Camille

{One Year Later}

Today’s the day I sell my soul.

“I believe I speak for an entire nation, Ms. Buchanan, when I say we’re on pins and needles as we wait for the release of your memoir. What made you decide to write this tell-all?” The woman interviewing me cocks her head and offers a look that makes me want to open up to her, but the concern in her eyes is for the viewers at home.

And she should be concerned. This book is going to change everything for a lot of people.

I never wanted to write it.

But what choice did I have?

“Well, Denise, I believe it’s important to know what goes on in our nation’s capital when no one’s looking.” I keep a light cadence in my words, just like I practiced all afternoon. My PR team says to keep my interviews spry to counteract the bomb I’m about to drop. It’s not every day that the carefully crafted images of an American blue-blooded family are shattered.

This is my big moment. I’m experiencing a historical moment in real-time. Clips of this interview will play out on countless documentaries someday, and my name will forever be linked to his. For better or for worse, I’ll be unforgettable.

Just like I always wanted.

“I’ve had the privilege of reading a few excerpts from your book, and I must say to the viewers at home, there are some extremely heavy allegations.” She repositions herself before resting her chin across the top of her hand. We’re just a couple of girls having a conversation. Denise Stone makes it easy to forget we’re being filmed for a nationally televised special, but I suppose that’s why she’s paid the big bucks. “What would you say to the naysayers who might accuse you of looking for a big payday?”

“We’re fortunate enough to live in a free country.” I deliver my lines like I rehearsed and ignore the fact that I’m melting under these hot lights. “No one has to read anything or believe anything they don’t want to. The only thing I’d like everyone to know is that my book, my memoir, is one hundred percent factual. Every word of it is true.”

I steal a quick glance behind one of the cameramen where Ronan stands and watches the interview, his arms folded casually. He gives me a nod that both reassures and empowers me.

This memoir, after all, was his idea.

“Now, in your memoir, Dark Paradise,” Denise says, “You claim to have worked as an escort in Washington, DC for five years before meeting the son of President Montgomery. Is that correct?”

“It is.” I smile, but it’s only for him.

“And the details of your love affair with Ronan Montgomery are all going to be discussed in your book?”

“That’s right,” I say. “When you strip away the scandal, there’s a really beautiful love story there. We wanted to share our story because we live it every day.”

“Now you two are still together, is that correct?”

“We are,” I say, holding up my left hand and wiggling my ring finger. A radiant solitaire dazzles beneath the bright lights. “Going strong.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment, given the hurdles you two have gone through to get here.” She glances at her notes for a second. “In your book, you discuss in detail the threat placed on your life by the Montgomery family when they discovered your relationship.”

I nod, glancing at Ronan again. I still can’t believe we’re doing this, but a year ago, he asked me to trust him, and within a week, we were deep into the first draft of my memoir. And just as he anticipated, his mother refused to retract her claws, sending him letters and phone calls. They’d always start out sweet and unassuming, and as soon as she realized she wasn’t making headway, she’d spew venom and threats.

She never respected Ronan, nor did she take him seriously.

I bet she will now.

“Right,” I say. “There were bribes and intimidations. It’s all discussed in great length in my book.”

Denise tilts her head, her eyes squinting. “The release of this memoir during an election year–it seems as though it might be a strategic move. Would that be a fair assumption?”

I shrug. They say all’s fair in love and war. Everything about this is love and war.

“It was a decision Ronan and I made together,” I say. “We felt the American public deserved to know the truth, and we believe it’s our civic duty to share it.”

“You also have a stunning revelation to share in regards to the identity of your biological father,” she says. “From what I understand, his identity has only been shared with you in the past year?”

“That’s correct,” I say. “I haven’t met him yet, and I’m not sure that I want to, but I’m very familiar with his work . . .”

I don’t know how he did it, but Ronan managed to convince my mother to fork over the missing puzzle piece I’d desperately searched for my entire life. My father, for better or for worse, is Rupert Darlington, husband of Vice President Nanette Darlington and father of Lydia, who, it turns out, is adopted–which is a huge relief. She’s the last person I’d want as a half-sister.

Denise asks a handful of pointed questions, and I’m ready at the helm with scripted answers generic enough to not reveal spoilers from my book but still enough to leave the viewers at home satisfied.

Ronan stands still, watching from his place, and my strength is grounded in his calmness. For the past year, he’s been my rock, my protector, my most trusted confidant and my best friend. He moved to LA with me so I could pursue my dreams, and he’s perfectly content to stand back and let me shine. The spotlight is all mine, he likes to say. He never wanted it in the first place.

The producer signals for Denise to wrap up, and I’m flooded with an unreasonable amount of happiness. I just want to go home to my apartment with my fiancé, and hole up for a few days while the impending media firestorm we’re creating begins to brew.

Ronan said that publicly calling out his mother for her actions would keep her from ever acting on them. And it would more than likely ruin any chances she’d ever have of running for office someday.

I believe that’s what they call karma, even if we did give it a helpful little nudge.

“If I may, I’d like to read an excerpt from a chapter written by Ronan,” Denise says, pulling out a sheet of printed paper as we close the interview. “And I would do it all over again, changing nothing. A hundred times over, I’d give it all away for her. My kingdom for her heart.”