All truths burn bright and clear. I’m still waiting in the dark.Everly Monteith has traded her life of glitter, parties, and self-destruction for waitressing at a Parisian café. She’s put the tragedy that sent her across the Atlantic in the past—until her toxic ex shows up and sends her reeling once more. Her fresh start begins slipping away until a smug British war correspondent crashes her party. But falling for Beckett means letting down her guard, something that might pull them both into the dark.
There are beautiful lies in this world, and it takes me being chased through a hallway at a rave to decide this girl is one of them. But even the most beautiful lies aren’t worth chasing.
Twenty-five-year-old Beckett Reid is forced into sabbatical after being kidnapped on assignment in Afghanistan. Back in Paris, he locks himself away to work on a novel, focused on saving his budding journalism career. But when he meets an enigmatic American heiress, his plans are quickly neglected. Everly is the perfect replacement for dangerous war zones, even if she does leave glitter on everything he owns. Reckless and wild, she runs through life making more mistakes than anyone he’s met, but Beckett is determined to fight for her, even if he must face the messy truth that he must fight for himself first.
*This New Adult romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.*
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my review
excerpt
They were a train wreck waiting to happen. Separately, their
baggage is already overloaded and to include another person with the same
amount of baggage of more is a little bit crazy. To say that they are
complicated, most especially Everly would be a complete understatement. It took
some time to understand her, to warm up to her – she was spiraling down, and
you are there watching her ruining her life for reasons unknown to you and I don’t
even know why in the world is she doing it.
I was in the dark, I was half-confused, half-bored and
somewhat wondering when is she finally going to get her head out of her a**. I
wanted to ask her if she wants to die. Because what she’s doing is a sure way
of ending her life. And I can’t believe that after she’d met him, she has the
audacity to sleep with another man. ARGH. She knew he was trouble (her ex), and
him showing up had her drowning a little more.
Then there’s Beckett – the journalist who was forced into
a sabbatical after being kidnapped on the field. All he wanted to do was to get
back on his job, heal on his own, and pretend everything is normal. But his
plans were put on hold the moment he met the American heiress. They were in for
the ride of their lives. He might be broken, and has his own problems – but he
was determined to save her in any way he can. I was crossing my fingers for
them both, hoping they can survive this ordeal – hoping Beckett has enough
strength to get through for the both of them.
I would have liked it, seriously. But I found the
beginning of the story pretty much slow and didn’t pick up until I reached the
middle. There were a lot of WTF, and are-you-really-doing-that-moments that
almost had me stop reading. I should have finished this in one day, but every
now and then I had to stop.
Thank goodness this wasn’t one of those
love-at-first-sight kind of things, their relationship developed, went through
a whole lot of things, before the both of them had finally discovered healing
and love. There were so many emotions involve, and how I wished it didn’t take
that long for it to pick up. The journey was long, filled with a lot of bumps
but the ending was worth it. It was like I was finally able to breathe normally
the moment I found myself at the end of the book. For a debut novel, this one
is okay.
•Complimentary Copy was given in exchange for an honest review.•
“You want to get
out of here?” I’m not sure why I bother. She doesn’t trust me enough to even
share her name.
Her shoulders
shake in a small shiver, and her feet stop swinging. She breaks our staring
match to gaze back out over the city.
Around us, life
continues. Things move forward. But the two of us are suspended, waiting.
“I wonder what it
would be like to fly,” she whispers.
She doesn’t say
any more, doesn’t answer me. She just throws out a question like that and lets
it sink into the darkness between us. Her hands grip the ledge, and she bends forward
as if she might push off and test her question, like she believes for a minute
she has wings.
She nods toward
the street below. “What would your last thought be if you fell?”
Her face is a mask
of peacefulness, but I know the truth. I’ve spent too many years reading
people. Too many years deflecting other’s opinions of me and my circumstances—the
boy with the sad story.
“There wouldn’t be
time,” I say. “It’d be over before it even began.”
She faces me, the
corner of her mouth tipped up in a smug smile. “It wouldn’t have just begun.
There’s always more.” Her fingers run through her hair, tussling it until I
smell her perfume—pears and vanilla. “Sure, I’ll go for a walk.”
I don’t want to
leave with her anymore, but I don’t think I should leave her alone, either. Her
question still rings in my mind, and the damnedest thing is I can’t think of an
answer.
I pull out my
phone to text Ollie that I’m bailing, but she grabs it away.
“What are you doing?”
My hand flexes as
I push down my temper. “Texting a friend.”
As I soon as I
explain, she shakes her head, a dry laugh pushing over her lips. “Of course.”
She waves me off, then hands it back to me. “Sorry.”
Obviously she’s a
bit skittish. And untrusting. I should head out without her, but when she looks
at me again, I can’t. There’s too much about her I don’t know. She spins
around, crouching on her haunches, nothing behind her except a yawning distance
between this building and the next. And the street far below. I wait, stuffing
my hands into my pockets, fighting back the urge to hand her down from the
ledge. She’s not the type to want help. I’m not the type to offer. Usually.
When she swings
her legs out to step down, her knees graze the brick. The knobby curve of one
beads with blood, her skin scraped raw.
She’s quiet,
staring at her knee as if she can will it from bleeding. I’m not sure why I do
it or why I care, but I step forward and lift up the edge of my T-shirt and
press it against her knee, soaking up the blood. She keeps her head tucked down
and her hands at her side as I inch closer. My free hand settles by her hip,
her hair brushes against my arm.
“What’s your name,
pet?” My words are barely a whisper.
Her fingers hover
above my hands on her knee. I keep my eyes anchored there as she slowly
entwines them with mine. That spark people talk about when two people
touch—apparently it’s not a heap of shite because it happens right at that
moment and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything. Why I’m here with
her. Why we’re not kissing. My name.
“Everly.”
The author
It began with a boy who survived a plane crash in the wilderness.I discovered my love of writing during a fifth grade writing assignment for Hatchet. After that, I knew I wanted to be a writer.
Always the hopeless romantic, I write late Victorian and Edwardian historical romances as well as contemporary New Adult romances.
I am a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), as well as the New Hampshire chapter (NHRWA) and the New England chapter (NECRWA). I contribute regularly to the Modern Belles of History blog, a site dedicated to writing, reading, and researching 20th century women’s historical fiction.
When I’m not writing, I’m most likely reading or daydreaming about my next travel adventure. I live in New Hampshire with my husband and our cat, Bella.
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