Dr. Ivy Mortlake has one rule: never sell the firethorn.

It's the only living thing her mother left behind, and it has never once bloomed — not in thirty years, not under grow-lights, not under prayer.

Then Dorian Vey walks into her conservatory with more money than the city has ever seen and an alarmingly good eye for plants. He doesn't want to buy the firethorn. He's come to warn her about it.

Because the vine isn't a vine. It's a doorway, and the bloom is coming, and once the gate opens something on the other side will want through.

Now Ivy and Dorian have three months to seal it — arguing about compost, sleeping in shifts in a glasshouse loft, learning that the only thing harder than closing a gate is not falling through it together.

A passionate contemporary fantasy romance about what grows when you finally stop pretending you're not still waiting for someone.

Nadia Wren

Libros