“Which you promptly ignored and almost gave her an aneurysm when you turned off your phone for three days,” he reminded me, dimples appearing as he smiled.
“It was worth it. I needed you all to myself for a little while.” I reached up to straighten his tie, letting my fingers linger.
His hands settled on my hips to draw me closer. “Still do.”
Still, I hardly believed how I got here from running away to finding my way back. That had resonated with so many readers. I grabbed my memoir from the nightstand, admiring the embossed cover.The Truth in Our Lieshad debuted at number three on the New York Times bestseller list and climbed to number one within two weeks. Still, I hardly believed my messy journey had resonated with so many readers.
I flipped to the dedication page, the words I’d labored over more than any other part of the book.To L.B., who taught me coming home isn’t giving up, it’s growing up. Thank you for being worth the truth.
Langston’s hand on my shoulder grounded me as I blew out air. “Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, glancing around our luxury hotel suite. I’d come a long way since the basement. I ran from my past while accidentally stumbling into my future. From hiding in his office from a nonexistent stalker to announcing our pregnancy at a prestigious European book tour, the journey was both impossible and inevitable.
“Let’s go tell the world about our baby girl,” I said, sliding the book into my bag and taking his outstretched hand.
After a short walk to the bookstore, I was greeted by the host. I stepped onto the small stage; the Parisian bookstore had packed in twice the number of people than the owner had anticipated. I scanned the sea of faces until I found Langston at the back wall. Even from this distance, I read his lips,You got this, Trouble.I smiled and settled into the velvet-backed chair as the moderator tapped her microphone. The audience hushed as smartphones were raised to capture the moment.
I spotted Raina and her children in the front row, all five of them miraculously silent. Mike sat at the end, arm draped across the back of Raina’s chair, nodding encouragingly when our eyes met. My sister looked different away from her suburban life, softer somehow. Her usual judgment had been replaced by admiration.
“Mesdames et messieurs, the host switched to English. We are honored to welcome Aven Compton-Black, whose memoirThe Truth in Our Lieshas captured hearts across America and now Europe. She has been called ‘the woman who turned a lie into bestselling truth,’ and her journey from small-town America to the chaos of South America and back again reminds us sometimes the longest journeys lead us right back home,” the moderator began, her French accent making my simple story sound like literature with a capital L.
I adjusted the microphone; thankfully, the morning sickness had given me a temporary reprieve.
“Thank you all for coming, especially those of you who traveled so far.” I eyed Raina, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile.
I opened my book to a marked page, I sank into the words I’d written during late nights at Langston’s kitchen table, and early mornings in our bed.
“I ran because running was easier than staying,” I read, the words transporting me back to Lima to Leo to the fear thatchased me home. “I collected passport stamps, praying each new country would be far enough away from my stalker. Yet distance, I learned, is measured in more than miles.”
The audience was quiet, drawn into the narration.
“In Brazil, a woman selling blankets told me all threads, no matter how tangled, were a part of the same fabric. I didn’t understand what she meant until I found myself in a basement archive room, sorting through the past while a man I’d once known stood guard over my future,” I continued, turning the page.
My eyes gravitated to Langston, his stance alert, ever my protector. The memory of his reluctance to hire me and my desperation for any job felt like a lifetime ago. Yet here we were, transformed into the foundation of everything that mattered.
I read the passage about finding myself cornered in the elevator, the security footage that revealed Langston’s long-held secret, and the rain-soaked parking lot proposal that had changed everything. Each word carried us further into the story of two people finding their way back to each other against all odds.
Raina dabbed at her eyes as Mike silently comforted her, their oldest daughter watching the exchange with the keen observation of a child who missed nothing. In the back, Langston’s posture shifted, the only outward sign of how deeply those words affected him still.
I flipped to the final chapter. “I’ll read one more short passage before we open for questions. We stood in the rain, his ring on my finger, and the past finally laid to rest between us. I realized the longest journey wasn’t a place you escaped from; it was a person you returned to.”
The applause washed over me, affirming my thoughts as I closed the book. The moderator returned to the microphone,opening the floor for questions. Hands shot up immediately, and she pointed to a middle-aged woman in a bright yellow scarf.
“Your memoir ends with your wedding, but writers never stop telling their stories. What will be your next project?” the woman asked.
I glanced toward Langston, who nodded. A tug of his lips told me he knew what I was about to do. We’d discussed this moment for weeks, whether to make the announcement here or how to share our news with the world. In the end, it felt right to do it in Paris, the city of new beginnings.
Setting my book aside and smoothing my hand over the bump straining against my blazer buttons. “Actually, my husband and I are working on something new together, a baby girl due in four months.”
The room erupted in applause and exclamations. Cameras flashed as I cradled my belly, no longer trying to minimize its presence. Raina’s mouth dropped, her shock giving way to tears she didn’t try to hide. The children bounced in their seats; the news of a cousin was clearly more exciting than a boring book.
“Girl, why didn’t you tell me?” Raina asked, abandoning her decorum in a public setting in the face of family news.
I laughed, shrugging. “Surprise, surprise.”
The moderator, recovering quickly, asked, “Will motherhood change your writing?”
“It already has. Everything I write from now on will be shaped by this new love, just as everything I’ve written so far has been shaped by finding my way back to him,” I admitted, finding Langston’s eyes again. He’d moved from his post at the wall to stand at the edge of the stage, a rare public smile breaking across his face.
