With my concentration focused on the album, I’d been able to forget the real reason why I was holed up in this big house in the woods, but with the arrival of Grace Trombley, reality came crashing back down.

Originally, this was supposed to have been a satellite interview, but Grace had persuaded Rocky a one-on-one would be more intimate and would better serve everyone’s objectives. Eventually, Ash had agreed to allow the reporter and one cameraman onto the property under strict, direct supervision. The two were currently setting up their camera and sound equipment in the living room while I was upstairs going over the notes Rocky had emailed earlier that morning.

I’d always been good at giving soundbites, but this interview was a whole other beast and I was nervous as hell. Grace had provided a general outline of the questions she would touch on, with the understanding that further questions were likely to crop up as a result of what I might reveal during our conversation. As this would be the one and only time I talked about my marriage, I’d agreed to be as candid as possible, and to share information with Grace no one else had ever had access to.

While I’d come around to Charlotte’s way of thinking, that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about the fall out. Ford’s lawyers could slap me with a lawsuit well before the interview even aired, but that wasn’t what had me on tenterhooks. Charlotte and Rocky were right. I could afford the $10 million Ford would sue me for. It was his emotional rebuttal that had my hands shaking now. He’d already proven he had no qualms about lying about me, so I could only imagine what my revelations would dredge up from his twisted and warped imagination.

A light knock at the door pulled me from my contemplation and Ash popped his head in. “They’re ready for you downstairs.”

I took a deep breath and stared at my reflection in the mirror one last time. Objectively speaking, I looked good. Healthy and centered. Despite the terror I’d been put through these last few weeks, I looked like a woman who had a handle on her life, who could sit down and tell the world her story and not crumble under the weight of it.

“Okay, I’ll be right down,” I said to Ash’s reflection over my shoulder.

Stepping over the threshold and closing the solid wood door behind him, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I swallowed. “I don’t want to do it, but I have to. It’s the only way to set the record straight. We don’t have the first clue why this person is after me, but if it has anything to do with the lies my ex has been spreading about me, this might put an end to it.”

Ash crossed his solid arms over his barrel chest. “Permission to speak freely?”

A rueful smile crossed my face. Once a military man, always a military man, I supposed. “Permission granted, soldier.”

He stepped closer, but didn’t smile back. Dropping his hands on my shoulders and capturing my gaze in the mirror, he squeezed. “I know you like to believe that’s a possibility, and I really wish it was, but it’s my experience—hell, it’s the experience of every damn person at McClintock Security—that these people don’t just go away. Your stalker is already convinced you’re a slut and a whore. Hearing what happened in the wake of the dissolution of your marriage isn’t going to convince them otherwise. My gut tells me it’ll only strengthen their resolve. For whatever reason, they’ve fixated on you, and this interview isn’t going to change their mind.”

I flinched at his candor but didn’t disagree. “Look,” I said, swiveling to face him. “I know you’re right, okay? The truth is, I didn’t agree to this interview in the hopes of pacifying my stalker. I agreed because I’m tired of that bastard controlling my life, of him being the one telling the world who I am. For years he was the center of my universe, and I let him take the lead in our relationship, let him dictate the terms of our public personas.

“But not anymore,” I continued, slapping my palm to the vanity table. “I’m a grown ass woman with a story of my own; one that is separate from who I am as Crawford Madigan’s ex-wife. Sure, my story isn’t always a great one, but it’s mine, and I’m so fucking tired of hiding it. Tired of not being able to release the music I want to because I’m under a goddamn gag order. My music has suffered. My life had suffered. And I’m done.

“So no, this interview may not accomplish what Charlotte and Rocky are hoping it will, but it’s the first step in claiming my life back, so I’m going to march down those stairs and deliver a star-worthy performance.” I shot to my feet, determination fueling my resolve.

“Alright then.” Ash’s lips fell into a hard, straight line and his eyes glinted with resolve. “Let’s get you downstairs then and get this over with. I won’t be comfortable until I see their tail lights driving away.”

I rubbed his arm as I sailed past. “I can’t imagine what a stress case you’d be if I’d hired you to guard me out in the real world. You’re like a live wire and we’re out here, isolated from everyone, and you are still fit to be tied.” I shook my head and chuckled. “So fucking alpha all the time.”

Trailing behind, Ash placed his palm on the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “You love that alpha shit and you know it.” He nipped at my ear as I took a step forward, causing me to set my foot down awkwardly. Ash’s arm shot out and clamped around my middle, holding me steady. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.

“You’re not wrong,” I chirped, stepping out of his hold and skipping down the stairs before he could say—or do—anything else to ruffle my composure.

Even though Ash had brought up some very real concerns, our playful banter while coming down the stairs managed to banish my nerves. He could be intense and brooding, but more and more I was coming to learn he also knew exactly how to lighten the mood and make me laugh.

Approaching Grace with a genuine smile on my face, I stretched my hand out in greeting. “Hello there, good to see you again.”

Returning my smile with warmth, she said, “Hello Rae. Thank you for doing this interview.”

When she turned and gestured toward the overstuffed leather sofa she wanted me to sit in for the duration of our conversation, I noticed the furniture had been rearranged to make the space look more intimate, less masculine. The chairs had been grouped closer together, and soft cashmere and chenille throws and pillows had been added to each seating area, as well as a cut crystal vase full of fresh lavender and rosemary clippings.

Seeing my bemused expression, Grace said, “When I spoke with Mr. Devereaux about the security requirements for our visit, I made sure to ask what the space was like. He tried explaining, but …” She cocked her shoulder and smirked. I knew exactly what she was getting at. “In the end, I had him give me a tour with his phone. It’s a beautiful home, as I’m sure you’ll agree, but it’s very masculine.”

She looked around the room for a quick second and then her eyes found mine. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so since we’ve only met a few times, but I always think of you as being very feminine, but with a bit of an edge. You give off this vibe that you’re not to be messed with, but you also like the softer, finer things in life. Since this is the first time you’ll be discussing your marriage publicly, I wanted to make you feel as comfortable as possible. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.” She pushed her long, straight blond locks behind her ears and then fidgeted nervously with her wedding ring.

Interesting. And here I thought I was the only one who’d been nervous about this interview.

“No, of course not.” I reached out and squeezed her hand quickly. “I appreciate your forethought. Those things didn’t even occur to me when I agreed to do the interview.”

Grace laughed good-naturedly. “No, but then again, why would they? Me, on the other hand? This is what I do for a living so I’m always thinking about setting and positioning and lighting and whatnot.” She smiled at me conspiratorially then. “And to be honest, I love getting to play around with new spaces. I know it’s not technically part of my job, but when I was growing up I wanted to decorate houses, so times like these give me an opportunity to flex those muscles a bit so I don’t run away from it all and open up some boutique out in Maine or something.”

Grace was a consummate professional, the go-to for celebrity interviews. She didn’t do softball questions, but she also did her best to make sure her subjects weren’t on the defensive either. To think journalism hadn’t been her first choice of career came as a surprise.

“Wow, Maine?” I asked, settling into my chair as Sam, her large, silent cameraman, attached an inconspicuous mic to my sweater and adjusted the background lighting to avoid harsh glares and shadows.

“It’s my favorite place in the world,” she remarked as she took a seat across from me. “I’d move there in a heartbeat if I wouldn’t go stir crazy in about a month. I have a house there I visit so I get my fill.”

“I hope you don’t take offense, but I can’t picture you as a shop owner. You’re just … well, you’re an anchor, through and through.”

She laughed. “No offense taken. I’m good at my job and I do love it, but it’s high pressure too.” She turned to Sam and gave a brief nod. Then, shifting her focus back to me, asked, “If you could do anything else in the world other than be a singer, what would it be?”

The shift from casual chit-chat to interview mode was fluid, which made it all the more startling. I glanced quickly out the side of my eye and saw the red light of Sam’s camera. We were rolling.

“Um …” I hesitated and Grace smiled encouragingly at me. “Honestly? I’ve never really thought about it,” I finally answered. “I’ve wanted to be a singer ever since I was a little girl, and everything I’ve done since has been in support of that dream.”

“That’s right,” she replied. “You were the first winner of Country Superstar. If you hadn’t done the show, what do you think would be different about your life?”

“Well, for starters, I doubt I’d have earned a Grammy nomination by the time I was twenty-one,” I answered, self-deprecatingly.

“And four more after that,” she reminded her viewers.

“Yes, five nominations in total.”

“Are awards important to you then?”

Her questions were coming fast and furious. I hadn’t even answered the previous one before she jumped to another, entirely different topic.

Sensing my discomfort and discombobulation, Grace leaned forward and squeezed my knee. “I know I’m firing questions at you rather quickly, but I’ve found over the years it tends to produce more honest answers. If you’re not anticipating my next question, you can’t anticipate your answer either. Don’t worry about the conversation not making linear sense. We’ll go back later and string it together cohesively in post-production.”

“Oh, okay,” I replied, still slightly dazed. I’d been on stage most of my life, but the particulars of an intimate one-on-one interview, especially with a powerhouse like Grace Trombley, were still new to me.

Grace leaned back in her seat and cleared her throat. “Right now, I’m trying to give the audience a feel for who you are underneath all the fame and fortune to the backbone and steel resolve that exists within you. This way, when we get to some of your later life—the things you’ve never discussed before—we’ve primed the audience to see your inherent strength versus your weakness.”

“Um, thank you,” I responded, my cheeks reddening.

“No problem.” She turned and nodded at Sam to begin again.

“Are awards important to you, Rae?”

While Rocky had given Grace several stipulations for the interview, she’d had only one of her own: that I tell the truth to the best of my ability. Since this whole thing was about setting Ford’s lies to rights, being honest was my goal as well.

I considered my answer thoughtfully and then took a deep breath. “The truth is, every artist wants to win awards for their work since it’s the pinnacle of professional validation.” Another deep breath. “But the other truth is that even though I’ve been nominated five times, I only thought one of them was deserved. The others came during years where better artists hadn’t put out any new music, so my efforts shone that much brighter.”

Grace did a superb job of hiding her reaction from the camera, but I could tell my answer startled her. “I’m sure you’re just being modest,” she said sweetly.

“I assure you, I’m not,” I laughed. “Ask my manager and he’ll confirm there’s not a modest bone in my body.”

Without missing a beat, she pivoted to the subject that had precipitated our conversation in the first place. “It’s interesting that you would say that since your ex-husband, actor Crawford Madigan, has often said you’re very demanding and that you hold everyone to a very high standard.”

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, and took a drink from the sparkling water at my elbow. “Well, I don’t know that I’d say I’m demanding, but Ford’s not wrong when he says I hold people to high standards. I’d argue though that I don’t expect anything from others that I’m not willing to give myself.”

There, that was a good answer, wasn’t it?

“And would you say Ford not being able to meet those standards was one of the things that led to your divorce?” she volleyed right back without missing a beat.

I set my glass to the side, happy to see my hands weren’t shaking, and then met her stare. “I’d say there were several factors that led to the breakdown of my marriage, not the least of which was the fact that Ford wasn’t the man I thought he was when we got married.”

“Do you care to elaborate?”

I looked out the window briefly and noticed the sun was beginning to set behind the trees. Flicking my eyes back to Grace, I said, “I was very young when I first met Ford and, as I’m sure everyone knows, he is very charismatic. At first, I was flattered that someone as famous as he was knew my name, and then I was overwhelmed when he pursued me.”

“And what was that like?”

I blinked and caught Ash’s presence off to the side of the room, his face impassive, but the hard set of his shoulders giving him away anyhow. We’d talked about my relationship with Ford and the things that had led to my bout of self-destruction, but I’d been careful to avoid a number of the particulars, including the early days of our relationship and how we’d fallen in love. Or rather, how I’d fallen in love since Ford had never loved me back. I couldn’t tell what Ash was thinking, but from the way his muscles clenched under his shirt, I imagined this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to hear. Still, as my personal bodyguard I wouldn’t be out of his line of sight while others were here so he’d stay through it all.

“Flowers, fancy dinners, presents. You know, everything you see in the movies. As most everyone already knows, I didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, so Ford was really my first boyfriend. Since I grew up poor, his gifts were really lovely, and while it was exciting to go to premiers and have him show me off, what really attracted me to him was his sense of humor. Not a lot of people will know this about him, but Ford is a dead-on mimic. He’d leave me in stitches doing impressions of everyone we’d interacted with earlier in the evening.”

“Impressions?”

I chuckled, remembering those good times. The easy times. The ones that had all been a lie. And then the devil on my shoulder decided to come out and play. “The next time you see Ford, ask him to do Cher or Meryl Streep. His male impressions are great, but the female ones are spot on.” I smiled serenely, knowing Ford would shit himself if this part of the interview made the final cut.

Grace chuckled right along with me. “I will.” Then, bringing the conversation back to the serious asked, “In your estimation, at what point did the relationship begin to sour?”

I’d been prepared for this question. Still, I hoped the camera wouldn’t pick up the white of my knuckles or the thrumming of the pulse in my neck as I answered. “I’m sure there are several ways that question could be answered. In fact, we all know Ford’s thoughts on the subject … but as a storyteller, I’ve found there are always two sides to every story, and mine differs greatly from his.” I swallowed down my anger. “There’s been a lot said from his camp about how my immaturity and neediness was a problem almost from the get-go. I won’t deny that I needed my husband; I don’t think any new wife would. The problem, from my point of view, was from the moment we returned from our honeymoon, everything changed. Ford wasn’t home most nights. In fact, I’d often go days without seeing him. We literally went from spending every waking moment together to living like complete strangers. So was I needy and whiny?” I shrugged. “I’m sure I was. We were newlyweds, he was breaking my heart, and he couldn’t be bothered to care.”

Grace nodded thoughtfully and her eyes turned sympathetic. I wasn’t sure if it was for me or for the cameras, but it would play well with her audience. “That must have been incredibly difficult for you. Is that when you started drinking?”

I’d been prepared for that question, but it still shook me to hear it so soon. Given what I’d just revealed about Ford’s behavior toward me, I’d anticipated additional follow up questions about him. After all, wasn’t the whole point to discuss our marriage, to give my side of the whole sordid tale?

I emitted a sigh and tried to tamp down my frustration. “Actually, no. I don’t know if anyone will believe me when I say this, but I’d never had a sip of alcohol until I met my ex-husband. Growing up hearing about what a lousy drunk your granddaddy was tends to put you off the sauce. But being around Ford and his friends, I saw what a good time everyone was always having and how champagne and fine wine was different than homemade hooch and cheap beer. I began to drink socially, but never at home. For some reason, drinking at home was the slippery slope.”

Grace nodded thoughtfully, encouraging me to continue.

“The first time I got well and truly drunk was The Grammys. It was my first nomination and I was nervous. Every time I turned around, someone was handing me another glass of champagne and telling me to relax.” I shook my head ruefully. “It’s a good thing I didn’t win because I’m not sure I could have walked up on stage unassisted. My hangover the next morning was epic. I didn’t drink again for six more months.”

Grace shifted in her seat and leaned forward, her eyes bright and dogged. I knew that look. She was getting ready to pull out a big question. “And yet your ex-husband claims you were drunk nearly all the time. You said it yourself a few minutes ago: there are two sides to every story. Why is it, do you think, yours and his differ so drastically?”

With my eyes locked on hers, I gave the answer I knew would send shockwaves across the industry. “I learned a very long time ago never to believe a word that comes out of that man’s mouth. One of his specialties is taking the things he’s notorious for and pinning them on someone else, someone who can’t fight back. Who won’t speak up to defend themselves.

“I’ve never spoken of this before because I literally signed a document that said I wouldn’t.”

“A pre-nup?” she asked.

I nodded. “Like I said, I was young and naive when I married Ford. At the time, I didn’t understand some of what was in that document. His manager and his lawyers were very happy to make sure of it. But I’m not young anymore, and I’m certainly not naive either. So here I am, saying to hell with him and the $10 million dollars I’ll have to fork over for revealing the truth about our marriage. I’m tired of the world believing all of his lies, exhausted by sitting back and allowing Ford to dictate my story. So today, I’m done.”

I sat forward in my seat, mimicking her posture. Grace had said she viewed me as a woman with an edge and the world was about to see exactly what sort of edge she meant.

“The reason Ford goes around telling everyone that I was drunk for most of our marriage is because that’s his way of deflecting blame for his own bad behavior. The truth is, he’s a drunk and a drug addict, but he’s been enabled so long by his handlers that he refuses to see it. Or maybe he does, and that’s why he insists on painting me as the villain. Because he’s afraid if anyone looks too long or too hard at him they’ll see the real him. But I lived with him for five long years and I saw what lay behind the public mask. And while he may be beautiful on the outside, inside he’s ugly as sin.

“To answer your earlier question, Grace, no, I didn’t start drinking heavily until I was served with divorce papers. By that point, I’d known my marriage was in shambles, but despite everything, I still loved him and I believed in the sanctity of our vows. Despite his cruelty, I hoped I could fix him. That I could fix us.” I laughed cynically and sat back, shaking my head. “Isn’t that always the way? We women will forever believe we can change the men we love, but the truth is, the only person who can change you is you.”

For several long seconds, Grace was silent, her eyes flicking between mine. The camera wouldn’t pick up on it, but I saw clear as day she was seeking my permission to continue down this path of questioning. I smiled benignly and nodded slightly. I’d blown open Ford’s secret, and if I was going to have to pay him $10 million for the pleasure of doing so, I was going to get my money’s worth.

“Those are massive allegations, ones I’m sure you’re aware could lead to lawsuits. Defamation, slander, and possibly even libel if the press repeats them.”

“I’m fully aware how Ford’s team will react when this interview airs so I guess I’ll see him in court. He’s spent years lying about me and I’ve sat back and let it happen. The only difference between what he’s done and what we’re doing today is I’m actually telling the truth.

“In fact, I’m positive his dealer will corroborate my story. Tommy has always desired the spotlight. I’m sure his fifteen minutes of fame would thrill him to pieces. Would you like his phone number? I’d be happy to give it to you.” I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled victoriously.

If Ford was half as smart as he thought he was, he’d have realized a long time ago that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Instead, he’d counted on my silence but this meek little songbird had just sung the song of her life.