Carries Book Reviews

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Family is Family
E.D. Hackett
(A Blue Spruce Hills Novella)
Publication date: October 1st 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

She’s living the dream, but it’s not her own. Can this devoted divorcee pave her own path despite her irresponsible ex?

Violet McFadden is a helper at heart. Tired from co-parenting four teenage girls and co-owning a bookstore with their disorganized father, this dedicated forty-five-year-old can’t seem to get five minutes to herself. And she’s worried when her rent skyrockets, fearing their struggling business is doomed.

An upcoming Thanksgiving 5k road race may temporarily save the store, but the conscientious shopkeeper knows deep down that she’d rather be teaching children than managing the shop. As time marches on, an unexpected snowstorm, urgent teenage fires, and her own overprotective motherly drive keep her firmly rooted in the past.

Will Violet keep only her former spouse’s dream alive, or will she choose herself and her true calling?

Family is Family is a heart-warming standalone piece of the multi-author women’s fiction Blue Spruce Hills Novella Series. If you enjoy characters who are never too old to start over, complex families, and tight-knit communities, then you’ll adore E.D. Hackett’s charming story.

Buy Family is Family to rekindle soul-inspiring goals today!

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

At five o’clock, I closed the shop to dash to Ivy’s scrimmage. When I arrived, I found Reid surrounded by two of our four daughters. Forcing my most enthusiastic smile, I climbed over familiar faces, settling between my seventeen-year-old daughter, Willow, and my twelve-year-old daughter, Daisy.

Reid gave a small smile and a slight wave before scooting closer to Daisy to make room for my large satchel.

“You missed it, Mom,” Willow said. My eldest tilted closer, her long strawberry-blonde hair hanging to her elbows, framing the freckles dotting her makeup-free cheeks.

I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on Ivy. “Missed what?”

“She opened the game with a three-pointer.”

My stomach dropped. I should have been there, and I knew she knew I wasn’t. My thoughts moved to Reid and how he had put us in this situation with his wanting a divorce, but still wanting me to help with the store. He was the one who had wanted out and needed a change, yet here I was, missing out on another important moment in my daughter’s life.

I glowered at him, but he was on his feet, clapping for Ivy’s friend who had just hit a free throw.

I turned my smile on and waved to Ivy, who looked away with irritated eyes. Shoot. She definitely knows I wasn’t there.

“How was your day?” I asked Willow.

“Great. I had practice with Riley, and she thinks I’ll be ready for pit auditions for the musical.” Riley O’Connor had been teaching my girls piano for nearly a decade.

Willow, the most studious of the four, worried me with her need to overachieve. Maybe it was because we had left her in charge of her sisters when we reopened the business after Covid five years ago. She was twelve, and Daisy, the youngest, was just seven.

“That’s wonderful! Good luck with auditions. Next week?” I raised my eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. Oh, and Riley asked if Daisy’s lesson could be rescheduled. I can’t remember the day.”

“Sure, I’ll call her.” I looked at Daisy, immersed in her coloring book, first outlining the images and then lightly shading the inside. The spitting image of her father, I recognized the Roman nose and always rounded eyebrows, emoting an element of surprise regardless of the situation.

Across the gym, Ivy guzzled water, and Mari, my fourteen-year-old, strolled across the backside of the opposite bleachers. “Where’s Mari going?”

“Probably to see Dillon.” Willow tipped her head as my eyes followed her to a tall, athletic-looking boy with a curly mop of acorn-hued hair.

“Who’s that? I haven’t heard that name before.” I watched my daughter return his hug, and her nose pressed into his shoulder.

Willow rolled her eyes. “Mom, where have you been? They’ve been talking for a while.”

The sight of Dillon’s rather full goatee prickled my skin, and I raised my eyebrows. “How old is he?”

“A junior. He’s in Ivy’s classes.”

Leaning back, I tried to get Reid’s attention, but he was absorbed in his phone screen, looking at who-knows-what.

“A junior?”

“Mom, he’s harmless.”

“Does he drive?”

“Not that I know of, but I don’t keep tabs on him.”

“He’s closer to your age than hers. She’s a freshman. He probably drives. I don’t like it.” I held up my hands to rephrase my sentiment. “I’m sure he’s a nice boy, but he’s too old for her.”

Willow shrugged. “Mom, he’s new to school this year. He’s probably figuring out where he fits in.”

I touched her leg and gazed into her eyes. “You would tell me if he wasn’t good for her, right?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, he’s in honors classes and plays varsity soccer. Ivy and I have done our research. He’s harmless. Nothing is going on between them. They’re just talking.”

I rolled my shoulders, slightly releasing all the tension from the day as I watched Mari walk toward us. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t jump to conclusions when I didn’t have all the info, and I needed Reid and me to be on the same page.

Knowing him, with his carefree decision-making skills and impulsivity, he probably hadn’t even noticed this man-boy with our daughter.

He needed to pay attention, or we might find ourselves in a sticky situation with Mari and her social life in the future.

Author Bio:

E.D. Hackett is an only child who always wanted a sister. You’ll find themes of sisters and mother-daughter relationships in almost all her novels, where she concocts complex relationships wrapped in forgiveness. Edy lives in New England, where the beaches, lobsters, and quirky cafes are characters of their own.

She has two children (three if you count the dog), and in her spare time, she dreams about living in Ireland.

Edy is an Enneagram Two (The Helper) or maybe a 5 (The Investigator) and is growing a book coaching side hustle (The Story Keeper Book Coach) to help aspiring authors navigate the indie publishing world.

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The Academy War
Sean Scarborough
Publication date: October 1st 2026
Genres: Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Young Adult

Three colleges, three hearts, one prophesy that will either save magic or destroy it.

On their eighteenth birthdays, three strangers are ripped from ordinary life and thrust into a hidden world that has shaped history for centuries.

Aryna awakens a rare, volatile magic that doesn’t just channel power — it absorbs and reshapes it. At the Mage War College, her dangerous gift sets her apart and draws the secret attention of those with their own agendas.

Paul is claimed by an ancient vampire bloodline and forced into brutal trials where dominance means survival. As his humanity slips away, he realizes he’s being forged into a weapon for a war older than he knows.

Dean Blackthorn, an orphan desperate to belong, bonds with a powerful Stormwing dragon in trials where most recruits die. For the first time, he has a place — and a destiny tied to coming conflict.

Separated across rival academies, each believes they are training to protect their own kind. But when a devastating attack shatters the illusion of safety, a darker truth emerges:

They are not just students. They are pieces in a game controlled by an ancient power now awakening — and the fate of magic, monsters, and humanity may rest on who learns to control it first.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

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CHAPTER 1:

The Wish

Aryna

“Look, Aryna,” my mom said, setting down the lopsided chocolate cake she’d clearly stayed up late making—complete with uneven frosting and slightly smudged Happy 18th Birthday written in shaky pink letters—her cheerfulness seemed forced.

“Let’s try to make today as fun as we can,” she said.

I love my mom, I really do, but sometimes she drives me absolutely crazy.

“Honey, I’m not upset you were out with your friends last night. I just wanted to know where you were.”

“Disappointed, then,” I said, unable to keep the snark out of my voice.

“Aryna!” She gave me that look, the one that said I was pushing boundaries we both knew I shouldn’t cross.

Mom walked around our tiny dining table, probably to avoid saying something she’d regret. She worked two jobs while Dad pulled night shifts, and they could barely make ends meet despite doing everything they could for me. I knew that.

Knowing they were doing their best didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

All my hard work, school, science fair wins- everything my parents had always told me they were proud of yet it had come with the same quiet disappointment. They were always proud. They just weren’t always there.

I remembered the state championship for English literature, my best subject. I had stood at the front of the auditorium, looking out at the crowd while the other students’ names appeared on handmade signs. Their parents cheered, waved, and called their names.

I scanned the room anyway.

Just hoping I’d see Mom and Dad.

A smile. A wave. Anything that said, We’re here. We’re proud of you!

The last question was asked. “Who wrote The Divine Comedy”

Easy. I hit the button “Dante Alighieri,” one of my favorites.

Then I won first place.

I should have been excited, and I was. But there was a sadness underneath it, knowing I was experiencing it alone.

When it was over, I put the trophy in my backpack and went home.

It wasn’t that they were bad parents. They weren’t. They were busy. They were always cheering for me when they had the time—late at night, early in the morning, whenever our schedules happened to line up.

Just not in the moments when I wanted them there most.

Our apartment was so cramped, the dining room table took up most of the kitchen-dining room combo, leaving barely enough space to walk around it. On nights like this, with tension thick in the air, it felt even smaller. I could feel the frustration steaming from me.

I looked down at the table. The chocolate cake sat in front of me, eighteen candles flickering in the dim light of our cramped apartment kitchen. Mom’s face glowed with pride across the table, her tired eyes momentarily free of worry lines. Dad stood beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders, a rare moment of peace between them. Arguments about money were what I normally heard.

“Make a wish, Aryna,” Mom said.

I closed my eyes, feeling oddly self-conscious. Eighteen. A legal adult as of today, I felt no different than yesterday. What did one wish for when standing at the threshold of adulthood? College acceptance letters had already come and gone—mostly rejections with two waitlists. My part-time job barely covered gas money.

I wish for something extraordinary to happen, I thought, surprising myself with the childish desire. Something to make me special.

I leaned forward to blow out the candles.

Author Bio:

Sean Scarborough is the author of The Academy War, a young adult/new adult urban paranormal fantasy that blends magic, dragon riders, vampires, and unforgettable adventure. Although this is his debut novel, storytelling has been a passion of his for years.

Inspired by a love of immersive fantasy and the belief that books can transport readers beyond the ordinary, Sean set out to create a world that feels as real as the one we live in—a place readers can return to whenever they need an escape.

The Academy War was written through both the best and most challenging seasons of Sean’s life. Throughout that journey, writing became more than a creative outlet; it became a way to build a world filled with hope, courage, friendship, and wonder.

Sean writes from the heart, believing every character carries a purpose. Some become a source of hope, others a promise, a reminder, or a heartbreaking loss—but each one is meant to leave a lasting impression. Every scene and adventure was created with the hope that readers would become fully immersed in the story and feel connected to the people and places within it.

Seeing this world come to life and finally sharing it with readers is a dream Sean has held for years.

He hopes The Academy War is more than just a book—that it becomes a place readers can get lost in, return to again and again, and carry with them long after they turn the final page.

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One Night Band Stand
Julia Kent
(Get What You Need, #2)
Publication date: September 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Who accidentally has a one-night stand with her alumni band director?

Yep. Me.

I know what you’re thinking. Whoops! I slipped on some valve oil and accidentally landed on his baton during a rousing chorus of Stars and Stripes Forever.

That’s not quite how it went.

But the alumni band director is really, really skilled with that baton, if you know what I mean.

So what am I supposed to do now, as I walk into the morning’s rehearsal — three feet from the podium because of course I play piccolo — and find the guy I ghosted on this morning … right there, smiling at me like he remembers exactly what tempo I prefer?

He’s perfect. Too perfect.

He’s a widowed dad of two adorable little kids that — oh, by the way — he forgot to mention.

But I also haven’t mentioned the seventeen-year-old I live with, either. He’s not my boyfriend. I’m his guardian. He’s autistic and non-speaking, and he’s been my whole world since I was nineteen.

I want Mr. Band Director. He wants me. Nothing — not the secrecy, not the awkwardness, not the 500 miles between his life and mine — will make this chemistry stop.

Except for three pesky little things: the secrets we’re hiding from each other. Three very human secrets.

I’ve never felt so seen before. He gets me. I get him. But we’re buried in responsibilities and loyalties that get in the way. When I’m with him, I can play. Really play.

And not just music.

He can’t quit his job and move his kids to be close to me. I can’t uproot a fragile teen who needs round-the-clock care and is still mourning his parents. The odds are stacked against us.

But who ever let that get in the way of love?

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EXCERPT:

There are naked boobies in my bed, and they are not my wife’s.

What have I done?

My body goes cold and hot, skin pulsing against the sheets, blood pooled in morning wood. Wood that rests against my not-wife’s thigh. My eyes widen. My beard itches around my lips, lips that feel raw, my tongue a bit overused at the tip, like I just had sex with –

I cheated on my wife.

I cheated on my wife.

My beautiful, amazing wife who tells me she loves me ten times a day. Who laughs at my stupid music jokes. Who smiles like she’s actually interested in my high school band stories. Who —

Told. Laughed. Smiled.

Past tense, Jared. Two years, two months, four days of past tense.

— is dead.

Stacey’s dead. Right. Damn it.

I close my eyes, jaw tight, inhaling slowly, my nose cold inside, the physicality of it breaking through panic. The unreality of her death still shatters my sleepy self every morning like a car alarm I can’t fully disable, one blissful second of not-knowing, then the loop of grief.

That sour taste. The shock. The anger. The pain, physical and emotional.

Stacey is dead.

Which means I’m not cheating. I’m just in a hotel room with a very naked, incredibly alluring woman who isn’t my wife.

So then who the hell is this in my arms?

She’s cute. Warm. Soft.

So soft.

The arm Ms. Not-Wife is sleeping on went numb in my sleep. I haven’t moved it one millimeter, shoulder locked, neck doing that isometric thing as her weight presses into my bicep. It should be uncomfortable. It isn’t, and somewhere in sleep my hand found her arm and started stroking it. I just realized it’s doing this. My hand likes her.

My cock sure does, too.

I really like the softness. Naked softness takes the liking up several notches.

Another clue this isn’t my wife: I’m on the bathroom side of the bed.

Ms. Not-Wife’s hair is blonde and straight, spread across my arm. Stacey’s was darker, curly, and Stacey had to pee constantly, especially after giving birth to our oldest, Molly. Every apartment, every house, every hotel, every guest room, every beach rental for nineteen years: Stacey got the bathroom side.

The woman in my bed is not Stacey.

The HVAC unit hums on an E-flat that’s four cents flat. Not concert E-flat. An E-flat that vibrates like it’s committing a felony against freon. It is the most passive-aggressive sound in Indiana, and that’s saying a lot, because have you ever gone to a church picnic in this state? Those ladies are lowkey brutal.

The print above the bed is a seashore painting, a Thomas Kincade knockoff, something a lifelong southern Indiana resident thought would evoke Cape Cod but instead makes me think Dungeons and Dragons on acid. It goes with the burnt-orange carpeting somehow. I half expect

a Jello-O egg mold as part of the continental breakfast downstairs in the bar where I picked up… this woman.

I actually approached a woman at a hotel bar, and she chose to sleep with me.

Me.

Not-Wife’s hand is on my chest. She has short nails, no polish, the thumb hooked into the dip below my collarbone like she put it there on purpose. Her thumb knows what it’s doing, which is more than I can say for the rest of me. Her ribcage moves into my ribcage every four or five seconds and back out, long even breathing so constant I’ve started matching it without meaning to.

Waking her up means having to talk, and I don’t know what you say after you pick up a woman in a hotel bar and now you’re both naked under the sheets, vulnerable and freaking out a little, yet liking it.

A lot.

Not-Wife smells like vanilla and sex and the chemical-linen scent of every business hotel pillowcase put into circulation since 1994. The bar lighting was bad last night, so I’m seeing things this morning I couldn’t see then: a mole on her cheek. Long dark lashes against it. A dimple at the corner of her mouth that’s there even when she’s not smiling.

She’s gorgeous.

Morning-gorgeous, unadulterated. Her face was not-yet-defined last night, just a woman who was blonde and smiling under bad bar lighting. She has lips I kissed last night, a tongue that danced with mine and tasted so good, and her breasts are smashed against my side like little pets curled up, seeking warmth.

I have forgotten how nice this is.

A person breathing into your neck. A warm softness against your body. Your bare skin against theirs. I took this for granted for too many years, and once it was gone I felt the absence like a phantom limb.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2.5 million books, with 5 New York Times bestsellers and more than 23 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, German, Dutch, and Italian, with more titles releasing in the future.

From single dads to cinnamon roll heroes to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).

She lives in New England with her husband, three children, and a Havanese dog named Walter. She is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls (Walter gets a pass).

She loves to hear from her readers by email at julia@jkentauthor.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at @jkentauthor, and on Instagram @jkentauthor. Visit her at http://jkentauthor.com

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Haunted Holiday
Lindsey Gray
(The Holiday Chronicles, #3)
Publication date: September 29th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance, Supernatural

Everyone in Clarkstown believes they know who killed firefighter Zane Gravenhurst.

His girlfriend, Jillian, sits behind bars, accused of leaving him to die after a rainy night ended in tragedy. The case is all but closed.

Only Zane’s younger sister, Molly, knows the truth isn’t buried because she can communicate with his ghost.

Molly needs help to get justice for her brother.

Her shy neighbor, whom she’s crushed on since high school, Duncan, comes to her aid.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

Molly

“Molly! Wake up!”

Molly groaned and rolled over to check the red numbers on her bedside clock. She wanted to jump back into the dream she’d been having before the voice rudely awakened her. In that dream, her thoughts lingered on her neighbor, Duncan, the one with the scar etched across his ear. Something in the scene comforted her; she wished to slip back into that warm haze and forget all the chaos that surrounded her.

“It’s five am, Zane. I’m not making you breakfast this early.” Her older brother, Zane, tended to work odd hours as a firefighter, but Molly spent three days climbing out of the grip of the flu going around the high school where she taught theater. She had no desire to indulge her brother’s cravings.

“Molly Gravenhurst. Please wake up. We need to talk,” the new voice pleaded.

The voice of her grandmother, Dawn, reached her foggy brain. Her dead grandmother.

Molly jerked up in bed and focused on the two ghosts that stood at the end. The appearance of her grandmother didn’t surprise her. What her grandmother called her “second sight” made her capable of communication with earthbound spirits. Genuine shock and abject horror slammed into her when she saw her brother, Zane. The night before, he’d been alive and kicking.

“No,” Molly whispered in utter terror. A simple, horrifying truth struck her. If her brother were a ghost, then he was dead.

Molly could see ghosts, a gift she possessed since toddlerhood. Three years ago, when her grandmother died, she and Zane inherited her house and the care of their grandmother’s ghost. While he lived, Grandma Dawn’s ghost remained invisible to Zane. Now, a ghost himself, he could finally see her.

“I know this is a shock, Molly, but Zane needs you to pull yourself together.” Grandma Dawn’s tone snapped Molly out of her silence.

“Wha-wha-what happened, Zane?” Molly fisted her blanket while she tried to gather herself.

“Jillian dropped me off at Paddy’s. He wanted to continue the Halloween party back at his house. After Paddy and I walked into the garage, everything is blank. I appeared in the kitchen here, where I found Grandma.” Zane spoke with clinical precision, not an ounce of emotion. She understood the pain of death since she dealt with the pain ghosts experienced every day.

“Where’s Jillian?” Molly grabbed her cell phone from her bedside table. “I need to call her.”

“She’s asleep on the sofa.” Zane’s voice cracked at the end of his statement. “I just peeked for a second. I can’t go …I don’t …”

Grandma Dawn took Zane’s hand in hers in a gesture of comfort and compassion.

Molly struggled with what to do next. She’d barely adjusted to her grandmother’s death. How could she live without her brother’s hugs, his teasing slaps, or witnessing his love and devotion for Jillian?

“What do I need to do?” Grandma Dawn died in her sleep. She found her in the primary bedroom of the very house she lived in. Where was Zane’s body? If it were at Paddy’s house, Paddy would have called her by now? He was Zane’s best friend. He’d had her number since the day she got it thirteen years ago.

Before Zane or Grandma Dawn had a chance to answer, Jillian burst into Molly’s attic space.

“You’re awake. Thank God.” She burst into the room and threw herself onto Molly’s bed, her blonde hair pulled back into a crooked ponytail. “Zane hasn’t come home yet. It’s still pouring outside. Visibility is shit. What if he got in an accident? What if he and Paddy are in a ditch? What if he tried to walk home and got hit by a car? I’ve called him five times and texted him six times. He hasn’t responded.”

Jillian’s frantic questions made sense, but she couldn’t confirm anything because she didn’t know whether any of those possibilities were correct. Neither did either of the ghosts.

“Let’s think.” Molly pushed away the knowledge of her brother’s death and gathered her thoughts. “You all went to that big Halloween party downtown, right?”

“Yeah. Paddy invited a bunch of us over to his house, but I told Zane I needed sleep. My sinuses have been getting worse. I think I caught whatever you have.” Congestion clogged Jillian’s voice, and tears or illness left her eyes red and bloodshot. Molly’s heart sank. The same symptoms had stalked her for the past several days.

“You dropped him off at Paddy and Lucky’s house, then?”

Jillian nodded. “It started to rain a few minutes before I got here. Now it’s pouring.”

“Let’s call Paddy first. Who else came to the party?” Molly scrolled through her numbers in her contacts to find Paddy’s number.

“Barb Sterling and her husband, Rhett.” Jillian dialed the number on speaker. “Then Marty and Ellen Culver. Maybe Grant Hannah. I think Paddy’s little brothers and a bunch of their friends were in town and staying with him for a while.” Voicemail answered after five rings. “It’s Jillian and Molly. Zane isn’t home. Is he with you, or do you have any idea where he went? Call me.”

“I’ve got Barb’s number.” Molly dialed and placed it on speaker.

“Molly?” Barb answered with a yawn. “What’s going on? It’s the butt crack of dawn.”

“Zane never came home from Paddy’s last night. Did he stay over? We can’t contact Zane or Paddy.”

“Wait a minute.” The sound of sheets and blankets shifting came through the speaker. “Jillian’s car pulled up outside Paddy’s house, but neither of them came in. I tried calling and texting Zane after her car left, but I never got an answer. We left here around two.”

“We need to look for him. I dropped him off and came back to his house,” Jillian’s voice carried extreme anxiety, burgeoning into mania.

“Jillian?” Barb yawned again on her end.

“What’s going on?” Molly heard a sleepy Rhett ask on the other end of the line.

“Jillian said she dropped Zane off at Paddy’s. I never saw him, did you?” Barb asked her husband.

“No. I thought it was weird you said you saw Jillian’s car, but they didn’t come in. But I started singing karaoke with Marty and lost track of everything.” Molly imagined the sound of strangled cats coming from Marty. None of Zane’s friends had a lick of musical or theatrical talent as she did.

Every wasted second ratcheted up Molly’s anxiety. They were no closer to answers. She looked to Zane for any suggestions while Jillian threw out scenarios left and right. Zane shrugged as he watched his girlfriend torment herself with grim what-ifs.

Barb decided she would come pick up Jillian, and they would search around town. Molly agreed to stay home in case Zane made his way back.

Molly knew for an absolute fact that November 1^st would be the worst day of her life.

Author Bio:

Lindsey Gray is a writer, an over-thinker, and a chronic list-maker, but her passion for writing stories you’ll love always tops the list. Her author journey began in 2010 with the publication of her first novel, and she has spent the last decade creating worlds for readers to play in. In addition to her own work, Gray uses her skills in novel formatting for other authors and hosts the weekly show Gray Matters on TMV Cafe Internet Radio. She lives and writes fueled by iced tea, her handsome hubby, and the beautiful chaos of mothering her children.

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The Awful Truth
Melanie Summers
(The Glass Houses Collection, #2)
Publication date: September 24th 2026
Genres: Adult, Suspense, Thriller, Women’s Fiction

They have money. Status. And terrible judgment.

It was supposed to be the ultimate escape. A curated guest list. A luxury yacht. A week on the crystal-clear Adriatic, far from everyone’s real lives.

Except no one is there for the view. Careers, contracts, and futures are all quietly in play.

Antonia and Ted have built a global brand on their perfect marriage, which would be more convincing if they could still stand each other. Mercy has spent years smoothing over the worst instincts of her powerful husband, convinced the man she fell in love with is still there. Winslow is hiding a secret that could end his career, while his husband, Miguel, is carrying news that will change everything between them.

And then there’s Charlotte—the assistant everyone overlooks. Which gives her an excellent view of everything.

The first night, the drinks flow, the gossip gets vicious, and everyone shares far more than they should. But what’s a little indiscretion among new friends?

The trouble with a yacht is that there’s nowhere to go once you’ve said too much. No separate hotels. No quick exits. Just the same people, fewer places to hide, and another breakfast together in the morning.

By the third day, one marriage is as good as over. One guest is desperate enough to do something irreversible. And Mercy is realizing the man she loved was all for show—and the man she fears is who he really is.

Before any of them set foot on solid ground again, one of them will be dead in the water.

Privilege has protected them from consequences for years. But desperation can make even very comfortable people do terrible things.

The Awful Truth is a sharp, warm, wickedly funny domestic suspense novel about marriage, power, and the spectacularly bad decisions people make when they have everything to lose. For readers who love the wit and heart of Liane Moriarty and Sally Hepworth, with the glamor and menace of The White Lotus.

Heat Level: Open door, spicy not explicit

Tone: A fast-paced, suspenseful, emotional, character-driven drama

Series Type: Standalone, part of a collection of domestic suspense novels

Ending: Emotionally satisfying, book club / upmarket resolution

POV: Multi-POV, third person

Content Notes: Infidelity, emotional abuse dynamics, death, suicidal ideation, brief sexual violence, psychological tension

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EXCERPT:

Charlotte sat back, tuning out the conversation while she stared out at the hills and smattering of buildings along the highway. So far, the city wasn’t much to look at. A lot of low brush and an irritating bank alongside the road that only allowed the briefest glimpse of the water. But soon, she’d be surrounded on all sides by the clear blue Adriatic Sea, and she felt a surge of excitement. It was her first time in Europe. As a teenager, she always thought she’d go right out of high school—backpacking and staying in hostels for a few months, really living, as her mother, who’d never gone farther than Niagara Falls from their home in Muskegon, would say. But in the end, Charlotte met a boy and decided he was more exciting than Italy and France and England combined. Only he wasn’t. He was a huge disappointment, and by the time she realized it, it was already move-in week at the University of Michigan.

So here she was, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, getting her first taste of the ‘old world.’ This wasn’t how she imagined it (few things were)—sandwiched between her lover and her lover’s wife in the back of a limo—but this was how she had arrived. Charlotte was sleepy and mixed up and felt guilty as all hell, but she was here. She had made it. She’d take as many glamorous pics as she could to post on her Instagram account. Her friends would be filled with envy which they would mask with comments like, ‘Looking hot, mama!’ and ‘You deserve it. You work so hard. Have an amazing time, girlie!’

But she wouldn’t be having an amazing time, would she? She’d likely be working long hours—maybe even through the night—to liaise between the studio and her bosses, not to mention having a front row seat to the ‘Ted and Antonia pretending to be blissfully happy’ show, which she’d much rather skip. She knew it was all bullshit, at least on Ted’s part. An act meant to keep the multi-million-dollar ruse going. It was bad enough when they were on set and she had to watch them gaze into each other’s eyes and act like they were still in the playful honeymoon phase. Ted had warned her that they’d have to lay it on extra thick around Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, but not to let it get to her. Because he only wanted her.

None of that was stuff she could share on Instagram, or tell her friends, for that matter. She’d keep her secret and smile, like she always did. But at least she could pretend she was having a wonderful time.

Author Bio:

Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.

Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.

In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally – then she’ll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for ‘K’ Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn’t require makeup and/or nylons).

Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she’s not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken ‘from above’. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something–more like just staying until they turn the lights off.

She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International.

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