Blog Tour with Extract - Your Guilty Secret by Rebecca Thornton

THIS STORY IS YOUR GUILTY SECRET

You know Lara King. 

The top billing of the showbiz pages, you've seen her every morning; over your breakfast, on your commute to work. You know everything about her; you've dissected her life. 

Her perfect relationship with film-star Matthew Raine. Her beautiful six-year old daughter Ava. 

And so when a terrible incident shatters the family's carefully constructed facade, a media frenzy ensues. 

What happens when the perfect woman begins to unravel? When her whole life is really just a lie? One she will do anything she can to stop you from finding out?

This story is . . .

YOUR GUILTY SECRET.

I am pleased today to be taking part in Bonnier Zaffre's blog tour to celebrate the publication of Rebecca Thornton's novel, Your Guilty Secret.

Your Guilty Secret is a psychological thriller which grips the reader from the very start and keeps their attention to the final page. I was completely engrossed and found myself reading just one more chapter until I finished it!

When I initially started the book I was not sure that a psychological thriller would work in the world of showbiz but Rebecca has written a very clever book that takes this materialistic world and makes it much more than fame and money and creates a world where a very scared women is fighting against the people who made her career.

The publishers, Bonnier Zaffre, have given me an extract to share with my blog readers and I urge you to follow the blog tour throughout the twelve days to discover more about Your Guilty Secret. Next stop is 'No Safer Place' @zcollins1994.

Lara King Official Website Status: Unpublished August 26th 2018

1500hrs

Now is your chance. Grab it whilst you can. Take a long look at my face. I hope I am how you imagined. I can’t shoulder the burden of your disappointment. Not today. So, let’s start with my skin. Is it as flawless as it looks on those pages? My hair - the shine - I try hard with that, although I suspect right now it might be looking matted and lifeless.

Lara? Lara? Over here! Look this way!

I know. You've rarely seen me like this. I’m normally dressed so beautifully. My hair blow-dried, my make-up perfect. I’m sure you know already, that even if I’m going for the au naturel look it takes a lot of preparation. Day in, day out. Normally I call the shots. But after everything that’s happened today, I need to be told what to do. Conor had had to ring me, just before the press conference.

‘It’s OK, he had said. “Listen to me, Lara. I’m handling the media. But for now, do as I say. I’ve asked Lily to bring every- thing you need.’ And so I had done as I was told. Lily arrived soon after, with a change of clothes for me.

We had been led to the back of the police station into a room with three wooden chairs and a pine-coloured table.

There was a mirrored wall too. It crossed my mind I was being watched. But then again, I was always being watched. I had taken off my workout gear and put on a pair of jeans, fingers unable to grasp the buttons.

‘Here.’ Lily had squeezed my hands. ‘Stop. Let me.’ She had pulled tight my waistband but then I saw her hands were trembling too. Lily, who could handle anything. I then shook out my hair and took off the remnants of my make-up with a cleansing wipe. It was at this point I was barely able to breathe, sweat trailing down my face. We had walked out together, Lily and I, side by side.

And now, it’s time. I watch you, necks stretched high, camera phones tracking my face. Please. Don’t judge. Just listen care- fully to what I am about to tell you.

I know you'll care. You’ve always taken mine and my daugh- ter’s lives in your hands, and your hearts. Most of you anyway. Some of you dismiss me. You might pretend you’ve never seen any of our reality shows or clothes ranges. Dissected mine and Matthew’s pap shots in the showbiz pages. ‘Lara King? She’s famous for nothing.’ That’s where you are wrong.

Before I go any further, I need to say something to you all. ’m still getting to grips with the fact that this is my reality, but I hope you realise this is true life too. That the lines between fact and fiction are no longer blurred. That this is not a show piece for the glossies. It’s not some new storyline for the latest television show I may be appearing in.

I watch the trail of lights, immortalising the image of me in cyberspace. A montage for you to watch, on repeat. Record. Click. Upload. ‘Look who we saw today? you might write. ‘Much prettier on camera.’ Or perhaps you'll be kind. Say how pretty I am in the flesh. And you might even remark that you are surprised I’m quite tall. Most of us are shorter in real life. And so it goes on. Of course you'll probably assume -— just like everybody else that is walking past - that the world’s media have been called here today because Pve got a new product to launch. A perfume, perhaps. Notes of jasmine. Something citrus. Fresh and light.

But then you'll peer closer, and as the sun stings your eyes, you'll just about be able to see the redness around my lower lids, my hands shaking as I grip the microphone. And then you'll see Matthew next to me, that familiar blond hair and green eyes, his tanned arm behind my back and you'll be comforted by his presence - after all, you’ve welcomed him from Australia so generously. You'd be awed even. A gasp. A hand gripped around your friend’s arm. ‘Oh my God. Look who it is. Oh my God.’

But then you'll wonder what on earth is going on. You might even be a little frightened when you see my face. It’s at this point I think of Ava’s nanny, Joan. How am I going to tell her what’s happened? ‘The sag of her features as I detail the events of the day. The way she will push back the curls behind her ear, softly, as though her hair might break if she touches it too hard. And then, the things she will say to me afterwards.

I watch as the police usher you all away as we're about to start. I see you at first bewildered and then angry, as though you have a right to my life. Which, I suppose, you do. Or parts of it, anyway.

And so it begins.

Silence other than the rasp of my breath and the click-click of cameras. A magnified screech, as my lips touch the cold metal.

‘Hello.’ I clear my throat. “Hello. Thank you. For being here.’

I watch you on the pavement, heads turned towards me. You know something is wrong now, I can see it in your faces. But savour this moment because you don’t know, just yet, quite how bad things are going to get. Or how your daily lives will be wholly consumed with what’s happened. Yes, and I mean all of you. None of you across the globe will be immune, no matter how you try.

I’m so thankful for those I know will help out. My cheerlead- ers. But then the memories of today start unfolding in my mind, clawing and strangling my brain. And as the world around me sharpens into an almost unbearably bright Technicolor light, I lift my face to you.

Are you ready?

Today, I need you to put yourselves in my shoes. I want you to imagine what I’m going through. Shut your eyes if it helps. Careful, though. You might want to steady yourselves.

Today, I need you to see me for who I really am.

A mother. A human being. A person with flaws.

Today, I’m not the Lara King that you think I am.

Thank you to Bonnier Zaffre for inviting me to take part in this blog tour and a copy of the book in return for an honest review.