Zandra shook her head, lamenting the societal tendency to sensationalize any story, no matter how tragic or deeply personal. But she’d understood what came with the territory when she’d agreed to hold the press conference. She’d forfeited any expectation of privacy the moment she’d looked into those cameras and invited the world into her life. But she had no regrets. Not if her actions helped other victims.
“You’re being hailed as a feminist heroine,” Christine said warmly.
Zandra heaved a sigh. “I’m not a heroine.”
But apparently others thought so. Since the press conference, she’d been flooded with calls and invitations for speaking engagements. She’d been contacted by every organization under the sun, from battered women’s shelters to civil rights groups.
It was both humbling and overwhelming.
Which was another reason she needed to get away. To that end, she was taking a month-long sabbatical to St. Lucia. Her flight was scheduled to depart in three hours, but she still had one last important thing to do before she left.
Christine winked at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to stick around and bask in your new celebrity status?”
“I’m sure,” Zandra said wryly.
Christine’s expression softened. “Thanks for entrusting the agency to me while you’re gone.”
Zandra smiled. “You’ve been with me from the beginning, and you love this agency as much as I do. Who else would I leave in charge?”
“Not Morgan, thank God.” Christine gave a mock shudder. “Love her, but she’s bossy as hell.”
Zandra laughed.
After the press conference, Morgan had resigned from her job to officially become Zandra’s publicist. She’d be earning more than she had ever imagined, which would enable her to save money toward opening her public relations business.
“Well, I’d better get back to the phone,” Christine said, rising from the chair. “We’ve been getting nonstop calls, and not just from reporters. The girls are in demand even more than ever. We’d better hire Lena’s replacement soon.”
“I know,” Zandra agreed with a sigh. “I’m working on it.”
After Christine left, Zandra returned her attention to her unfinished email.
It was the most difficult message she’d ever had to compose, because she knew how much pain she would cause by sending it.
But she had to. Or at least that’s what she’d been telling herself.
Zandra hesitated another moment, then resumed typing.
Ten minutes later, eyes brimming with tears, she stopped and read over what she’d written.
Rem,
I wanted you to know that I’ve rented a beach house on St. Lucia, where I’ll be spending the rest of the summer. By the time you receive this message, I’ll already be gone. I planned it that way. Only a few people know where I’m going, and I considered swearing them to secrecy so you wouldn’t follow me. But I knew that was pointless because you’d crack them too easily.
My mother used to say that she and I were nothing alike, and that was a source of great relief to her. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe we’re more alike than she ever thought. Maybe I’m a coward for sending you this letter after I’ve already skipped town. But I didn’t want to see you, Remy. I didn’t want you to try to talk me out of leaving. And I was afraid that if we talked, I might have said things I’d later regret.
Let me savor that last image of you, standing and applauding at the end of the press conference.
Please don’t come to me. So much has happened. I need time and distance to process everything. I think you understand that better than anyone.
I love you, Remy. No matter what happens between us, my love for you will never change.
Be well,
Z
Zandra stared at the blurred words on the screen, her hand hovering over the mouse.
Am I doing the right thing? she wondered for the umpteenth time. Am I?
After the press conference, she’d seen Remy only briefly because he’d had to catch a flight to Mexico. He’d only be gone a few days, he’d told her, but he wanted them to get together and talk when he got back.