I enjoyed this book. I liked the multiple points of view, the multiple plot lines, and the interesting characters, like Jake (good looking but still a child), Matt (with his mild Asperger’s and blunt observations), and Tripp (with a secret life and even more secret past) and Miranda (like the sunflower, who follows Tripp, her sun, and blooms when he’s around). Then there’s Julia, the jilted girlfriend, and Ricky, the youngest son. All of them are draw into the “Venus flytrap” that is Cleo.
Cleo is the epitome of white upper class fantasy. In fact, there was too much of the white upper class fantasy in this book — private jets, independently wealthy people, white roses everywhere, perfect weather, perfect bodies, etc. etc. She’s a woman of mystery who practices Krav Maga but still eats pancakes.
The early parts of the book made me groan and roll my eyes. So many cliches and impossible-to-believe behavior. (She’s a TV personality, but she only works three days a week?) But pretty soon the plot takes over, and it is suspenseful and fun at the same time.
The worst part of this book? The names. Pudge and Pudding? Tripp, Miranda, Cleopatra, Tree, BeBee, Sandrine, Peach, Jimbo…