I rise from the makeup seat and join my mother at the backstage juice bar.

She wraps her arms around me and gives me a good squeeze. “I’m so proud of you.”

Pressing my cheek to hers, careful not to ruin my camera-ready makeup, I breathe in her comforting perfume. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

She pulls back and holds me by both shoulders. “I think you can. You’ve gone through the worst already by writing that book, facing all the emotions.”

I sigh. “I wish this talk show wasn’t part of the deal.” Writing my most private thoughts in a book is one thing. Willingly putting myself out there, in front of cameras and a live audience, makes me feel uncomfortable. As a former model, I should be used to cameras, to sometimes being asked uncomfortable questions, but the appearance on Thirty Minutes with Lori Raine will completely expose the ugly side of me for all the world to see.

But this is the first and last public appearance I promised my publishers. After tonight, I can finally step back after seven months of hard work. I do have to admit that even though I had been resistant to the idea of writing the book, I like to believe the experience healed me in many ways, by helping me shift through suppressed emotions, bringing them to the surface so I can confront them, to accept that even if I turn my back on the past, some of the pain will never really go away. It will lurk below the surface and at times fate will fool me into thinking it’s gone, only for the wounds to reopen when I least expect it. My best bet is to look in the eye of the storm and live my life anyway.

“It means a lot that you’re here.” I brush a piece of fluff from my white blouse and smile at my Mom.

“I’ll always be here to support you.” She dabs her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for not being there in the past. I can’t believe I gave birth to such a remarkable young woman. I think it’s great that you’re giving most of the proceeds to abused women charities. You’re making your own mark in the world.”

“Your daughter also looks breathtaking.” Chelsea has ended her call to Neil, her fiancé, and comes over. She surveys me from head to toe, taking in the loose silk blouse over skinny jeans.

I shake out my fingers. “Let’s hope I still look good after the interview.”

The stylists have pulled my hair into a sleek and carefree ponytail that gives me the appearance of a young, innocent college student. I’m pretty sure it was done on purpose. Perhaps the producers want to portray a picture of the girl I was back then, before Damien took me away.

Our conversation is cut short when a man with headphones and a notepad peeps through the door. “You’re on in thirty seconds, Ivy.” He winks and closes the steel gray door.

I blow Mom and Chelsea a kiss and allow myself to be ushered out by a woman wearing a cream shirt and black skirt. “Good luck,” she says and opens the door.

Time to get out from behind the words and face the world. I put on a smile and step through the door and into the bright lights. My name is called out, someone introducing me. The room explodes with applause.

The audience is bigger than I’d expected. I thought only about twenty or so people would show up, but the room is packed. There has to be at least fifty.

Watching the expectant faces, I feel hot. My hands are slick with sweat and my cheeks feel as though they are being ignited from within.

As I climb onto the lit up stage, my eyes on Lori Raine, my left toe hits the edge of a step. I start to stumble forward but right myself in time and give a nervous smile. My eye is trained on Lori. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to have to pretend it’s just me and her in the room, having a chat as if over a coffee. No cameras, no audience, just the two of us.

“Ivy Hollifield, everybody.” Lori Raine, a middle-age woman with a deep voice and big hair beams up at me. “Ivy, I’m so thrilled you agreed to an interview. Welcome to Thirty Minutes. It’s a great honor to meet you in person.” She waves at a red leather vintage armchair.

“Glad to be here.” I sink into my seat. “Thank you for inviting me to the show.”

Lori crosses her legs. Given how tight her knee-length, charcoal pencil skirt is, I expect the movement to be a struggle but she’s a professional. With her pixie haircut and dark blue cat eyes, she’s even more striking in person. I’ve watched her on TV for years, interviewing A-class celebrities. When my publishers begged me to be on her show, they said I should be flattered that she’s desperate to interview me. I’m not. She’s known to be ruthless at questioning her guests and exposing their weaknesses for all the world to see. As far as I’m concerned, I’m inside a slaughter house.

She gives me an easy smile, making me feel comfortable enough to think she will be easy on me. “Ivy, congratulations. It’s been a month since the release of your book, Midnight Storm. How hard was it to write such a tragic story?” She waves a hand at a hardback copy of my book on the white chrome table, between two crystal glasses of water.

I pick up my glass and take a cool sip while glancing at the glossy cover. The image used is of a woman alone on a beach with her back to the camera, a troubled sea stretching out before her. The cover artist had shown me several cover options but this image was the first one I saw and the one that resonated with me most. The picture leaves one wondering what the model is thinking, the state of her emotions, what she’s trying to hide from the world. I couldn’t have chosen a better image if I tried.

“Well, it wasn’t easy, I can tell you that much.” I force a nervous smile.

Lori glances at the silent audience then back at me. “I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say we’re glad you wrote the book. We were all curious to know the truth of what really happened in Mexico.” She taps her thigh with coral red manicured nails. “What made you agree to write your story?”

“It’s not for money, as most like to believe. I wrote it for me. Putting my emotions on the page helped me face the emotional pain of trauma I carried around.” I clasp my hands in my lap. “Half the proceeds from the sales of my books are also being donated to various charities.”

“That’s awfully generous. Judging by the attention your book is getting, you’re going to make some charities very happy.” Lori leans forward. “Can you confirm the rumors that there are talks of a movie deal?”

“I’m afraid not. In fact, allow me to squash the rumors—”

“So, you’re saying there will be no movie?”

“That’s right.” I take another sip. Hearing the words movie deal makes me want to cover my ears. Not a week goes by without my publisher trying to talk me into allowing my book to go to Hollywood. I can’t expect they’ll be pleased with my little announcement today. I don’t blame them for holding out hope that I’ll change my mind. After all, I’d changed my mind about writing the book. Except this time my mind is made up. I spent months writing the book, time I could have spent with Reese. It’s time for me to move on with my life.

“That’s a shame. Your story would make a great movie.” Lori picks up my book and opens it where a turquoise beaded bookmark separates the pages. “I have to admit I haven’t finished reading the entire book yet. Not because I didn’t enjoy it. It’s just so hard to read. I’m horrified at the things you went through.”

“Thank you.” I sweep my legs to the side and cross them at the ankles.

“So much has changed for you in a short time. First you were a model, then a student, only to be lied to, kidnapped, and almost murdered.”

“It was a difficult time.”

“I’m sure it was.” Lori puts down the book and picks up a pack of cards from the table. “Thirty minutes is a short time when you’re having fun, so let’s get to the hard questions.” She winks at me.

My body tenses and without planning to, I glance at the audience. Most of them have a copy of my book in their laps. I’m guessing I’ll be signing a few copies before making it out of the building.

I’ve come prepared for most questions and Markus Jenkins personally prepared me for the interview, but as many viewers know, Lori Raine can be unpredictable. She’s brought a lot of tough men and women to tears with her questions. And she always ends her show with a shocking question or revelation.

I’ll not fall into her trap. She won’t break me. I’ll only give her the answers I’m prepared to give.

I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “What would you like to know?” I’m expecting her to want more details about Mexico, even though most questions are answered in the book.

She glances at her cards. “A few months after you were rescued in Mexico and brought back home, you gave birth to a little girl. Reese Hollifield is her name, right?”

I blink at her, completely caught off guard. I should not have agreed to this interview. One of the reasons I had refused to give interviews was so I could protect Reese. Now Lori is making my daughter the topic of conversation, even though my one condition to coming to the show was that there will be no questions about Reese. She has built my trust at the beginning of the interview only to snap it in half.

“Ivy, are you with me?” Her voice is smooth as honey, dripping with poison.

She comes back into focus. Her head is tipped to the side expectantly.

I glare at her. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“I’m sure everyone is wondering who the father of your child is. Is it one of the twins?”

Hiding the truth would be more damaging than unveiling it. My publishers told me that Lori is always one step ahead. She prepares for her interviews with the precision of a lawyer about to walk into a court room. She has answers to most questions she asks and she’s not afraid to expose a lying guest if she has to. The best and only option for me at this point is to come clean.

I raise my chin and meet her eyes, my insides burning with rage. “The father of my daughter, Reese Hollifield, is Damien Steel.”

“The man who kidnapped you.” Lori smacks her thigh with her cards and looks to the audience for a reaction, which she gets when gasps and whispers fill the room. “How does it feel to look at your daughter every day and be reminded of what happened in Mexico? Do you look at her and see her father?”

I push down the anger burning at the back of my throat. “The funny thing is, Lori, when I look at my daughter, I see a little girl who saved me. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. The one good thing that came out of the worst time of my life.”

“I see.” Lori gives me a smile but I see-through her. She really enjoys this. She wants more than the facts. What she’s interested in is digging up the pain and bringing it to the surface for all to see. She likes a good shocker and this is mine.

She puts the cards back on the table and picks up her glass. As she lifts the glass to her lips, I strain to read her watch, to guess how much more time is left of the interview. Thirty minutes have never seemed more like an eternity.

Lori takes a drink and watches me over the rim of her glass. “I’m sorry I have to ask, Ivy.” She sighs. “What are you going to tell Reese? When she grows up, will you tell her the truth, that she’s the daughter of a kidnapper and a liar, and the niece of a murderer and rapist?”

The question is a stab to my heart. I clench and unclench my hands as I glare at her. I want to jump from my seat and wring her neck before walking out of her interview. But what example would I be setting for my daughter? Life is full of bullies like Lori Raine. My job is to teach her to stand up for herself.

I reach for a napkin on a side table. Wow, she really believes in her ability to make people cry so much that she has the Kleenex ready. Taking my time, I wipe my eyes and paste on a smile. To hell with the damn interview. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Lori?”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean? I’m sorry, are the questions too uncomfortable for you?” She pauses and looks at her gang of an audience. “I guess Miss Hollifield didn’t get the memo. Thirty Minutes is about the truth. Unfortunately, some people can’t handle it.”

She chuckles and the audience barks with laughter.

“No.” Heat rises up my neck. “This show is about you. You take people’s pain and derive pleasure from it.” I wet my lips. “You’re making it look as though what I went through is my fault.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You don’t need to say it. Your words and actions say it all.” I lean forward and harden my voice. “What I went through is not a joke, and it can happen to anyone, your daughter, your sister, your friends. Instead of educating people, telling them to be more careful, you’re making me feel guilty for something I had no control over. I’m sorry, but you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“No, Ivy, you should be ashamed of yourself for making a mockery of my show.” She points a trembling finger at me, her anger erasing her beauty.

“The way you’re making a mockery of my pain?”

“I did no such thing. I merely asked an honest question.”

“Now let me give you an honest answer.” I cross my legs. “One day, when my daughter is old enough to ask questions about her father, I’ll answer them honestly.” No longer caring what anybody thinks, I turn to the audience. “I’ll tell her that her father was born a good man but he had a very tough childhood. I’ll tell her that he made a lot of mistakes, and hurt me in many ways, but when it mattered most, he did the right thing. He owned up to his mistakes in the end and tried to make them right. We all make mistakes. We all hurt people in different ways.” I turn back to Lori. “Look at you, for instance, you’re hurting people and don’t even know it.”

“How dare you—”

“Let me finish.” My eyes blaze at her. “In Damien Steel, I saw a monster at first, then I saw a man in pain, then I saw a man who saved my life. He was hurt by someone before he hurt someone else. For my daughter’s sake, I choose to see the good in her father.”

“Do you mean that?” A deep voice comes from the audience, amidst a flurry of whispers.

I squint as my gaze travels over the faces in the audience. Before I can find the one I’m searching for, he stands and removes his cap and dark shades.

“What the—call the cops.” Lori’s head snaps back. Shock waves sweep through the audience as Damien leaves his seat and walks down one of the aisles, headed for the stage.

“Lori Raine, Damien Steel. I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, except it’s not. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.” Without waiting for an answer, he takes a seat next to Lori, whose face is white as a sheet. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she breathes.

“Turns out I’m not. I survived. The only reason I stayed away is for Ivy’s sake.”

Even though, unlike everyone here, I’d known Damien was alive, my body is also hot with shock. Never would I have expected him to show up like this, or ever.

He ignores Lori and turns to me. Silence falls over the room when he continues to talk. “I did a lot of terrible things, and if you decide right now to call the cops on me, I won’t stop you. But there are a few things I want to say to you first, and I want the world to hear.” He runs the palm of his hand over his jeans. “Hearing you say those things about me cut deep. After all I did, I’m the last person to ask you for forgiveness. But I want you to know that even though I’m sitting in front of you, the man who did all those terrible things is dead. He died in Mexico. The man I am today is the kind of person I grew up wanting to be, someone who is willing to sacrifice his heart if it means saving the woman he loves.”

He draws in a breath. “Ivy, I’m not here to cause you more pain. I realize that what I did to you cannot go unpunished. I’m tired of hiding, pretending I’m dead only because I’m afraid of the consequences. I’m here because I want to be the man you and our daughter can be proud of, someone who is not afraid to accept responsibility for his crimes.”

“What do you want?”

“I read the book—every word. Seeing everything I did to you in black and white shook me. I can’t hide from the truth. When I close my eyes I see your pain. I need to do the right thing.” He rubs the side of his face. “I wanted to see you first, to tell you I love you before turning myself in.”

While Damien is talking, two cops get up on stage, ready to take him away. He glances at me and gets to his feet. “I said what I came to say. Please tell Reese that I love her and wish I can one day meet her. If you decide not to grant me that wish, I’ll understand.” He hands himself over to the cops and allows them to guide him to the steps and down the aisle.

“Stop,” I shout before they reach the door. Tears clog my throat as I get to my feet. He turns. Our eyes meet across the room. “I . . . I don’t want it. I don’t want you to go to prison.”

Even as I say the words, I know that whatever will happen to Damien is out of my control. My book contains enough damning evidence to send him away for a long time. I have slammed the final nail in his coffin.

“The decision is not up to you, my love. Don’t stand in the way. This is something I have to do.”