Is Calling Maggie May Worth Reading?

On the day of the crash, I called Enzo Vitale ninety-nine times on the emergency channel. On the hundredth call, his Consigliere finally picked up. "Don Enzo has already used family resources to escort Miss Moretti to a private hospital," he said. "Her condition…isn’t good. Don asked me to tell you not to disturb him again." But that was not the worst part. When I woke up, my baby was gone. The doctor said the accident was too severe and they could not save the child. Then I heard the truth. “Chiara is carrying my child,” Enzo said. “Her last wish is to have a child before she goes. I gave her that. But this must stay between us. Alessia cannot know.” “We had no choice,” my mother Rosalina said, her voice flat. “Chiara doesn't have long. We want her last days to be peaceful.” “Alessia will understand,” my father Alberto said. “She's always been reasonable. She'll see this is about giving a dying woman her final wish.” They were comforting a dying woman. My child was dead. But all they cared about was Chiara's baby. I stumbled away. Chiara stood at the end of the hallway and smiled at me. “I am not dying,” she whispered. “I just want everything you have.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Professor Luciano,” I said quietly. “I've changed my mind. I am ready to join your closed medical research program.” The woman who once begged for love had died with her child.

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The Devil You Called Grimace. Hunger. Love like a curse. They say some doors open only once. She opened hers with three red candles, a drop of blood, and a whisper. Lonely nights, overdue rent, and a heart too heavy to carry — that’s all it took to call him through. Malik. The man made of smoke, shadow, and everything her prayers forgot to protect her from. He came smiling, with promises sweet as sin — protection, money, revenge. Every favor he gave her tasted like salvation until she realized he was feeding on her, one piece at a time. A memory here. A dream there. Her laughter swallowed whole. Now he’s the warmth in her sheets and the whisper in her nightmares. The devil she named, the lover she can’t unmake. Because Malik wasn’t summoned. He was chosen. And love — the kind that burns red under candlelight — always demands a body to keep it alive.

“I know you,” Miguel murmured. “Even if I can’t remember how.” Evelyn’s smile was bitter. “You knew me once, and it destroyed everything.” Every summer, billionaire Miguel Hawkins escaped to Silverlake and fell in love with Evelyn Hart while hiding his true identity. But when she discovered his secret engagement, she vanished, leaving behind a pendant engraved with six words: Next Summer, Find Me If You Can. Years later, Miguel finds her again after a tragic accident has stolen his memories, but not the pull he feels toward Evelyn...or the child he never knew was his. As the truth slowly returns, Miguel realizes the woman he lost is now engaged to Angelo Morgan, his billionaire best friend. He finally found her. But this summer, can he make Evelyn find her way back to him?

In the chaos and quiet of her 30s, a woman reflects on the loves that shaped her, the heartbreaks that undid her, and the tender spaces in between. Through fleeting romances, almost-loves, and the weight of expectations—family’s, society’s, and her own—she navigates a world where connection is currency, vulnerability is rebellion, and self-discovery never comes easy. Told with wit, warmth, and raw honesty, this novel is a journey through modern love: messy, magical, and sometimes maddening. It's about the people who entered her life, the ones who left, and the version of herself she’s still becoming.

When a pampered socialite in post civil war Boston seeks adventure and romance, she finds peril, heartache, and tragedy along with it. Answering an ad in The Matrimonial News, she secretly marries by proxy, but is widowed before she gets to meet her husband. The fact that she's naïve and unskilled in the ways of love when she finally encounters the man of her dreams only adds to her situation.