There was a loud shriek, followed by an even louder bang, and then an eerie terrifying silence. Naomi Aizenberg jumped up and ran to her window. Smoke filled the air. And the smell of dynamite filled her senses.
When Naomi's daughter, Perle, starts to have nightmares about smokestacks and creepy doctors, Naomi is struck with terror - the terror of a mother who fears her daughter is in mortal danger. Naomi believes dreams are glimpses into the future. She, too, has had dreams of foreign soldiers with a strange flag invading her tiny village. She knows in her heart that evil is brewing.
Real-life has already been a living hell for Naomi. She must navigate the treacherous path of her unhappy arranged marriage with Hershel while keeping a scandalous love affair secret. And now something is coming. Her dreams - the dreams Hershel laughs at - tell her so. And the thing that is coming will make the hell she has been living seem ordinary and almost peaceful.
The noose is tightening, and not even her nightmares can prepare Naomi, or her sleepy little village, from the sweeping scythe of the Nazi death machine.
Updated: Aug 27
I adjust my tie and then push through the ornate, wood carved door to the king's bedroom.
So there I was selling bikinis out of my truck in South Beach Miami, getting ready to kick off a wet t-shirt contest when the world’s biggest grouch approached me - Keller Fitzwilliam.
The man had the sultriest British accent I've ever heard. And he looked like he just walked off a Viking boat and into a suit tailored specifically for his impressively muscular frame. Only problem is, he had the warmth of an ice pick and he kept telling me he was here to take me back to his home country.
Of course, I didn't follow him. I might be up for a good time, but I'm also educated enough to know leaving with a stranger isn't smart. Well, that's until he mentioned my mom's name. My mom who passed away several years ago.
So after some serious fact-checking, my bikini-clad bum went with him to a sub-arctic country I had never heard of just north of the British Isles, where I found out my grandpa was the king of said freezing country, and I was the one and only heir.
Desperate to learn more about my mom, I decided to give this princess thing a chance.
Good idea, right? Wrong.
Because Mr. Ice Pick was put to the task of training me and he’s not just cold as ice, he’s pompous, aggravating, and possessive. And did I mention we have to share a bathroom in a tiny castle?
We are oil and water every single day and even though he’s training me to be queen, I have this simmering desire to kneel before him.