To All a Good Spite (Holiday Revenge Club #2)

On the first day of December, Christmas Village gave to me…

A certificate of matrimony.

That unforgettable night had it all: infinite sparks, naughty-list-level heat, and zero altars.

Clearly there’s been a mistake. It’s nothing an annulment can’t fix.

Yet when I track down Foster, my accidental hubby, and ask him to sign, he refuses.

No signature. No explanation.

Foster is as unyielding as stale fruitcake.

His proposal? Fake it til we make it—to Christmas, that is.

My response? Merry little mischief—each day, a new prank designed to crack his resolve.

But as my tricks pile up like snow, the line between faux and feelings starts to blur.

Are we destined for a festive fiasco?

Or could our fake marriage be the real deal?

Welcome to my world—population: me, myself, and the talking head in my purse.

I tolerate a handful of people. I actually enjoy the company of fewer.

Im the only one who truly gets me. So when I somehow magically split into two copies of myself, I figure I won the roommate lottery.

Then someone kills the other me.

And they leave her head for me to find.

The murderer doesn't realize I know a witch who brings the dead back to life.

I want vengeance. But, to solve this twisted whodunit, I might just have to do the unthinkable—trust other people.

Kissing? It's the express lane to spit-swap city and cootie central, according to my kids.

The real danger, though, is catching a bad case of feelings.

Exacerbating that danger is the fact that somewhere in my heart lurks a hopeless romantic, a sneaky little love-cheerleader out of place in my otherwise pragmatic life. It's the force advocating for late-night-romance-novel-reading sleep deprivation. And it's a silent rebel stirred awake by the insanely hot voice of the guy next door.

Ive got that mushy part of myself locked down deep, nearly forgotten beneath my day job herding grown yet child-minded men who think the epitome of podcasting excellence is butt jokes, and actual child-wrangling at home.

But when my daughters prod me to kiss a bunny at the farmer's market, I assume it's harmless.