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They’d begged my parents to take one of the girls, figuring that it was better than having both girls removed by Children’s Services once their horrid living conditions were discovered.
So Mary and Doug had taken me in, raising me to believe that I was Tina’s twin, while my real sister was Violet Golden, the girl in the video. When Elaine and Mark Golden asked for me back, Mom and Dad ignored the requests, instead making off with us, moving multiple times, an itinerant childhood to say the least.
But despite wanting to keep me, the secrecy wore them down. I was nothing like my sisters and Mary never developed a real parental feel for me, instead always treating me like an outsider, an intruder in my own family. As a result, I grew up with a bitch of a personality, a chip on my shoulder, never feeling loved, never feeling safe for some unnamed reason.
The strain had been too much and Dad had taken off, unable to deal with the stress of multiple lies, moving all the time, the generally poisonous atmosphere. Mom had been left with the four of us and her wrath was often directed at me.
“Apologize to Tina,” she commanded after another infraction. “Say you’re sorry to your sister.”
“But I’ve done nothing!” my eight year-old self protested. “It was just an accident and look, Tina spilled syrup on me,” I said, my hair sticky with molasses. The tangled part was going to have to be chopped off, leaving me with a comically lopsided bob.
“Say you’re sorry Jenna, or I’ll come over and tear out your hair myself,” Mary hissed.
And so I’d grown up bullied even within my own family, nobody ever taking my side. Was it a miracle that I’d survived? I’d needed to be a bitch just to defend myself, to get by in a world that was skewed at the most basic level.
But I’d worked to fix things as an adult, recognizing that I couldn’t survive long-term with a bad personality. Modeling, of all things, had taught me that, taught me humility, that my looks were fleeting, that there was more to life than self-protection.
And the difference in sorting out this mess was really Rafe. The big man had taken charge and I was eternally grateful. Stunned by the revelation of my birth, I’d been a shell, unable to function, collapsing in on myself.
“Rafe, what do we do next?” I asked in a whisper.
“Well, I know what I want,” he said, one brow arched wryly. He’d swooped down on me with a kiss, his lips covering my reassuringly, that big bulk shielding me from the terrors of the world.
And I was eternally grateful. I didn’t think I could survive another day without him, my life had become a hellhole and Rafe’s presence soothed me, acting as a bulwark against the horror of discovering my real past. I was an orphan essentially, Elaine and Mark Golden long since dead.
But the alpha male had taken command of the situation with force and vigor.
“Call MGC Agency,” he’d barked into his phone. And we’d flown up to San Francisco immediately, his authoritative air demanding respect when that bitch Deborah welcomed us into her office.
“Mr. Connor,” she breathed. “What an unexpected surprise! We never thought that the CEO of Levast Corp. would visit a modeling agency in person. Jenna,” she said nodding to me, her expression insincere and simpering.
He didn’t respond to her compliments.
“MGC is signing Jenna Walsh again,” he said. “Immediately. Now.”
“But we can’t,” prevaricated Deborah. “We don’t do porn stars, it’s not in our image, it’ll just bring us down.”
“Do it,” he’d growled. Rafe didn’t even get into an explanation of why or why not, but I guess it didn’t matter. Like magic, a contract appeared and I was a working model once again, albeit one without any jobs.
“Promote her,” he growled angrily at Deborah. “Putting Jenna into magazines and shows is your number one priority going forward.”
“Of course,” murmured Deborah obediently, her eyes flashing at me curiously. “I’m sure Levast will book her for its shows?”
“Absolutely yes,” said Rafe. “And your cut’s only going to be 2%, take it or leave it.”
Given that Levast was a huge potential client, MGC took it and my career was restored. I had shows to walk, photo shoots to be at, my face appearing on national magazine covers once again.
“But what about Violet? What about the porn?” I asked plaintively. “I want people to know that it wasn’t me, that I’m not dirty like that,” I said. It was true. I felt this was essential to reestablishing my image, to clarify that I’d been the victim of a maleficent plot and unlucky past.
“Baby, this is going to be tough to swallow,” said Rafe soothingly, “but no one’s going to believe that it wasn’t you in the video. Who would believe claims of a long-lost identical twin? It’s so far-fetched that it’s better to just wait it out. Don’t worry, with Levast at your back, your career will be back on track within weeks.”
