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Book length - 336 pages Publisher - Vintage Press Worldwide - www.bookdepository.com Amazon UK - www.amazon.co.uk Amazon US - www.amazon.com I want to thank Mia from www.penguin.co.uk/vintage/ for the opportunity to take part in this blog tour and for providing me with an extract which you can read further down. ABOUT THIS BOOK After a whirlwind romance, a young woman returns to the opulent, secluded Long Island mansion of her new fiancé Max Winter—a wealthy politician and recent widower—and a life of luxury she’s never known. But all is not as it appears at the Asherley estate. The house is steeped in the memory of Max’s beautiful first wife Rebekah, who haunts the young woman’s imagination and feeds her uncertainties, while his very alive teenage daughter Dani makes her life a living hell. She soon realizes there is no clear place for her in this twisted little family: Max and Dani circle each other like cats, a dynamic that both repels and fascinates her, and he harbors political ambitions with which he will allow no woman—alive or dead—to interfere. As the soon-to-be second Mrs. Winter grows more in love with Max, and more afraid of Dani, she is drawn deeper into the family’s dark secrets—the kind of secrets that could kill her, too. The Winters is a riveting story about what happens when a family’s ghosts resurface and threaten to upend everything. EXTRACT I was in the office one day trimming the edges of a nice write-up about Laureen to pin on the office wall when the brass bells signaled Max Winter’s entrance into the overly air-conditioned hut. As automatically as breathing, Laureen stripped off her stained hoodie and stood to greet him, her ample, sun-spotted chest leading the way. Her wide arms assumed a hug, but Max instantly sliced through those intentions with a stiff extended arm, an awkward moment I pretended not to see. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Winter, or should I say Senator Winter? It’s been such a long, long time.” “I’m just a state senator, so no need for titles,” he said, looking over her shoulder to give me a perfunctory nod. I didn’t remember Max Winter from previous years, which wasn’t unusual. Laureen had a whole cache of clients she took personal care of: bankers, sports stars, celebrities and the like, people who didn’t like the obviousness of St. Barts or the sleepiness of St. Martin, people for whom banking was a full-time job and the Caymans was where they could both work and play. She hoarded them, bragging about the exorbitant tips she’d declined because they’d formed friendships, or so she said, trusting her enough to drop lascivious details about affairs and divorces, though I knew she’d merely overheard them talking from the bridge. “Anyway, it is so good to see you again, Mr. Winter. The club didn’t alert me that you were returning. I would have been more than happy to handle your needs there so you wouldn’t have to come all the way down to my ratty old office. Get Mr. Winter a coffee,” she barked at me. “Oh no,” he said to me. “Please don’t go to any trouble.” “By the way,” Laureen added sotto voce, “my deepest condolences to you and your lovely daughter. I read about that awful business. Has it been a year already?” I pricked up my ears, eager to know more about this “awful business.” “Eighteen months,” he said. “And thank you, I appreciate your kind words. But I am wondering about a boat. For tomorrow. Something manageable that I can handle alone.” “Oh, I wouldn’t hear of that. I’m more than happy to take you out tomor—” “No. Please. Though I do appreciate the offer. You must be busy this time of year.” “Nonsense. January is between high seasons.” I spoke up. “The Commodore is available. One person can handle it easily. I just need to clean it out and put gas in it.” “Thank you. I know that boat,” Max said. “I’ll come by around eight. Does that give you enough time to prep it?” “Plenty.” His nose was slightly crooked, the only lived-in thing about his handsome face. I imagined he’d played sports and had an accident with a baseball or football. Maybe an interesting story involving a fistfight at a private school. The thought instantly endeared him to me. “Mr. Winter, I’m telling you, that little boat won’t do. Let me take you out on the Lassie—” He gave me a steady look, which I held until my face burned. “I’d like to take the little one. I’ll come for her in the morning.” “At least let me bring her around to the club dock, Mr. Winter, all nice and gleaming.” “I’d prefer to leave from here, if you don’t mind,” he said. There was an edge to his voice now. He intended to be alone on that boat, and this now worried me, given Laureen’s hushed condolences and his general air of sadness. “I don’t mind anything. Will you need snorkeling equipment? Will your daughter be with you?” “No. Dani’s with her aunt in Paris for the month. She’s at that age where she prefers her company, anyone’s company really, over mine,” he said, looking at me. “Let us pack a picnic for you, then. Call up the kitchen,” she commanded me, “and let them know Mr. Winter wants—” “I’ll grab some food from the takeaway. I didn’t catch your name.” This time he was talking to me. I was about to respond when Laureen beat me to it, her accent mangling the emphasis so that it sounded less exotic than it was. “Pretty,” he said, studying my face as if to solve something about its relationship to my name. “Suits you. Are you new?” “I’ve been working here about eight years now.” “Why have I never seen you before?” He seemed genuinely bothered by this oversight on my, or Laureen’s, part. “Maybe because I’ve never seen you,” I said, a little impudently, my face warming. “This one’s not one of my more friendly staff, that’s for sure,” Laureen said. “If I didn’t shove her out the door she’d be content to sit in the air-conditioning all day checking her Facebook.” I rolled my eyes at Max. She knew I had no interest in such things. “Yes, well, all right. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said and thanked us each by name. The bells clanged behind him. AUTHOR BIO Lisa Gabriele is an author and a award-winning TV producer, writer and director. Her writing has appeared in Vice, Nerve, New York Magazine, Washington Post, New York Times Magazine, Globe and Mail, National Post, Elle and Glamour. Her essays have appeared in several anthologies, including The Best American Non-Required Reading. She’s also the author of the international best-selling S.E.C.R.E.T. trilogy, under the pseudonym L. Marie Adeline, a series that’s been published in more than 30 countries. For more information: Website - www.lisagabriele.com Twitter - twitter.com/lisagabrieletv Instagram - www.instagram.com/lisagabrieletv/ DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT ALL OF THE OTHER STOPS ALONG THE WAY!!
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WelcomeHi fellow bookworms. My name is Linda and I'm a reviewer & blogger, wife & mother who loves all things books! Currently ReadingUPCOMING BLOG TOURS
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