Because the picture is behind me, I have to twist uncomfortably to see it, and I’m glad I’m not facing a camera when I do because my smile falters. Was this in the show notes? I feel like I’d remember this.

“Ohh, you’re so cute,” Janice-or-Janie croons. Fuck, her name is Jackie. “He looks about ready to propose here. Don’t you think?” The other women hum and nod in affirmation.

“Thanks.” I fix my smile back on my face and turn around so I don’t have to see that picture anymore. It’s a nonanswer, but I’m frozen, completely unsure of how to proceed. Of course I see myself married to Ryan, expanding our family, reading and writing and loving each other forever. If only I could find the time to start that chapter of our lives.

“Is it true he’s your editor? How romantic,” Taylor swoons.

“Uh, no. Sorry.” Why am I apologizing? I blink a few times, giving myself a moment to recover. “He works with my publisher but not officially on my books.”

“I bet he works on them unofficially.” Jackie elbows me playfully.

Is that some kind of innuendo? “He reads every word.” I grin harder, hoping this segment is almost over. Talking about my personal life is almost never allowed, so I’m not sure how this slipped past everyone whose job it is to approve interview questions.

“So lucky,” Kathy-or-Kelly says. It’s unclear if she’s referring to me or Ryan.

“And with that, it’s time for a commercial break. We’ll be right back.” Taylor smiles into the camera. We all pause for a moment until we get the all-clear. They usher me off-camera, remove my mic, and I’m free to go.

Three more sleeps. Then three months off. I can do this.

After that interview, I task Trina with making sure I won’t be ambushed with any more personal questions. She assures me I won’t. Ryan calls, and he laughs a bit about the whole thing, but I can tell he’s uncomfortable. He didn’t sign up to be in the limelight, though I guess it’s at least a little inevitable. Then, I write some more and end up passing out in my clothes sometime around one in the morning.

The next day, I write and write and write. I have a rare day between interviews with no obligations, and I intend to use it. JPM wants pages, and I’m determined to give them something that isn’t absolute shit. I don’t realize I’ve forgotten to eat until my phone rings yet again. A brief glance at the clock tells me it’s past two in the afternoon. My stomach rumbles.