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286 pages, Paperback
First published July 19, 2014
I always knew I would share my husband.This is the way of her world. It’s the way to salvation. Most of the people in her compound are happy there. It’s the only life they’ve ever known and they believe it’s the only life they could ever have. Brinley is a little different.
“I want to know everything there is to know about you, the real you. Not the fake mold they’ve placed you in. The real Brinley.”
“What do you have to lose?”
The plea in his voice demanded the proper response. But I didn’t have one.
“Nothing?” I paused finally making eye contact.
“Everything?” I shook my head not knowing the answer.










“I had my secrets. A voice inside me told me I didn’t belong here, that there was another life waiting for me. And with each passing year, that voice became louder.”
“Why are you really here? … Tell me the truth.” He leaned in closer, whispering into my ear, “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“Say what?” I whispered…
“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?”
“It seemed that no matter what I did, I’d be haunted by guilt. I could abandon my family, my belief system, and my God, or I could walk away from Porter, the one man who’s ever stirred my heart.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about you, the real you. Not the fake mold they’ve placed you in. The real Brinley. The only who matters.”
“I need you to be mine.”
“I am,” I insisted.
“Mine alone, Brin. Not shared with some fuckhead who has no idea how special you are, how absolutely remarkable you are. Please, please do this. For us.”




Wife Number Seven has a nice balance of angst, some suspense, and a sweet love story. The reader can't help but fall in love with both characters and resent the heck out of Brinley's husband and sister wives. Brin struggles with respecting her church teachings yet having this draw to the outside world...to Porter.
What I loved most was the love story here...two souls living in different worlds fighting for a chance to hopefully someday be together.








"I’m wife number seven. My husband shares my bed one night a week. And although I don’t love him, not in the way I’d always hoped I’d love the man I’m bound to for eternity, I find myself dreading the moment he walks out my bedroom door every seven days."
“I don’t need your prayers.”
I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high.
“I have my own.”