I pull off my heels and pace along the cool, wooden floors barefoot, murmuring to myself. I can do this. I am Lauren Carmichael. I’m a strong and successful author. Embrace my inner sex Goddess. I am a sex Goddess.
“Please tell me you’re reciting your inner Goddess mantra, because otherwise, it looks like you’ve got really bad gas.” Mia struts into the room looking flawless as ever with her tablet in her hands. She glances up at me over it, and I stop in place, my fingers continuing my movement by drumming rhythms on my leg.
“No gas,” I say quietly.
Mia hums. “Good. So, a quick run through of how this is going to go. I go on stage and welcome everyone here and do the usual press bullshit. Then you’ll come on, read the chapter, and then we’ll transition into the Q&A.” She puts her tablet down. “Then we mingle. And that’s it. Think you can handle that?”
“Er… sure?” But the creakiness in my voice and the sweat running down my back say otherwise. I dip my chin, biting inside my cheek as I trace the grain of the wooden floor with my eyes. Mia’s shadow moves across it and her hand finds mine. When I finally look up, she smiles.
“You’ve done great. And you’re going to be great. Just be yourself.” Her brow dips and she smirks. “Well… your pseudo-self. You’re going to kill it!” She squeezes my fingers and steps away. “Be ready in five.”
One of the hardest things about these events is trying to be that pseudo person without making it obvious. It’s a delicate balance between over-the-top author and sultry tease. As Mia turns away, I somehow manage to find my voice again:
“Good luck too, Mia.”
Mia pauses and half turns to face me, one side of her mouth stretched into a smirk. “You know I don’t need luck. I eat press days for breakfast.” Then she leaves the room, strutting her way to stage right.
Popping my shoes back onto my feet, I stand, straightening my dress and fluffing my hair, curls cascading around my shoulders. I blink at my reflection; you wouldn’t recognize me if you saw me on a regular day—then again, I suppose that’s the objective. With my tricolor, thick-framed glasses and figuring hugging dress, I look like a naughty librarian. Exactly who my readers expect me to be.
“Good luck, Ellie!” Katie walks over in another rockabilly outfit, her mint green dress matching her shoes.
I let out a heaving sigh as I turn to her. “I’m so nervous, I think I may pee myself.”
Katie rolls her eyes, ushering me out of the dressing room to the side of the stage. I can see Mia on her chair, my empty one opposite. From here, the audience are obscured, but I can tell by the silence that Mia has them captivated.
“Here’s your book.” Katie draws my attention. “I had a single copy printed with the cover, and I’ve bookmarked the chapter you’re reading.” She hands over the book and I hold it in my hands for a moment, running my fingers over the silken cover.
“Katie, this is… gorgeous.” Elspeth and Fergus are entwined on the front cover, the love and fire in their eyes matching my character’s personalities perfectly. I shake my head and look up at her. “I’m serious, Katie. This is… unbelievable. This cover glows in comparison to what I imagined.”
She blushes. “I’m glad I did them justice—Shit! Mia’s calling you on stage. Go!” In a flurry of movement, Katie pushes me out from behind the curtain. I stumble a few steps over, catching myself on the back of my chair. The crowd laughs heartily and cheers as I look up to see Mia staring with an eyebrow raised. Her eyes flick over my head, presumably spying Katie hiding in the darkness of the backstage area.
I right myself and round the chair to take a seat. Mia hands me a microphone and I speak into it. “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. My cover artist just gave me the first copy of my book—don’t you guys think it looks incredible?” I hold it up for all to see and cheers ring out across the room, accompanied by the snapping of camera shutters.
I smile. “I do too! First off, I want to thank you all for coming out here to listen to me read—I’m sure y’all had better things to do with your Saturday afternoons.” Laughter echoes around the room at my words, and a few flashes light up the auditorium. “But I’m so glad that you decided to come here today, because I’m not going to lie, this book is honestly my best work yet, and I’m so excited to share some of it with you.”
I turn my face down and start flipping through the pages as I continue: “I was going to read one of my favorite sex scenes, but my editor advised me against it. ‘Keep them wanting more,’ she said. I believe they call that… edging.” I chuckle, my eyes glinting cheekily over the book. “Instead, I’m going to read one of my favorite love-hate scenes between my characters Elspeth and Fergus.” Opening the book on my lap, I hold it open with my thumb and take a deep breath, trying to calm my shaking hands.
Moistening my lips, I begin to read, soon getting lost in the story. Elspeth calls out Fergus, giving him cheek and putting him in his place. She lets him know that she’s not just some bar wench willing to take a tumble with just anyone. But in my mind, all I can see is myself in Garrett’s office, handing over the last connection between us.
Putting on my best Scottish accent, I play both of the parts, giggling along with my audience at the scene and my horrible accent.
As my last words ring out across the room, the silence is almost deafening. The audience is captive, and I glance around at the few faces I can see past the bright stage lights. But then one person claps, and then another, and soon the room is filled with applause and the occasional cheer. A mega-watt smile plasters itself to my face.
“So, there you have it,” I say. “The beginnings of a fiery, funny, and adventurous relationship.” Taking a sip of my water, I look out at the crowd, the eagerness in their expressions making me smile.
Mia picks up her microphone. “Now, I think we’ve come to everyone’s favorite part of the event. What do y’all want to know?”
A microphone is handed to one of the women at the back of the room. She shrieks excitedly, making me chuckle. Her voice echoes out over the speakers a moment later.
“Hey! Oh my God, okay. So, why historical romance? Don’t you think it’s a dying genre?”
“If it’s a dying genre, then I better find a new one.” I laugh, taking another sip of my water. “But in all seriousness, I love historical romances because it was a different time; men said what they wanted, they carried swords, and fought hard and loved harder. Sure, there was a lot wrong with that era, but don’t we all imagine being swept up in the strong arms of a man to be worshipped and caressed and loved?”
Taking a deep breath, I try to push down the anxiety I can feel starting to bubble up. Everyone has a right to their opinions. It’s not a big deal.
“Are two souls always destined to be together?”
My eyes, and the eyes of the entire audience, snap to the center of the room as a man takes the microphone from an usher and moves down the aisle toward the stage. Security steps in, blocking his path toward. But he lifts the mic and continues, “Or is it lust and longing that dictate their choices?”
Those words… I squint through the lights and see a body, a microphone, and a wad of papers. Then a face, a constant painting in the back of my mind. “Garrett.” His name falls like a breathless caress from my lips as he continues to read the first page of the story in his hands… Our story.
“Ma’am, do you know this man?” One of the guards asks, and I nod my head. Reluctantly, they fan out, toward but a final guard stops him with a hand on the chest before he can jump onto the stage.
Seeing him striding toward me sends sparks of longing through my body, which I quickly push down. “What are you doing here, Garrett?” I talk down to him.
“Paul may have mentioned it and given me his ticket,” he says sheepishly, holding up the rumpled ticket in his hand. I frown. Why would Paul do that? He never misses these events.
Raising the microphone to his lips, Garrett’s eyes roam over my face, searching for something
. What, I don’t know. “In your novels, do the main characters always end up together?”
“Ah…” I stutter, seeing the audience draw closer, their eyes trained on the two of us. “Most often, yes.”
“And are your characters ever perfect?”
“No,” I frown. “Character flaws are necessary. There has to be some sort of friction, otherwise it wouldn’t make for a good book.”
He smiles, and his lips draw my focus as they continue to widen. “And what if your main character fucks up and ruins the chance with his woman?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
I can tell where this is going. I know what he wants. But does he even deserve a second chance? My heart screams its approval while my head berates me for even thinking it. I glance sideways at Mia. She’s glaring toward Garrett with seething hatred. But when she feels my eyes on her, she looks back at me. Her glare softens as she takes in my conflicted stare, and she sighs and nods.
Getting out of her seat, she quickly exits the stage and reappears in the aisle. She whispers something to the guard who hesitates before releasing Garrett. He pushes himself past and continues the final few steps toward the stage, leaving Mia watching from the audience. He heaves himself onto the stage and I can’t help but watch his muscles bulge. I stand to meet him, leaving the mic and the book in my seat.
As he moves closer, the achingly familiar smell of cinnamon and spice tickles my senses. I clear my throat of the blockage suddenly pushing against it. My eyes roam over Garrett’s face, noting the scruff he usually shaves is neatly trimmed, his golden, brown hair is a bit longer, and his eyes hold steely determination as he watches me taking him in.
“What if one of them makes the biggest mistake of his life that he regrets every… single… day,” he says quietly.
I swallow. “Er, when… When characters have a conflict, it usually gets worked through and resolved in the end. That’s why there’s happily ever after.”
“And how do you know that they belong together? Why doesn’t he or she move on, find someone new?”
“You know from the beginning; by the way he takes her in, and she catches his eyes. Or by their moments together, their interactions. Do they have chemistry? Do they have what it takes to make it through hard times and come out the other side—stronger?”
“And what if he seeks redemption? What would your character do?”
He closes the gap between us and the feel of his body against mine awakens every nerve ending under my skin, making me shiver. “Um… I guess he would have to do something to win her over. Show her that he’s not the man she thinks of him as.”
“If that’s the case…” bringing his hand up, he brushes a strand of hair away from my face, caressing it with his thumb, “will you please meet me tonight?”
I tremble under his touch, longing, fear, and desire choking off my words. The moment Garrett stepped toward me, I’d forgotten where I was and who I was supposed to be.
But that didn’t matter because my answer would still be the same. Even after everything, I love him. Betty’s words float through my mind, and I now understand what she meant. Do I want to forgive and move forward with him, or do I want to regret not taking a chance?
Every morning, I wake with a heavy heart when I realize he’s not there. Not an hour has gone by where I don’t wish I could see him or talk to him—even if just to know what might be possible. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try to find out.
Meeting his eyes, I nod my head.
He beams. “Thank God. I was planning on getting on my knees to beg you, but I still can if you like?”
“No… That’s okay,” I whisper.
“Good.” He takes a step back then and lifts his head to the audience. “Mia?”
Mia strides quickly over, appearing at the base of the stage. “Yes?”
He pulls a large, folded envelope from his back pocket. “Can you please take Ellie to this address tonight at eight?” Disregarding her raised eyebrow, he nervously hands it over. She reaches inside, her eyebrows furrowing as she pulls out a small slip of paper.
“But isn’t this—?”
“Yeah. It is.” Shooting me a nervous grin, he focuses back on Mia. “If you could follow the instructions in the envelope, I’d really appreciate it.”
Mia looks at the envelope with new eyes, the eagerness in them has me burning with curiosity. “Sure. I’ll have her there. And Garrett? You fuck up and I’ll personally hunt you down. So will the rest of the women here.” She signals to the audience who so far have been completely silent, taking in the proceedings like a stage play. A few women in the front row chuckle at Mia’s remark.
“See you at eight, Ellie,” he whispers, pecking me on the lips once more. The heat in his eyes has me trembling with desire and a healthy dose of fear.
Sauntering over to the edge of the stage, he hops down, and I watch as he strides confidently up the stairs and out of the auditorium. As soon as the door shuts behind him, whistles and cheers erupt around the room, easing the nervous panic bubbling inside me.
Taking the microphone from my chair, I walk to the edge of the stage, trying to catch my breath. “I think I need to sit down, guys.” Taking my heels off, I hop onto the edge of the stage and sit down, letting my legs swing in front of me. The occupants of the front row look at me kindly, but curiously.
“Who was that? Was this a reenactment from your new book?”
Glancing around, I spot a woman toward the middle of the crowd, standing up with a microphone in her hand.
“That was the man I was seeing up until about a month ago.” My eyes flick to the door that he disappeared behind before moving back to the woman. I shake my head with a soft smile. “And no, that wasn’t a reenactment. That was my messy life moving back into place.”
“Is your name really Ellie?” A woman in the front row asks, not needing a microphone for me to hear her. Her head is tilted, eyes slightly narrowed. Fuck, how did she…? Groaning, I realize Garrett called me Ellie while he was on stage. Is there a secret that man can’t accidentally blast to the world? I shoot Mia a panicked look, which she returns with wide eyes, a small smile, and a shrug.
My eyes track over the room, men and women all leaning closer to hear my answer. Do I play it off? Or do I… No. I couldn’t do that… Could I?
Taking a deep breath, I release it, closing my eyes and counting to four. Opening them, I look toward the woman in the front row. “Yes. My name is Eleanor… Ellie for short.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “But why do you write under a pen name? You’re so… normal.”
I laugh a little at that. Normal. Who would ever call me normal? My eyes meet the questioning woman’s. For so long, I’ve managed to maintain this persona of a strong, sexy, confident woman. My readers believe it. But is that what they really need? Is that what I need?
“The truth is that I’m a survivor of domestic abuse.” I unbutton my jacket and toss it behind me, my bare arms on display for the crowd to see. Shocked gasps ring out around the room at my admission, the truth lined on my very skin.
Mia runs toward the stage in a panic, leaning down beside me. “You don’t have to do this. I know we said that one day you would open up, but that doesn’t have to be today.”
Gazing out across the room, I see my words sinking into people’s minds. I see hope, awe, and sadness. “No, it’s okay. I think it’s time.” Smiling, I shoo her away before turning back to the crowd of women watching our exchange. I stand.
“Years ago, I was swept off my feet by a charming and handsome man who wanted to give me the world, and I gave myself to him wholeheartedly.” He slides my wedding band onto my finger, sealing my fate. His face a picture of suave arrogance.
“Things were amazing for those first few months… but then everything changed. I don’t know if it had happened gradually and I didn’t notice, or if a switch flipped inside him, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever really know.” Drawing in
a sharp breath, I close my eyes, steadying myself.
“Looking back, I tell myself that he was trying to help me when he wanted me to change into an outfit that matched his, or to go see a nutritionist. He even gave me a gym membership. I… I didn’t think he was manipulating me.” I look up from the ground as I stare out into the crowd, my chest burning with shame. “I didn’t know what he was capable of until it was too late.”
“I’m sorry, I got distracted. I promise I’ll go tomorrow,” I say.
Michael scoffs at my explanation. He throws my gym bag into the corner, knocking a lamp from the table, plunging the room into darkness. “You realize you’re wasting my money?”
He crosses the room in two strides. I don’t even see his fist raise before it’s in front of my eyes.
“How do you expect me to help you if you don’t accept what’s given to you?”
“I’ll never forget the way it felt the first time he put his hands on me,” I say to the audience. “But the pleasure he got out of it, is what will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I scrub my eyes and grip the microphone tightly in my hand. I won’t cry—not again. “Like most survivors, we believe our partners when they say that it will never happen again. But that’s a lie. It always is.”
I lift my arms up, my scars illuminated by the glowing lights in the room. “When people ask why I didn’t leave, it’s because of two reasons: I was afraid of what would happen next, and I was scared of what he would do to me. And that’s how I got all of these.” My battle scars.
The weight of holding back and being afraid of my readers finding out the truth, finding out about the real me, floats away as I continue my story, the weightlessness fueling my need to continue.
“One evening I’d had enough and tried to get out. I actually went to the police and reported him.” I huff out a laugh as I shake my head. “Unfortunately for me, a friend of his saw me enter the police station. They called him.”
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