my hair into.

"You're really talented at your job," I gush to him. "I look fantastic in about half the time it would take me to look pretty good if I were doing it myself."

"Why, thank you." He mock bows at me before leaning down to kiss my cheek and adding, "It helps when you get to start with a lovely blank canvas."

Touched by his sweet compliment, I feel my cheeks turn pink under the blush he has just expertly applied. I'm not sure if a camera is rolling in this room, but I hope they caught this tender and sincere moment for the show.

I spend the rest of the day feeling queasy with anxiety about how I will be portrayed on the first episode of the show. Will I become beloved by the viewing audience? Or will I be shown as an awkward, accident-prone dork? They want viewers to like me, right? Maybe they will leave my mishaps on the cutting room floor.

It is apparently a somewhat schedule-free day, so I utilize the time to check out our spectacular floating home. An ever-present camera stalks behind me, recording my every move; but within a few hours, I barely notice its presence.

At one point, I see Cam walking towards me from a distance on the promenade deck. Not wanting to have an uncomfortable confrontation with him that will play out on camera, I quickly turn right to slip into a lounge and out the other side to avoid running into him.

Feeling somewhat at a loss for what to do, I decide to go up to the sun deck for a quick round of putt-putt. Tiffany and Paul are there choosing golf clubs, so I ask if I can join them. They politely agree and the three of us (and two cameramen) set off on a round of miniature golf.

Watching the two of them, I am surprised by the level of intimacy the two opposites already seem to share. Tiffany claims to have never played golf before, so Paul stands close behind her at the first hole to help her swing her club. He whispers something near her ear that makes her giggle with pleasure as she leans back into him.

I note that he gently places his hand at the small of her back as we walk to each hole and wonder if they have made a true love connection, or if this is all show for the cameras. Not wanting to be overly cynical, I decide to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Tiffany asks me where Cam is, so I tell her he went for a swim––even though I have no idea what he is actually doing, nor do I really care. For some reason, I feel almost guilty that my relationship with Cam isn't working out.

Once we finish the 9-hole course, I pretend like I have somewhere to be and wave as I shuffle away, indicating that I will see them later. They feign disappointment at my departure, but I sense they are relieved to be alone––with the exception of their cameraman––once more.

Deciding to catch some rays and absorb a little Vitamin D, I head to the lido deck. On my way, I pass an outdoor bar where Cam and Bellamy are sharing tall, brightly hued drinks. As they clink their glasses together, I notice that she has her hand on his thigh. For some reason, this really irks me. He is my husband, after all. I don't want him, but it seems like he would refrain from hitting on other women until we can get this sham of a marriage annulled. It would be the respectful thing to do––especially since there is a camera behind them, recording the entire illicit exchange.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I put my head down and scurry quickly past. I know the camera following me has picked up on the situation, so I'm fairly certain this will be part of the drama for the second episode of the show. I just hope that I will have already won the show's audience over by then.

I briefly wonder where Josh is and what he thinks about my husband and his wife cozying up together for a drink, but I decide not to seek him out. A swapping spouses situation would probably mean ratings gold for the show, but I don't want to be portrayed as a hussy, and I'm fairly certain they are planning to insinuate that my marriage was consummated last night.

Taking the high road, I find a lounge chair with a nice view of the pool and the vast sea beyond. Before I can even get my pool towels situated to my liking, a waiter with a hot pink flowery shirt appears to see if I need anything. I squint up at him. Raising a hand to shade my eyes, I say, "Guess I should have grabbed my sunglasses."

At his grin, I continue, "It's noon somewhere, right?" He gives me a blank look and seems uncertain how to respond, so I add. "I'd love a huge, fruity, frozen concoction with lots of rum and one of those tiny umbrellas on top."

He clearly understands this because he nods, beams a huge smile at me, and hurries off to make it so. I'm barely settled before he returns and presents his tray to me. I'm delighted to find a pair of black, oversized sunglasses next to my drink.

"Wow, what service!" I gush as I grab the shades and attempt to pull off the souvenir shop's price tag. He sees me struggling and quickly comes to my aid by retrieving a small knife from his pocket and snipping off the tag.

I don the bejeweled glasses, which are a little gaudy for my taste––although I would never tell the well-meaning waiter that. He smiles and tells me I look like a movie star before moving a small table to the side of my chair and placing my drink on it.

"Mission accomplished then," I respond to his compliment before a sinking feeling begins to dawn on me. I don't have my purse or any money with me. "I need to pay you," I mutter aloud as I'm realizing the store clerk probably expects him to return payment or a signed receipt for the sunglasses.

Shaking his head, the waiter says simply, "Show pays."

"Nice!" I nod my head before adding, "In that case, pick up a pair for yourself too."

He grins at me before scurrying away to take care of another passenger. Smiling to myself, I lean back and begin sipping the delicious alcoholic beverage he has delivered. I shiver as the coolness of the icy drink travels throughout my body. Slurping it down as quickly as I can without getting brain freeze, I set the empty glass aside and lean back in my chair.

The warmth of the sun feels glorious on my skin. I am tempted to flag down the waiter again to ask for sunscreen so I can stay out longer, but I don't want to be viewed as a diva. I briefly consider going to the shop to purchase the lotion myself, but I don't know if the store clerk will realize who I am or will expect me to pay for the purchase. Deciding to only stay out in the sun until I begin to feel my overly pale skin burning, I turn my head to the side to avoid mussing my ponytail and lean back onto my towel pillow.

Awakening with a start, I quickly realize that the sun is much further down in the sky than when I arrived at the pool. One glance at my skin indicates that I am sunburnt––really sunburnt.

I glare up at the cameraman who is filming me from the shade of a large umbrella. "Why didn't you wake me?" I demand, completely ignoring the strict instructions not to ever interact with the cameras or crew.

He shrugs his shoulders as if to say he had no choice in the matter. He looks bored, which makes me wonder if he filmed the entire time I was asleep. I wonder if I drooled or snored or did anything else embarrassing. The lounge chair had been exceedingly more comfortable than the bathtub that was my bed last night, so I slept rather soundly––hopefully not too soundly.

I glare at him as I delicately get up to return to my room. The soreness is already setting in and I fear that I will look like a lobster by dinner-time.

After taking a cool shower and gingerly donning my robe, I poke my head through the opening in the adjoining door and am pleased to find Syd waiting for me. One glimpse of my charbroiled skin makes him nearly fall out of his chair.

"Ouch, Girl! What happened to you?" he asks, although it's obvious what has happened. Without waiting for an answer, he starts digging through one of his deep makeup cases. Finding what he is after, he hands me a bright blue bottle of aloe and Lidocaine gel. "Coat yourself in this," he instructs me, "then we'll see what we can do about those raccoon eyes."

Feeling like a total doofus for allowing myself to get so burnt, I quietly return to my room to comply with his request. I'm pleasantly surprised when the cool gel provides some calming relief to my inflamed skin.

Hoping that he's not too disappointed in my lack of judgment, I sheepishly return to Syd. "Okay, babydoll," he says kindly. "I found this loose, silky sundress that won't require you to put a bra on those raw shoulders. How does this look for dinner tonight."

I'm incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness. I try to give him a hug, but when he gently returns it his thighs brush against mine. I screech, "Ack! That hurts!"

"Sorry, Sweetness," he tells me, and I can tell he is sincere. Turning all business, he says, "Okay, let's see what we can do about this face."

He uses a gentle touch as he works to tone down the redness on my face. The giant white circles around my eyes caused by the shade my sunglasses provided make for a bit of a challenge. Even though he grumbles about it, when he turns me towards my reflection, I'm amazed at the results. He has calmed the redness, evened out my skin tone, and lightly brushed powder down my neck and décolletage to help blend the vastly different colors of my skin so the areas beyond my ears that had been in the shade no longer looked like they have been dipped in flour.

Shuffling me next door with the sundress, he instructs me to step into it, so I don't mess up his masterpiece. Glancing into the full-length mirror after donning it, I am horrorstruck to see my reflection. Having heard my gasp, Syd rushes over to see what the problem is.

One glance at me has him erupting into giggles. "It's not funny," I tell him, trying to sound stern––even though I'm beginning to join him in the hilarity. My face and neck are a dark, reddish tone, the fronts of my arms and legs are deep red, while the back-side of me looks completely white, by comparison. I look utterly ridiculous.

"What am I going to do?" I wail, once our laughter subsides.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." Syd reassures me, and I instantly feel better. His fix involves having me hold my sundress out of the way while he uses spray tan to even out the remarkable variation in the tone of my skin. "Does that sting?" he asks kindly as he lightly pats the dividing line to blend the colors together.

I shake my head, just wanting to get this over with. The end result of his ministrations surprises me. He has effectively blended the two vastly different colors of my skin into one dark, lovely shade. "You are a miracle worker!" I gush. "No hugs, though," I add, in order to be clear. Although the awful two-toned color of my skin has been alleviated, the stinging tenderness has not.

Full of surprises, Syd presents me with a bottle of Bumble and Bumble Surf Spray––the brand I prefer. "How did you..." I'm unable to complete the question because I'm so stunned that he was able to secure this so quickly when we have been at sea all day.

"Anything for you, my darling." He waves off getting the sea salt spray as if it is no big deal. After generously dousing my locks with it and scrunching some loose waves into place, Syd declares me finished and sends me off to dinner.

I marvel at the man and his talents as I head down to the elegant dining room. My hopes that I won't be the last one to arrive are quickly dashed when I see everyone sitting at the Captain's table waiting for me––again.

It does not escape my notice that the seating arrangements have been modified tonight. The married couples are each still seated together. Tonight, though, Cam and Bellamy are side by side, as well. I wonder if Josh and the others have noticed how snuggly the two of them seem to be. If not, it will all be revealed on the show. This should be interesting.

Dinner is rather uneventful. The table is surprisingly quiet––probably because we are all nervous about our impending television debuts. The fancy cuisine we are presented with looks delicious, but I barely taste it as I go through the motions of eating because my stomach is so jittery.

Before I know it, the dessert plates are swept away and the Captain announces that it's time to go down to the theatre. Taking a deep calming breath, I get up to follow the others downstairs. It's a thrilling feeling to know that anyone with an internet connection can watch my wedding day unfold. I mentally cross my fingers that I'll be presented in the best possible light.

The ship's theatre is massive and crowded. The front row has been roped off for us. The special treatment makes me feel like a star already. When the lady seated behind me leans forward to pat my shoulder and wish me luck, I attempt to hide my wince of pain with a smile and politely thank her.

As the cinema's lights dim and the dark red, velvet curtain is swept back, the anticipation in the room is palpable. I can barely contain my excitement, and I'm sure the other contestants must feel the same way.

I am seated next to Cam, and I try not to be annoyed that he and Bellamy have finagled the arrangement so they are side-by-side again. Once the opening music for the show begins, all thoughts of Cam's betrayal are swept away. My entire focus is on the enormous screen in front of us.

The show starts with introductions of our group. A beaming shot of each of us in casual wear is flashed on the screen with our first name in a fancy scrawl across the bottom. I recognize the outfit I wore during the day yesterday and realize they must have taken a shot of me right when I came aboard the ship. I appear to be in awe of my surroundings, but at least my eyes are open and I'm smiling.

After the pictures are done, Tiffany appears on the screen, and I lean around Paul to smile at her. She looks as excited as I feel––like I might burst at any moment. The first words out of her mouth on the screen are "Wow, the ocean is sooo big." This statement is followed by a few seconds of her vacantly staring out to sea. I cringe inwardly as I watch the rest of the segment, which includes short snippets of interviews with her friends and family. I hadn't realized they would be talking to people from our hometowns. It quickly becomes obvious that Tiffany has been cast as the show's airhead. Once the clip is finished, I chance a look in her direction. Surprisingly, she's still smiling. Maybe she doesn't mind being portrayed as a ditz.

Next on the screen is Tiffany's spouse, Paul. As expected, he takes every opportunity during his clip to show off how smart he is by mentioning random statistics, books he has read, and his opinion on everything from politics to organic food. He comes off as being incredibly stuffy and hoity-toity, and the few of his friends that are interviewed do nothing to sway that opinion.

I suppose the producers wanted to show how opposite Tiffany and Paul are, but they ended up not showing either of them in a favorable light. They are both smiling at the screen and holding hands, so I guess maybe they are pleased with the show's outcome.

The show breaks for a word from its sponsors, and I try to breathe deeply. I've become so nervous that I've been unknowingly holding my breath. The butterflies I had in my stomach before the wedding feel like they have turned into bats, fluttering their wings and trying to escape. I refuse to vomit, despite the cold sweat I have broken into.

Cam turns my way briefly and notes the chill bumps that have arisen on my bare arms. He gallantly offers me his dinner jacket, which I politely decline. I am certain the rough fabric would feel like sandpaper on my sunburnt skin. Cam shrugs his shoulders and raises his brows as if to say, "I tried," before turning his attention back to Bellamy.

The show resumes with Bellamy on the giant screen. Her long, red hair absolutely pops on camera, making her look stunning. I turn to catch her beaming at her likeness on the screen. Bellamy's friends and family talk about her mesmerizing beauty and how everyone in school wanted to be like her. It doesn't take long to confirm that she has been cast as the show's beautiful siren. The role suits her to a tee.

When her part ends, Cam leans over to whisper something in her ear, which makes her preen. I watch her hand slide up his thigh, and I try not to get riled up. I wish they weren't being quite so obvious about their lust for each other. Cam was selected as my husband, not hers. Realizing that I have no right to be upset since I don't want Cam for myself, I decide to take the high road and ignore their public displays of affection.

The screen captures my attention once more as Josh appears. His blond hair and blue eyes translate well to the giant motion picture. He looks like the consummate Mr. All-American-Apple-Pie-Sweet-Boy-Next-Door and his self-effacing, Southern charm only adds to the persona. His mother, basketball coach, and a former girlfriend all attest to his perfection before the show goes to another commercial break.

My legs are bouncing nervously in the seat. Cam and I must be next.
Are they saving the best for last? What role will I portray in the show? Will I become America's Sweetheart? Am I going to be an internet sensation? I hope I'm not shown as the klutz who doesn't fit in.
When the insecurities start to creep in, I do my best to shut them down and think positively.

I don't have too long to worry because the show starts back up. Breaking the format, they start with Cam this time, rather than the female as they had with the other couples. The blood is pounding in my ears, but I try to focus on watching Cam's debut. He looks rakishly handsome, as I'd known he would. He has clearly been cast as the magnetic ladies' man, and he fits the bill. A string of beautiful ladies from Cam's past all rave about his devilishly-handsome looks, impeccable style, and undeniable charisma.

I wonder why Cam and Bellamy weren't put together as a couple.
Did the producers intend for them to fall for each other, despite having other spouses? Is that part of the drama of the show?

I'm about ready to bounce out of my chair as Cam's piece finishes. Since he has been portrayed as the stud muffin, perhaps I am the sexy seductress. Shaking my head, I decide Bellamy is already clearly filling the role of temptress.

I don't have to remain curious about my role for too long. The first words out of my mouth when my turn finally comes and I appear on screen are, "Don't you know who I am?" I had said that when I had been trying to gain access to the ship without a ticket, but the way the film has been cut, it looks like I expected and demanded the star treatment.

I watch in horror as a montage of creatively-edited videos of me appear on the screen. "A random, handsome stranger bringing me to new heights of ecstasy on a casting couch...my dreams of fame are already coming true. I will make it. You'll see...America will love me. The world will love me."

I hadn't realized hidden cameras were filming any of that. Plus, they took my words completely out of context. The 'casting couch' comment had been after Syd had rubbed my back. It hadn't meant anything at all like the show insinuated. "Oh no," I drop my head and put a hand over my eyes, but the clips keep on playing.

Cringing at the way my recorded voice sounds, I hear it say to Syd, "What if I can't stand the guy they've chosen for me?" Continuing on as if Syd hasn't responded––even though he did in real life––my likeness says, "I get a tropical vacation, I have a good chance of becoming famous, I might win loads of cash, and worst case scenario is that it ends up not being a good match, and I get a divorce."

I sound like a horrid, spoiled-rotten brat. It would appear that I have been cast as the show's biotch, I realize, my heart sinking.
America isn't going to love me...they are going to hate me.

Dropping my hands from my face, I decide I might as well watch my televised demise––everyone else I know probably is. I look up at the screen just in time to see myself preening in front of Syd's full-length mirror in my wedding dress. "Wow, I'm a beautiful bride!"

The video cuts to my sister, Roxy. I am surprised and pleased to see her. Since she lives in Hawaii now, I don't get to hang out with her nearly as much as I would like. Seeing her brings me a great deal of relief. She loves me and will straighten out this mess. "I'm lucky to be Ruthie's older sister." She smiles at the camera and a tiny bit of hope begins to take root inside me, until she continues. "No one knows her better than I do. She has always LOVED being the center of attention, so this show is perfect for her." She is grinning, and I'm sure there hadn't been any malice intended by her words, but she managed to make me look even worse.

Macy appears, smiling on the giant screen with the words 'Ruthie's BFF' under her likeness. I'm appalled to hear her say, "Ruthie's a little flighty, sometimes selfish, and a bit of a hot mess––but we love her anyway."

By the time my beloved, crazy grandma, Baggy pops up on the screen, I have already figured out how this ridiculous fiasco is going to go––they are portraying me as being completely spoiled and unlikable. In typical Baggy fashion, she says, "Ruthie has always been like a just-castrated bull on a sugar-high in a china shop, just like her Bad Grandma." Baggy indicates herself with her thumb before waggling her eyebrows and preening on the screen. "What are you doing later?" she has turned her watery gaze beyond the camera as she speaks directly to the cameraman before blowing him a kiss.

The clip ends with me saying, "You know what I really need?...Sea salt spray!" A graphic with the words "You're in the middle of the ocean!" appears on the screen just before a helicopter is shown landing on the top deck of the ship and a man retrieves a brown box labeled
Bumble and Bumble Surf Spray
. That had all just happened today. I am shocked that they were able to include the clip so quickly. That is part of the beauty of internet television, I guess. Apparently, they are able to work technological miracles if it means making me look more spoiled and selfish. Syd's voice sounds on the screen saying, "Anything for you, my darling," as a still shot of me giving a snide smile is displayed for the entire world to see.

Finally, the show breaks for some commercials. I bow my head, wishing I could turn back time to make this all go away––despite knowing that the footage will survive on the internet for eternity. Even I can't stand this version of myself.
How could anyone else like me?
My throat is burning with unshed tears. When I finally look up, Bellamy actually gives me a slightly pitying look, which lets me know without a doubt that I must now be the most hated woman in America––and likely the whole planet, thanks to the world wide web.

I feel frozen in my seat, unsure how to react. I want to get up and give the producers a piece of my mind for portraying me in such an awful light, but that would only serve to give them additional fodder for use on the show.

The show returns and continues along the same vein from before. Our weddings play out on the screen. The scene is picturesque and perfect, with the exception of my interruptions, which they show––including the numerous (apparently superfluous) "Cuts!" that had been called. Somehow, they manage to make it all look like intentional stunts I pulled to gain additional attention.

The camera closes in on my face as I recoil from Cam's invasive kiss. Afterward, his likeness is beaming and gawking around, while I am clearly displeased. Real-life Cam turns from the screen to give me a dirty look before shifting in his seat towards Bellamy. He evidently hadn't been aware of my less than pleasant reaction to our wedding kiss.

Even the pool accident comes off on the show as if I had purposely shoved Bellamy and the Captain into the water. Bellamy glares at me––with no trace of sympathy left––as if she now believes this is how things actually went down. I knew that she suspected it might have been intentional, but now she evidently thinks she has video proof.

I want to shout at her that the video is deceiving. I want to let them all know that this isn't a fair depiction of me. But how can I? They have all seen what looks like my appalling behavior with their own eyes. Everyone I know, plus millions of other people have likely just seen it.

The show comes to a close and the others jump up to hug and congratulate each other. I sit glued to my chair––too shell-shocked to move. Of all the things I worried about concerning the show's debut, the actuality was at least a thousand times worse.

T.J. hops up on the stage and asks everyone to please sit down for some announcements. He is looking at his cell phone as he says, "Preliminary numbers for the show's ratings are excellent!"

The crowd claps excitedly as he continues. "There are already some new hashtags that are trending on Twitter. Two involve the show name," he announces, "#CruisingforLove and #CruisingforLoveRocks."

Some whoops and whistles erupt in the crowd. I wish I could join in the merriment, but I feel like I have been taken advantage of. I am also cursing the speed and all-encompassing nature of the internet. If I had known I would be portrayed so horribly, I never would have agreed to do the show.

T.J. continues as if I am not having the absolute worst night of my life. "One is about the hot, new couple that the world is rooting for...#TeamCamBell."

Cam and Bellamy beam at each other before hugging over this news. Even though they hadn't been shown on the screen as a couple, the show's viewers had evidently decided that they would be perfect together. I roll my eyes, now confident that this was intended to happen all along. The cynical side of me thinks that the show's producers probably planted that particular hashtag.

"And finally," T.J. adds, pausing for dramatic suspense, making me worry about what is probably coming. "The top trending hashtag on all of Twitter at the moment," he pauses once more to build the suspense, "is #IHateRuthie!"

He makes this announcement like it is the greatest news in the world. I feel like climbing under my chair and never coming out.

How did this happen? How did I become the villain? I was supposed to be America's Sweetheart, not the most hated woman on Earth.