Who decided to publish this vapid book? I guess whoever did agrees with Mencken that “No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American people.” Since this Harlequin romance-like trash was first published in the U.K. I guess the same can be said of the Brits.
Sarah-Kate Lynch throws together a predictable story about Esme, who I guess is supposed to resemble Bridget Jones if she were married. Esme is nursing some tragic hurt that is only hinted at up to page 225, when I abandoned this read since life is just too short. (A friend lent me this novel because it’s got a French theme. She did warn me that the beginning was cheesy. I’d say the middle is and I predict the ending is as well.)
Basically, Esme is haunted by a mysterious sorrow (I think she had a child die) and by “the one who got away” even though that guy was obviously a loser. We all suffer heartache in our teens or 20s and if we live a half way decent life by our mid-30’s we’re over it, way over it. Esme, get a life.
Since I have a life, I dropped this mess unwilling to believe that it could improve.