Lovers Like Us (Like Us, #2)

by Krista Ritchie

Rose hastily unclasps her Chanel purse, her nails painted a matte black. Tabloids call my aunt an “ice queen” but her heart is fucking giant. I saw it as a kid when five-year-old Ben got poison ivy and she told her son she’d bear his pain for him if she could. She whispered in French, made him a hot bath, and sat with him the whole night. And I definitely see her heart now. As she pulls out a pair of heels.