I just discovered that the romance novels I’ve been writing have actually been making money. This might not be my real name. If it is, please don’t worry about which of the scandalous things in my books are true and which ones are fantasy. To be honest, most of them are fantasy, inspired by a little bit of reality. Reality: we ate dinner on a beachside patio. Fantasy: we took a walk on the beach in Mazatlan, danced to a mariachi band and then had sex on a piece of driftwood. Sorry to burst your bubble. And all these men are inspired by one lover. Did I just ruin romance for you?