London Book Review Magazine Romane & Geschichten

A text from an unknown number. *Dear Dr. Zanetti, I'm Clara Benson, Senior Editor at Meridian Books. I read your thesis abstract online and was incredibly impressed. I'd love to discuss the possibility of publishing it as a monograph. Are you free for a coffee next week?* Keira stared at the screen, her heart hammering. Meridian Books. One of the most respected independent publishers in the UK, known for their beautifully produced academic titles and their commitment to emerging voices. They'd published books she'd cited in her thesis. Books that had shaped her thinking.

But then, why were all her belongings still here? She stepped toward the shelves and ran an index finger horizontally across the spine of each book, noting the authors. Stephen King. Paul Tremblay. Lauren Beukes. All horror, violence, and morbid. Certainly not what Jade preferred to read. The magazines held a different texture, they were smooth but thinner, and her fingertip snagged every crevice. She plucked a random one out and examined the cover. Vogue. Flipping through the magazine, she noted several of the corners were folded as a bookmark. She glanced over the articles on those pages: Interviews with influential people, food and drink reviews, and beauty products.

Am I at the right place? Well I am. The receptionist cross-checked my invitation card against the list of guests. The London Eye glitters like a giant platinum ring, and the Big Ben and the Palace of Westminster, gleaming like gold against the evening sky! What a view! I don’t mind the chill. November isn’t a bad time to be in London. Table number four it is. Four is my lucky number! But just thirty tables? Makes sense. It’s not crowd, it’s The Crème.

CHAPTER ONE Unforgotten Janice gazed through the window of the tinted glass of the land rover as it sped past the busy London street. It was a wet evening in London; the streetlights decorated the street like satellites dotted across the galaxy. The lights from the apartment's windows made it even better- the view was simply breathtaking! This is one of the many things Janice loved about London; aside from the weather, the tea and cake, especially St. Lauren's tea shop is the absolute best!

Then Rowan leaned back slightly in his seat. “You’ll trust someone again.” Emma looked toward him slowly. “That sounded confident.” “It wasn’t confidence.” His gaze remained steady on hers. “It was certainty.” ⸻ London greeted them with rain. Not dramatic storms. Not thunder. Just soft rain clinging to dark streets while black cars lined the roads outside Heathrow. The city looked elegant in a distant sort of way. Beautiful without trying to feel welcoming. Inside the hotel lobby warm gold lighting reflected against marble floors while quiet piano music drifted through the air.

Something not rehearsed. People laugh. I play along. We drink French 75’s and nibble on things that sound like poetry when the servers announce them. Someone named Clementine tells me I have impeccable taste in shoes. An older man with a bowtie and laugh lines that crease like origami, describes his hypothesis about cats and time travel. The city blazes below us like it just realized it was magnificent all along. London, unexpectedly, has become a cocoon. Or a mirage. Or maybe just a pause button I didn’t know I needed.

London, 1863 A new morning in London, as cold as foggy as only the British Isles could be, the smell of baked goods, wet pavement, carriages making their rounds and the children screaming in the streets trying to sell the morning paper. And did they ever have the most intriguing of headlines to keep the readers interested "Lord Reginald found dead under mysterious circumstances" What a hook for readers that was, apparently one of the Queen's richest of friends was found dead it was impossible not to grab a copy.

“Her magazine is aimed at women. So what if she used The Playbook as inspiration? Her target audience is the complete opposite of ours. Besides, isn’t imitation the sincerest form of flattery?” “That mediocrity can pay to greatness, according to Oscar Wilde.” Liam snorted. “I’ve never heard that part of the quote before. Are you seriously pissed about this? This is a good opportunity for Mia, regardless of how you feel about Harley. The Little Black Book is new, but they are quickly garnering a cult following. This is exactly the sort of magazine Mia should work for.” “As much as I hate to agree with you, you’re right.” Carter sighed. “I just wish it was with anyone else other than Harley Ja

I teased. “Oh, you are going to love London! It is so diverse and so diverting!” Trish proceeded in telling me about the cool clubs in London, the people she’d met, and other activities like bar crawling and other stuff. She seemed to have some fun in London. I let myself enjoy her story, listening to her every word while trying to picture what it was like, even though deep down I knew that I had to face reality and an angry sorceress in a matter of hours.

London nodded his head and started reading his book. Everyone focused on what they were doing for the next hour. The smell of freshly fried chicken steak pervaded the kitchen and into the living room. Caleb and London locked their eyes when they both turned to the kitchen at the same time. Caleb was done moving in the boxes while London was almost finished with his book. “Now I’m famished,” Caleb mumbled with a warm smile as he rubbed his stomach. “Aren’t you a mafia boss? You should have at least something to eat at your place, don’t you?” London faked a smile and focused his eyes back on the page he was reading.