This Much is True (Truth in Lies #1)
by Katherine Owen
Both on the verge of fame. A ballerina who lies. A baseball player who believes her. Well, the truth changes everything.
Tally Landon is just trying to survive the death of her twin sister, graduate from high school, and escape her tragic story by pursuing her ballet career in New York. She doesn't count on Lincoln Presley, Stanford's baseball wonder, to affect her at all. Adding him to a long list of one-night stands is the plan. Lying to him about her age and name is her standard method of operandi. She doesn't count on being found out, on seeing him again, or falling in love.
Lincoln Presley's life is all mapped out for him. There is only baseball. With Major League Baseball circling their favorite prospect with a lucrative offer, he cannot afford to mess up. And, he doesn't; until he meets up with the girl he saved in that burning wreckage on the 101 on Valentine's Day months before. By the time he learns her real name and of all the lies she's told, he's in far too deep to ever really let her go.
Fate has a different set of plans, but when fame and lies tear them apart, one truth remains.
The incessant public gazing follows me down the hall as if they’re watching an accused witch march off to a wooden stake for burning. We’re studying the Salem Witch Trials in U.S. History, so I’m sure that’s why I’m feeling this particular persecution with such potency. I keep my head down and allow my eyes to study the various patterns in the linoleum as I make my way past all these jostling students and sympathetic stares. Nobody wants to be the dead twin’s sister. Nobody wants to be brought down by this tragic story. Including me.
“Tally.” Marla’s voice reaches for me from the other end of the hallway. I skirt past a couple of additional voyeurs who mumble their words at me as I slash my way through the last of the fervent bodies of Paly high-schoolers.
“Hey,” I say when I reach her locker. Marla’s presence represents a certain sanctuary, however temporary, and I almost smile.
“Hey,” she says with meaning, scrutinizing me closely. “How are you holding up?”
It’s been more than three months since the funeral, long after the debacle in the Caribbean with my parents and Tommy, where we did a lot of pretending that everything was normal even though it clearly wasn’t. We holed up in a five-star hotel room and blithely watched the ocean waves from our hotel suite most of the time, and no one said a word. Although after three days of this imposed confinement with what was left of my family, I did sneak off into the streets of St. Thomas and found a brief respite in the arms of one of the handsome locals. He didn’t know a word of English, and that suited me just fine. He seemed to like the fact that I chain-smoked one cigarette after another after we’d done the deed in all various ways possible at least a half-dozen times and I didn’t ask for money. Apparently, this was a refreshing change for him as well. At least, that’s what I was able to put together through his various hand gestures and his excited Spanish. He seemed to like the fact that I didn’t ask for anything except sex and silence.
About Owen's fiction...This is NOT the light trope stuff. She travels a unique, writerly path and enjoys writing dark and angsty (a "non-word" she is fond of) emotional love stories. She often warns readers to be prepared with: time, tissues, wine, Advil or your drug of choice. And, as her most favored character, Lincoln Presley, would say, "do what you must, Princess."
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