Debbie Roth

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I felt like a girl in a fairy tale who’d grown up a commoner in the village, but had been plucked out of obscurity by a prince and whisked off to a castle. A tiny little hitch in the narrative was that Hef, frankly, wasn’t much of a prince—he seemed wrapped up in himself, rigid and mercurial, and prone to cruelty when things didn’t go precisely his way.
Only Say Good Things: Surviving Playboy and Finding Myself
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