I felt safer in the fantasy.
I’m sure it will surprise no one to learn that alcohol helped maintain that. When I was working or when I was drunk, I could ignore the voices in my head—and in the media—that told me that no matter what roles I got, no matter how much money I was being paid, no matter what perks were given to me, it would never be enough. I’d never be enough.
It took fucking up on a global scale, it took rehab, it took divorce, and it took losing the thing I’d used to define myself to realize I didn’t want that anymore. To paraphrase the indomitable Tracy Lord, I realized that I didn’t want to be successful. I wanted to be loved.
But when you’re focused on feeding something that can never truly be satiated, you miss what you’re actually hungry for.
Ten years ago, I wasn’t able to answer the question. I wasn’t ready.
Now, I’m ready.
Success is starting a theatre where I’m beholden to no one but my co-founder and staff. Success is being present for my family—physically and emotionally. Success is being Bond and then not being Bond.
It’s stepping off the stage and feeling like I’m still there. That I deserve to be there.
Mostly, though, it’s her. It’s us.
It’s the stories she reads me late at night, when she’s spent all day writing and isn’t sure that any of it is good (it always is). It’s mornings waiting for the hot water to boil so we can have tea and coffee and talk about what comes next. It’s feeling like every day is the perfect day, even if the whole day isn’t perfect, but finding the moments that are. Being so proud of her that I could burst.
It’s knowing that this isn’t a fantasy. It’s real life.
For John
All my stories are love stories because of you
Acknowledgments
Writing is intimate and nerve-racking and a little embarrassing. Thank you, dear reader, for the opportunity to be vulnerable with you.
Endless thanks to Elizabeth Bewley, who in addition to being a wonderful human being is also a damn good agent (dare I say, the best agent?) and who saw something in this book before it was even finished. Elizabeth, I’m so lucky that you’re on my team.
I’m beyond grateful for my editor, Shauna Summers. It’s incredibly rare to find someone you immediately click with on a creative level. Shauna, what a gift it is to work with you. There’s nothing better than collaborating with someone so sharp and insightful. I can’t wait to do it again.
Thank you to the entire team at Penguin Random House. Thank you to Lexi Batsides and Mae Martinez. Thank you to Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Jennifer Hershey, Cara DuBois, Belina Huey, Ella Laytham, Barbara Bachman, and Colleen Nuccio. Thank you to marketing and publicity goddesses Morgan Hoit, Melissa Folds, and Courtney Mocklow, all of whom share my love of a good spreadsheet. And to everyone else who touched this book with their talents.
This book had several early champions—friends and colleagues whose support I cherish. Thank you, Tal Bar Zemer, Katie Cotugno, Zan Romanoff, Maurene Goo, Robin Benway, Sarah Enni, Brandy Colbert, Margot Wood, Jessica Morgan, Alisha Rai, Rachel Lynn Solomon, and Kate Spencer. You’re all as talented as you are beautiful (and you’re all very beautiful).
Thank you to my parents for taking me to the library whenever I needed to refresh my stacks of paperback romances. Mom and Dad, you never put restrictions on what I was allowed to read, therefore the sex scenes are totally your fault. Thank you.
Adam and Abra, I wouldn’t trade you for any other siblings on the planet. I definitely haven’t tried to.
John. You’re better than any romance hero I’ve ever read (or written). Because you’re real. And you’re spectacular. I love you.