A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove, #2)

by Tessa Dare

Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved?”

Men never hesitated to declare their presence. They were permitted to live aloud, in reverberating thuds and clunks, while ladies were always schooled to abide in hushed whispers.

Perhaps, she thought, people were more like ammonites than one would suppose. Perhaps they too built shells on a consistent, unchanging factor—some quality or circumstance established in their youth. Each chamber in the shell just an enlargement of the previous. Growing year after year, until they spiraled around and locked themselves in place.

“No one’s ever called me so before. I’m twenty-one years old. If I were beautiful, surely someone would have noticed by now.”