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An inspiring story about a woman who finds hope in trying times on a small Caribbean island.
First in Series
As an author, it’s not a stretch to say that books are the one true love of my life. Though there’s magic in all of them, I am most captivated by plot-driven stories that deal with the mysteries of everyday life—stories that pose the question: What if everything you know is a lie?
Irene seems to have the perfect life as a wife, mother, and magazine editor. But when her husband dies in a mysteriou...
Irene Steele’s idyllic life—house, husband, family—is shattered when she is woken up by a late-night phone call. Her beloved husband has been found dead, but before Irene can process this tragic news, she must confront the perplexing details of her husband’s death. He was found on St. John island, a tropical paradise far removed from their suburban life. Leaving the cold winter behind, Irene flies...
Get an early look from the first pages of Elin Hilderbrand's Winter in Paradise.Read a sample →
It’s the first night of the new year.
Irene Steele has spent the day in a state of focused productivity. From nine to one, she led away every piece of paperwork relating to the complete moth-to-butterfly renovation of her 1892 Queen Anne–style home on Church Street. From one to two, she ate a thick sandwich, chicken salad on pumpernickel (she has always been naturally slender, luckily, so no New Year’s diets for her), and then she took a short nap on the velvet fainting couch in front of the fire in the parlor. From two fifteen to three-thirty, she composed an email response to her boss, Joseph Feeney, the publisher of Heartland Home & Style magazine, who two days earlier had informed her that she was being “promoted” from editor in chief of the magazine to executive editor, a newly created position that reduces both Irene’s hours and responsibilities by half and comes with a 30 percent pay cut.
At a quarter of four, she tried calling her husband, Russ, who was away on business. The phone rang six times and went to voicemail. Irene didn’t leave a message. Russ never listened to them, anyway.
She tried Russ again at four thirty and was shuttled straight to voicemail. She paused, then hung up. Russ was on his phone night and day. Irene wondered if he was intentionally avoiding her call.