As an expectant hush fell over the room, she took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Since my father’s campaign surrogates have been making the rounds to put a revisionist spin on the nature of our estrangement, I thought it was time for me to tell my side of the story. Contrary to what you may have heard, I didn’t stop speaking to my father because he disapproved of my escort agency. He was out of my life long before the business even opened.”
She paused for a moment, meeting Remy’s gaze. The tender ferocity in his eyes brought an ache to her throat, forcing her to swallow hard before she glanced away and continued speaking. “I grew up in a house ruled by fear. Not fear of the violence that plagued my neighborhood. Fear of violence from my own father. He verbally and physically abused my mother, and because of that, I grew up afraid of him. I feared the sight of his car pulling into the driveway. The thump of his footsteps. The sound of his voice. As long as he was around, I knew that my mother wasn’t safe from his anger, and I never felt safe either.”
She paused to sip from the glass of water that had been poured before the press conference began. The room was deafeningly silent. So silent she could hear herself swallow.
Her hand trembled slightly as she set the glass down, but her voice was steady as she resumed speaking. “In my father’s house, femininity was something to be ashamed of, and beauty was a curse. He demanded modesty from me and my mother. Modesty to the point of invisibility. Not only should women not be seen, they shouldn’t be heard. It wasn’t until I left home for college that I realized just how warped this was, how dangerously oppressive.
“When I decided to open an escort agency, one of my goals was to ensure that the women I hired would be seen and heard. They aren’t arm candy. They’re strong, intelligent, capable women with voices that matter. I’m proud of them, and if my agency were to be shut down tomorrow, I’d have no regrets about the way I ran the business. If my father wants to publicly scold me for running what he deems a brothel...well,” she murmured, touching her bruised cheek, “I’ll let others decide whose sins are greater.”
At the end of her speech, a low murmur of sympathy ran through the audience. She could feel an undercurrent of shock and anger, could see several female reporters dabbing at the corners of their eyes.
“I just have to say something.”
Everyone turned to stare at Claudia, whose blue eyes were glistening with tears. She picked up Zandra’s hand and held it as she solemnly addressed the crowd. “Zandra is a very private person, so I know how difficult it was for her to share what she just did. The painful experience she so eloquently spoke of was my reality for the eight years I was married. My husband beat me, and he made me feel worthless and unattractive because I wasn’t a perfect size four...or six...or— Well, I think you guys get the point.”
This drew appreciative chuckles that brought some levity to the room.
“Anyway,” the petite blonde went on, “my husband preyed on my fears and insecurities and convinced me that he was the only man who would ever want me. We have two daughters, and when my oldest started having body-image issues—” Claudia’s voice hitched, and she rapidly blinked back tears and inhaled a shaky breath before continuing “—it broke my heart, but it was part of the wakeup call I’d been needing. When I finally found the courage to take my girls and leave their father, I honestly didn’t know whether we could make it on our own.”
She turned to Zandra, warm gratitude shimmering in her eyes. “This young lady was my advocate when no one else cared. Becoming one of her escorts created opportunities for me I wouldn’t have had. And you know what? No client has ever made me feel less than beautiful for not being a perfect size four. So I just want to thank you, Zandra, for giving me the fresh start I desperately needed.”