This is my third Hoover book in as many months, and I feel the same way about her as I do Ruth Ware, that she is a solid enough writer but not to my taste. After the saccharine It Ends With Us/It Starts With Us, I was ready to tackle this book as I heard it was a departure from her previous romantic books. In one way it was, as this thriller kept me engaged the entire time. But, I had issues throughout the novel- spoilers ahead.

This Jane Eyre-inspired narrative has a novelist, Lowen, who accepts a contract to finish a set of novels that a famous author Verity is too sick to complete. Lowen has a meet-cute (or more accurately meet-horrible) with the author’s husband Jeremy who is a hottie, and then implausibly stays for weeks at the author’s grand house to look thru her manuscripts but finds a scandalous autobiography of the author who is now in a vegetable state. Verity’s autobiography details her lack of love for her three children, the death of her twin girls, and her obsession with her husband. Lowen is torn if she should show this manuscript to Jeremy, who she is falling in love with and she also suspects that Verity is not truly incapacitated.

There were so many times you need to have a suspension of disbelief- how quickly Lowen and Jeremy get involved, how Verity could fool others, plus the plot device of sleepwalking and locks on the doors. But my biggest issue was Jeremy and his amazing dick- that two women would be so infatuated with him because of how good he was in bed. The concluding pages have the requisite twist, throwing everything you assumed about Verity into question. Although I was rolling my eyes at this stage, I do admit that I liked this change-up for it makes you think about the story afterward. Considering the lackluster thrillers I have read recently, I’d rate this above many. Overall, it gets a thumb up by me, but it will probably be my last Hoover book.

Advertisement