Series: Day to Night Duet #2
Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs
From New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo comes a new stand-alone novel Amber Sky, the haunting,
atmospheric love story of Walker Ainsley and Cassidy O’Connor.
A devastating car crash leaves Cassidy O’Connor stranded in rural Pennsylvania. Her only company is Walker Ainsley, the ruggedly handsome man who saved her from the wreckage and took her into his home. But when her ride back to town arrives after the crash, Cassidy can’t bring herself to leave Walker behind. She is determined to convince him to go back to town with her, until she begins to wonder if she actually survived the crash that brought them together.
New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup of coffee and a book.
Find her on…
My name is Finn McCowen, and I want my revenge.
Callisto Avellino was the heiress of one of the country’s most influential families. A delicate wildflower in a bed of thorns. And the daughter of the man who killed my father.
Six years ago, she disappeared.
She says she ran away to escape the poison of her corrupt family. Money. Prestige. Power. Murder.
We have the same agenda – or so it seems: ruin the Avellinos at all costs.
If I have to put her in harm’s way to get what I want?
So be it.
When not writing or reading, the author enjoys walking barefoot, subjecting her husband to questionable recipes, and chasing her spirited daughter. She’s a rabid fan of coffee, moon-gazing, and small dogs that resemble Ewoks. Home is Portland, Oregon.
Well, to be fair, she kinda deserves it.
On her eighteenth birthday, she got drunk and threw herself at him, causing a
huge scandal in their sleepy suburban town.
Now everyone thinks she’s a slut and he has disappeared. Rumor has it that he’s
been living up in the mountains of Colorado, all alone and in isolation.
But Violet is going to make it right.
She’s going to find him and bring him back.
No matter how cruel and mean he is, how much he hurts her with his cold-hearted
and abrasive ways, she won’t give up.
And neither will she think about his tempting lips or his sculpted muscles or
his strong hands. The hands that she wants on her body, touching her, feeling
The hands that make her want to forget everything and kiss Graham Edwards – Mr.
Edwards, actually – again.
Because you don’t go around kissing your best friend’s dad, do you?
Even though that’s all you ever dream about.
Kate McBrien writes sexy and witty contemporary romance. She has an MA in art
history and has taught art history at a local college. For many years, Kate has
worked as a dental hygienist, courageously offering encouragement to her
She has always enjoyed writing but became more serious after being encouraged
by a friend to participate in National Novel Writing Month. She began writing
historical fiction but soon realized that the romance was taking over the
Kate is a San Francisco Bay Area native who lives near the beach with her
husband and Lola, their spoiled Labrador Retriever. When not writing, she
enjoys cooking, music, movies, reading, and fangirling over Jamie Dornan.
Miss Fix-It—that’s me. And when my sister and nephew are in danger, it’s my natural instinct to step in and get them out of Boston. The girl with the plan, always.
We land at the Rowan Inn—a charming bed-and-breakfast on the shores of the Chesapeake. A sweet little haven we’re hoping will bring us the peace we so desperately need.
Instead, it brings us Jesse Rowan, the gruff and grumpy son of the original owners. The same guy who is single-handedly sinking the Inn faster than an anchor in the bay. But we need a place to crash until I can figure out our next move, so I convince him to let us stay in exchange for help around the place.
At first, he’s rude, sarcastic, and standoffish. But after a few months of working around the Inn together, I realize he’s not as callous as he’d like us to think. And I realize that maybe the Inn isn’t the only project I want to take on. He needs some fixing, too.
But the Inn has to be just a pitstop for us. And as long as we’re on the run, Jesse Rowan can’t be my final destination.
“Can I help you?” he asks again.
“No, thanks. We’re just waiting for the owners. We need a room,” I say. Before he says anything, I glare at him. “You know, you almost killed us back there.”
He looks at me with a tilted head.
“You were in the middle of the damn intersection,” he says, nonchalantly, as he makes his way around to the cab of his truck. He pulls out a long piece of wood, and carries it toward the front porch.
“You had a stop sign,” I say.
“It’s a stop sign,” he says. “Not a stop-and-wait-for-an-hour sign.”
I roll my eyes.
“We have a kid, asshole,” I say. My language catches him off guard, and he looks at me through a side-eye.
“I see that. So you should probably drive more carefully,” he says, walking back toward the truck to grab another piece.
I hear Millie snort from behind me, and I glare at her.
“Whatever. We will just wait around back for them to get back,” I say, ushering Caleb and Millie along.
“That’s fine, but the owner is already here,” he calls from the cab of the truck. I freeze.
“They are? Where?” I ask. A sly smirk tugs at his lips.
“You’re lookin’ at him. Mr. Asshole, at your service,” he says, tipping his hat, then pulling it back on his head tightly.
“What?” I ask. He doesn’t reply, he just walks past me with another piece of wood.
“The website said that a couple owned it, Mr. and Mrs. Rowan?” Millie asks. His attitude changes a bit with Millie. He stands a little straighter, looks her in the eye a little longer. I see him studying the black-and-blue on her face, but he looks away quickly.
“They’re dead,” he says, walking back to the truck. “I own this shithole now.”
I look up at the house. I remember the photos on the website–clean, stunning, so well-kept. And now, here it is, in shambles, like a tarnishing piece of silver.
“Who are you?” I ask. He turns to me, wiping a bead of sweat onto his sleeve.
“Jesse Rowan,” he says.
“Rowan?” I ask.
“Rowan. Like the sign!” Caleb says. Jesse looks down at Caleb, who’s back to stroking the dog. That smile tugs at his lips again.
“Like the sign,” he says.
Taylor Danae Colbert is a romance and women’s fiction author. When she’s not chasing her toddler or hanging with her husband, she’s probably under her favorite blanket, either writing a book, or reading one. Taylor lives in Maryland, where she was born and raised. For more information, visit taylordanaecolbert.com.
Ribbons of Scarlet is a timely story of the power of women to start a revolution—and change the world.
In late eighteenth-century France, women do not have a place in politics. But as the tide of revolution rises, women from gilded salons to the streets of Paris decide otherwise—upending a world order that has long oppressed them.
Blue-blooded Sophie de Grouchy believes in democracy, education, and equal rights for women, and marries the only man in Paris who agrees. Emboldened to fight the injustices of King Louis XVI, Sophie aims to prove that an educated populace can govern itself–but one of her students, fruit-seller Louise Audu, is hungrier for bread and vengeance than learning. When the Bastille falls and Louise leads a women’s march to Versailles, the monarchy is forced to bend, but not without a fight. The king’s pious sister Princess Elisabeth takes a stand to defend her brother, spirit her family to safety, and restore the old order, even at the risk of her head.
But when fanatics use the newspapers to twist the revolution’s ideals into a new tyranny, even the women who toppled the monarchy are threatened by the guillotine. Putting her faith in the pen, brilliant political wife Manon Roland tries to write a way out of France’s blood-soaked Reign of Terror while pike-bearing Pauline Leon and steely Charlotte Corday embrace violence as the only way to save the nation. With justice corrupted by revenge, all the women must make impossible choices to survive–unless unlikely heroine and courtesan’s daughter Emilie de Sainte-Amaranthe can sway the man who controls France’s fate: the fearsome Robespierre.
“There she is, the harlot . . .”
“La femme Roland . . .”
“Traitorous slut . . .”
The whispers followed me as I made my way across the floor, looking neither right nor left. It was the first time a woman had been called to address the Convention, and I’d dressed for the occasion as though it were an honor: a blue gown that foamed about my feet as I stalked to the bar, a white fichu pinned with my tricolor cockade, red ribbons twined through my hair. A revolutionary patriot, top to toe. When I turned to face the questions, I let my eyes travel, bold and confident, to the high bleacher seats where the radical Jacobins held court.
Before the proceedings could even begin, some heckler from their ranks called, “How do you answer the charge of treason, citizeness?”
I replied with calm contempt. “The charge is ludicrous, and all here know it.”
It was a smear job of the crudest kind: an unsavory informer reporting he had discovered a London conspiracy to restore the king, and that my husband and I were complicit. My husband had already been summoned to account for himself and had perhaps not done as well as he might: he couldn’t hide his indignation, and he became flustered when the tone turned sneering. I would not give my questioners a chance to sneer.
“The informer states clearly, Citizeness Roland, that you—”
“I did not summon him.” I spoke briskly, taking the reins before my questioner could bring down the whip and speed this interrogation to the pace my enemies wanted. This was going to go at my pace, not theirs. “From my files of letters I can see the man wrote to me, asking for an interview with Minister Roland. I receive dozens of such requests every week.”
“You do not deny you received the man?”
“He paid a brief call, and from his probing I concluded he was sent to sound us out about some scheme or other.” I smiled. “Or perhaps I was wrong. I am a woman and not skilled in these matters.”
The questioner took turns with his colleagues, trying to turn my words on me, trying to talk me in circles. As long as I had listened to politicians drone over my dinner table, I could talk anyone in circles. I shredded their accusations and stamped the shreds underfoot, feeling the color rise in my cheeks—not embarrassment, but the fierce heat of pride. Was this what Roland felt when he addressed the Convention? This rush of power that tingled the fingertips, the confidence that my words were deploying like obedient soldiers and the crowd sat in the palm of my hand? Why would anyone who had command of this floor ever leave it?
Finally, I was excused to the sound of ringing applause among the deputies, the charge dismissed in full, the honors of the session formally accorded to me. I looked from Robespierre to Danton to Marat with a wide bland smile as I glided out, and the smile became a beam as my husband drew me into the nearest empty hall.
“Thank goodness it’s over.” His face was creased with relief. “Let me take you home, calm your nerves.”
“My nerves are calm, and I can take myself home. You stay, speak with those who need reassuring.”
He kissed my forehead. “I hated seeing you up there,” he muttered, before rushing back inside.
He’d hardly gone before a low voice spoke behind me, prickling my skin. “I loved seeing you up there. You were born to it.”
I turned, smile draining away. The man who loved me stood feet planted wide, arms folded, dark hair rumpled—he must have been waiting to catch me alone. “Citizen,” I managed to say, not daring to put his name through my lips.
“You were brilliant,” he said quietly. “Brave as a lioness.” A voice of calm power for a man not yet thirty-three. Six years younger than I, what did that say about me? “They should have known better than to try to trap you in so crude a snare.”
“That shabby excuse for a conspiracy might have been crude, but it was real, even if we had no involvement.” I kept my voice brisk, turning the conversation to safer waters. “As long as the king lives, there will be plots to restore him. The matter will have to be dealt with.”
“The king is just a man, and a small one.”
“With a long shadow.”
We both smiled involuntarily. It had always been like that with us, the eager cut-and-thrust of our minds. “If you wish to speak to my husband . . .”
But the man who loved me took my hand.
“Manon, I honor Roland and support him always. But I am here for you.”
New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller Laura Kaye is the author of over forty books in romantic suspense and contemporary and erotic romance and has sold more than one million books in the U.S. alone. Among her many awards, she won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Romantic Suspense of 2014 for Hard As You Can. A former college history professor, Laura grew up amid family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses, cementing her life-long fascination with storytelling and the supernatural. Laura lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.
Laura also writes historical fiction under the name Laura Kamoie, also a Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today bestseller.
Laura is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Maryland Romance Writers, the Washington Romance Writers, and she is past president of the RWA-Contemporary Romance Writers.
Izzy Kavanagh’s life falls apart when her mother dies. She is forced to move to the US and live with her absent father, who thinks money is the answer to every problem, and her twin brother Ethan, who she has barely spoken to in years.
She hates everything about the move. She hates that she’s forced to finish high school even though she’s already completed it in the UK. She hates that her father is controlling her and threatening to take away her inheritance if she doesn’t do as he says, even though he’s barely there and couldn’t care less about her. She hates that everybody already has an opinion on her based on her family name.
But what she hates above all else is having to see her brother every day in his perfect life where everybody worships him, because he chose this life over her and her mum.
And for that, she’ll never forgive him.
Izzy Kavanagh hates her new life in the US; that much she’s made obvious. She’s done everything she can to alienate her twin, Ethan, and to prove she doesn’t want to be there.
She’s certainly succeeded.
Perhaps a little too much.
Suddenly the idea of having her brother hate her isn’t what she wants. Knowing her mother would be ashamed of her behaviour weighs on her mind, and the idea of having someone who cares about her isn’t so bad after all. Then there’s her brother’s best friend, Finn. No matter how much she wants to ignore him and pretend she doesn’t care about his opinion, he always seems to be there, and it’s getting harder and harder to act like she’s indifferent to him
But the damage has been done, and now all she can do is count down the days until she’s allowed to return to the UK and forget all about her time in the US.
That’s what she’s wanted all along…right?
A chair is kicked out directly into my path, halting me in place. I turn to see where it’s come from and see Ethan is sat slouched in the chair opposite the one he’s shoved in my direction. Of course he’s in here. I should have thought about that, and I mentally kick myself for not thinking about him when I agreed to come in. My eyes scan around his table. It’s completely full. Every seat is taken, and there are people standing around on the edges, like they’re chatting to those that are sat down, only no one’s chatting right now. They’re all staring at me.
Ethan clears his throat and nods towards the only empty seat, which he’s kicked into my pathway. “I saved you a seat. Sit down and I’ll introduce you around.”
I pause whilst he stares back at me, his face totally expressionless unless you know him well and can detect the tenseness in his jaw. He’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe. We both know what this is. It’s a chance for me to slot into his life as his sister and take my place amongst his friends, to forget about the last six years. My eyes meet his and, just for a second, I see the hope that’s there before I shake my head.
No, he can’t have it both ways. He can’t drop me as a twelve-year-old and then expect me to walk back into his life like nothing has happened. We can’t pretend the last five years didn’t happen and that he wasn’t there when I needed him. Neither of us say anything for a few seconds then I shove the chair back towards him with more force than is strictly necessary and go to move on.
I pause and look back at him. His eyes are still focused on me, but I’m acutely aware that it’s not just his eyes on me. His whole table is silent as they watch our exchange. “Just sit down, okay?”
“Yeah, come on, pretty girl. Sit with us.” I turn and see a grinning guy with light brown hair sat next to Ethan. It’s the same guy who was in my history class and wanted me to sit near him.
Ethan turns to face him. “Shut up, Logan. Didn’t you hear me this morning?”
The guy pales at the memory and the smile is wiped from his face. “Sorry, I’m just being friendly.”
“Well don’t,” Ethan snaps. He turns back to me. “Come on, sit down.”
“No, thank you.”
I freeze completely, and my eyes find his. “Don’t call me that,” There’s a definite bite to my tone. Biz is what my mum used to call me. Ethan did too, to be fair, but I can’t hear that right now. Not when no one’s called me that since she died.
His eyes flash with annoyance. “Fine,” he bites out. “Take a seat, Isabella.” My eyes narrow, he knows I hate my full name and no one ever calls me it, not even teachers. I go by Izzy, as he knows full well. I shake my head and turn to walk away. “Actually, I heard you’re going by Kavanagh now.” There’s an edge to his voice that I’ve not heard before. “Been hearing all morning about the new girl Izzy Kavanagh.” Anger crosses his face, like it’s a personal insult to him that I’m not using the same surname as him. But why would I? I can’t stand my father, so why would I want his name? “Kavanagh,” he mutters like it leaves a bad taste, which is weird considering it’s his mum’s name too.
“I go by my mum’s name,” I tell him unnecessarily.
“Your mum’s name?” he asks incredulously. “Yours?”
“Yeah, I think they know each other,” someone mutters nearby, and someone else replies, “No shit.” Apart from that, there’s total and utter silence from his friends as they watch our exchange.
Ethan doesn’t even notice them. His focus is solely on me as he shakes his head and his hands clench into fists on the table. “You’re unbelievable, do you know that? You finally decide to turn up after four days and then I hear you’re using Kavanagh. You’re a…” He stops himself from finishing and instead takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, as though he’s trying to calm himself down.
But I’m interested now. “I’m what?” I step towards him. This isn’t like him. Usually he’s happy-go-lucky. Usually he doesn’t show his real feelings; he’s an expert at covering them. “Finish your sentence, Ethan,” I say sharply.
He throws his hands up. “You know what? I should just be grateful you showed, right? That you showed up and are gracing me with your presence. That you’re not drunk for the first time in days. That I actually know where you are for once.”
My eyes bore into his. Why is he acting like he’s concerned? Why is he acting like he’s bothered about my behaviour? He can’t suddenly start acting like this after years of silence between us.
My silence just pisses him off further. “Or maybe I should just be thankful that we’re actually having a conversation, right? Because God knows you don’t talk to me anymore,” he mutters snaps.
Finally. Finally he’s not being the perfect all-American teenager who’s bothered by nothing.
“I don’t even know…” His voice trails off as he shakes his head, like he wasn’t actually aware of what he was saying.
“Speak up, Ethan,” I tell him, putting my lunch onto the table in front of me and crossing my arms. “Use your words. Formulate a proper sentence.” I say just because I want to see how far I can push him to get a reaction. “Even you can manage to do that.”
“You fucking bitch,” he snaps before he can think, and I start to laugh as there are shocked gasps around us. I’m amused because my perfect brother is finally losing his control and showing me some of his true feelings for a change.
“Whoa, whoa,” Finn starts, looking at him in surprise before glancing back at me. “We all just need to chill out.”
Neither Ethan nor I acknowledge him.
“Yeah,” Logan starts. “I think maybe you should go sit somewhere else, pretty girl.”
Ethan turns to glare at him. “Stop calling her that. I already told you guys to leave her alone. If I find out any of you guys have gone near her, I swear to God you’ll regret it.”
Finn looks startled at the anger in Ethan’s tone as I start to laugh and say, “It’s a bit late to start worrying about my honour, Ethan. That went a long time ago.”
He winces as he realises what I’m saying. At the look on my face, his wince turns into a glare. “Just shup up.” He turns to look back at his friends. “I mean it. She’s off limits.”
“We got it, E,” Finn assures him just as the blonde at Ethan’s side—the girl Pippa shied away from earlier, the one who’s been looking steadily more and more pissed off throughout our conversation—finally explodes. “WHAT THE HELL, ETHAN? Why are you telling people she’s off limits?”
He barely glances at her. “I’ll tell you later, Evie,” he says distractedly, dismissing her.
Evie. That’s the name of the girl I know I don’t like without even saying a word to her.
Ethan is reaching down and grabbing his bag, and he’s rounded the table before I tear my eyes away from Evie, having matched the look she’s giving me with one of my own. “Come on,” he starts, grabbing my arm. “I want to talk to you.”
I snatch my arm back from his grip. “Don’t touch me,” I snap. I already have one family member trying controlling me and telling me what to do. I don’t need another. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
That seems to be the last straw for Ethan. “You are a fucking nightmare. Do you know that? I’ve been worried about you all week and you just turn up like nothing’s wrong. You are so selfish and…” He stops abruptly, clamping his mouth shut as he realises just how much we’re being scrutinised, but I want to hear more.
“Go on,” I tell him, my voice low. “Tell me what you think.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s just get out of here.”
I take a step closer to him. “Tell me what you think of me, Ethan,” I challenge quietly. I pause whilst he just glares back at me, his whole body radiating tension. When he doesn’t respond, I continue. “Do you want to know what I think of you?” There’s no need to raise my voice. There’s total silence around us, and it’s not just his table watching us anymore, but I don’t care. I’ve been itching to tell Ethan what I think of him for months, if not years, and if this is the place where I do it, so be it. I take another step closer to him. “I think that you are a pathetic excuse for a so—”
“WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Evie suddenly erupts from her place at the table. She stands and comes to face me, flanking Ethan on his left. “YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO US LIKE THAT.”
“I don’t remember speaking to you. Did I?”
Her jaw falls open. Clearly she’s not used to people speaking back to her. She crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step closer to me. “You need to be careful.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“You don’t have a clue what you’ve just done.” Her dark blue eyes bore into me, and a smile takes over her lips. “You just made a big mistake,” she warns me. “You just committed social suicide, babe. I don’t care about your dumb accent or your designer handbag. You’re officially done here.”
“I’m gonna make sure of it. I’m gonna be your worst nightmare.”
Ethan’s head snaps to her in surprise, and he scowls in disgust. “Evie, stop. Don’t be such a bitch.”
She looks utterly flabbergasted that he’s defended me.
“I don’t need your help, Ethan,” I tell him.
He turns to me. “It would be really good if you could just shut your mouth right now, Biz.”
“What did you say?” Evie demands, pushing past Ethan to get closer to me. It’s obvious she’s getting more and more agitated that there’s something going on that she doesn’t understand.
“I said ‘Shut up.’ Want me to spell it for you?”
Her face turns red with fury and she leans towards me. “I don’t know who you think you are with that stupid accent—”
“British,” I interrupt her. “It’s a British accent. You might have heard of it? Collection of countries in Europe? The UK?”
She splutters for a minute. “Whatever. I don’t care where you came from—in this school you don’t speak to us like that, and you definitely don’t speak to Ethan Carlington like that. Do you even know who he is?”
I glance over at Ethan, who looks like he wishes he’d never bothered stopping me. “Yes, I’m aware of who Ethan Carlington is.”
“Well then you should know he’s not even on your level, babe. His dad owns this town, and if your family wants to settle in, it’s best not to piss off his son.”
Ethan’s jaw falls open at her words, and I wonder just how good she usually is at hiding her bitchy behaviour. I’ve no doubt this is her true character, but I wonder how often she actually shows it to Ethan and his friends, because the Ethan I knew would never tolerate this. He would never want to be around someone who behaves like this.
I tilt my head as I survey him. “Wow. Sounds like you’ve got a really great dad. Lucky you.”
He rolls his eyes at me in irritation, and it only infuriates her further.
“You’re done here,” she continues, glaring hard. “I wouldn’t even bother coming back if I were you.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, taking a step towards her so we’re almost touching. She’s gorgeous, no doubt about that, and she definitely knows it, but she’s one of those girls who needs to make everyone else feel bad just to make herself feel better. “Why? What are you going to do?”
She smirks at me, and I can see it in her eyes. She thinks she’s going to shut me down the way she’s probably shut down countless girls before just because she doesn’t like something about them, or just because she’s bored. Either way, I can promise she’s not going to do it to me. “You just wait. You’ll regret ever stepping foot in this school. I’m gonna enjoy this.”
I grin and glance over at Ethan, who is staring at Evie in disbelief, like he doesn’t even recognise her. “Did you hear that, Ethan? Your little friend here is threatening me.”
“Could you stop trying to wind everyone up for just a second?” he snaps at me before turning to Evie. “And don’t talk to her like that. What is wrong with you?”
Evie’s face turns red at the reprimand. “I was just…I was sticking up for you.”
“Awww. It’s sweet that you want to fight your friend’s battles, but he’s a big boy.”
She turns back on me. “He’s my boyfriend,” she bites out, like it’s something I should just know. “And you can make sure you stay away from him.”
Of course she’s his girlfriend. Of course.
I start to laugh and look at Ethan, who looks positively mortified. “Seriously?” I ask. “This is your girlfriend?” I let my eyes sweep around the cafeteria, taking in the faces looking back at me. “Must be slim pickings around here if she’s the best you can do.”
It’s the final straw for Evie, and a growl leaves her mouth as she lunges at me, but Ethan catches her around the waist before she gets to me. He pulls her back, and she turns to look at him, hurt and confusion crossing her face. “Why are you defending her?” she asks him. “Why are you taking her side when she’s speaking to you like that?” She turns to look back at me. “Who are you?”
I stare back at her and let out a humourless laugh. “Who am I?” I step closer to her, my eyes boring into hers. I glance at Ethan, who is glaring back at me, before turning back to this girlfriend. “I’m his twin.” I pause as I watch her eyes widen in disbelief. “Who the hell are you?!”
Emma Doherty was born in Yorkshire, England. She attended university in Newcastle before moving to London. She loves to travel, write, spend time with friends and family and hear from her readers.
Bethany Lopez is a USA Today Bestselling author of more than thirty books and has been published since 2011. She’s a lover of all things romance, which she incorporates into the books she writes, no matter the genre.
When she isn’t reading or writing, she loves spending time with family and traveling whenever possible.
Bethany can usually be found with a cup of coffee or glass of wine at hand, and will never turn down a cupcake!
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