Friday, July 4, 2025

🌈June Book of the Month🌈: What's Left of Me by Davidson King



Summary:

Saint Brothers #4
Phoenix
My once carefree life—dancing, smiling, and never looking over my shoulder—ended the day I was kidnapped and held by a serial killer for three months. A part of me was certain I was never getting out of there alive…and then when I thought my end was near, I was rescued.

But the killer is still out there, and he wants me back.

The police and FBI are bound by red tape and procedures and because of that, my sister believes they can’t protect me…not like the Saint brothers can. Soon, I’m in a house filled with gorgeous, brilliant, dangerous men, and yet I feel safer than I ever have. Most of that has to do with a certain sunglass-wearing tech genius named Noel. For the first time since being rescued, I feel something toward someone, and I want to explore that.

Noel
I thought my brothers were idiots as I watched them each fall in love. I don’t want to be held down—I love my computers, freedom, and not having to answer to anyone. Then we take on a protection case and Phoenix Briar walks into my life. With a blink of his hazel eyes and barely there smile, I find myself willing to not just protect him but to do it at the cost of my life.

With the Broken Doll Killer on the loose and determined to get his perfect doll back, my brothers and I are in a race against time to keep Phoenix safe and to find his monster before he shatters whatever is left of Phoenix. I’m determined to give Phoenix the love he deserves…and the revenge he needs.

What’s Left of Me is book four in my Saint Brothers series. While it could be read as a standalone it is highly recommended you read Slay Ride, Kill Me Sweetly, and Mine to Keep first since characters from those books play a part in this story.




What can I say about Saint Brothers #4, What's Left of Me, that could even come close to what I'm feeling?  Those who follow me on SM or my reviews know that my life was turned upside down with the passing of my mother back in January.  Some days are better than others, but to be perfectly honest, my stress levels and anxiety grow with every day as I try to navigate a new path forward as I attempt finding a job that allows me time to still care for my dad.  This admission has nothing to do with Davidson King's book other than the story has given me an outlet for moments of relief and yet the stress makes my reviewing brain more clouded.  So I want to put that out there in my hope this review comes out clear. The fact that it does give me moments of relief speaks the loudest to my enjoyment of this story.

Though I am part of the author's FB group, I always try to stay clear of her teaser Tuesday posts when I can, sometimes you just have to have a peak but in general, I like to be completely taken off guard when reading.  Boy was I ever!  I knew there was a serial killer element to the story waybackwhen, but I had no idea just what that would entail.  I won't go into specifics, having been so unaware heightened the fear factor for me and I would never want to rob any reader of that same "WOW!" moments.

Before I talk about Noel and Phoenix, I want to mention that, even though What's Left of Me, is laden with dark moments, violence, and fear, I personally think the author's #3 Mine to Keep, is still the darkest and most soul-crushing entry as it dealt with both the subtlety and in your face effects of stalking.  Having said that, just as I'm writing this review, I realized that the entire Saint Brothers series plays heavily into the psychological side and after effects of the crimes.  Not sure how I missed that before this moment, because it's so clear to me now.  Hindsight can be our biggest moment of clarity.

So, on to the men at the center of this amazing and disturbing story.

Phoenix. I loved how the author dealt with his fears.  Through his inner monologue we have a fuller picture of what the serial killer did to him, or more significantly, what impact the vitriol he hammered into Phoenix has left on his psyche.  Through his interactions with his sister, Hazel and gradually the Saint brothers, we see how it has affected his day to day emotions.  As drawn to Noel Saint, Phoenix is, I think it's actually the interactions he has with the brothers' partners that begin to ground him and see that healing and overcoming trauma is doable.  Don't get me wrong, this is a Phoenix and Noel story, but the author's use of the partners, though small in page-time, is huge in healing.

Noel.  Him and his brother, Nick(the Saint star in Mine to Keep) are the computer nerds of the operation and the frustration with the non-tech family members are front and center of the humorous scenes of the story.  Won't lie, there are not many comedic moments but these family funnies help balance the darkness and left a calming effect on me.  I really love how he relies on Dr.Aziza when it comes to making sure Phoenix is protected and the best ways to approach certain factors.  This is not something you often see in stories about revenge and physical protection, generally those who are doing the protecting are all about the do-now-think-later but not the Saint brothers, they get the importance of the survivor's mental health(I said "survivor", I don't like "victim").  Again, don't get me wrong, they are all about the doing but not without the thinking, for the most partπŸ˜‰.

Put these men together and you have a very powerful and rewarding love story that rounds out this psychological suspense thriller, creating a whole package of entertainment.  What's Left of Me is oh so disturbingly yummy.

One last thing, for those wondering about reading order, I highly recommend reading Saint Brothers in order of release.  Yes, each book is about a new brother and a separate crime but because the past entry's relationships play a huge found family part of each new story, everything just falls into place more realistically when read chronologically.

RATING:





PROLOGUE
BNN News Outlet: “The body of a woman appearing to be in her early twenties was found today in Reisling Field at around seven this morning. Sources are saying she was dressed as what they can only assume was a doll. Dead flowers surrounded her body, and moving her has been difficult. More information on this story as it comes to light.”


One month later
BNN News Outlet: “A startling discovery came this morning when the body of a young man was found beside Franklin Fountain. Much like Kimberly Henning, who was found last month in Reisling Field, he was dressed to look like a doll—or puppet. Dead flowers surrounded his body. As we found out after Kimberly’s autopsy a few weeks ago, the bones in her body were broken and it’s assumed the same here and that whoever killed her is likely behind this death as well. More to come.”


One month later
BNN News Outlet: “It was a frightening morning as yet another body was found, killed the same way as Kimberly Henning and Richard Bells: dressed as a doll or puppet, posed on the ground, with dead flowers surrounding his body. A woman jogging in Billings Park came upon the man a little after six a.m. The mayor and police commissioner are holding a press conference this afternoon at Town Hall. This is the third victim of what the media is referring to as The Broken-Doll Killer, while others are calling them the Marionette Maker. What we’ve uncovered is that before their discoveries, Kimberly Henning and Richard Bells had been missing for six months to the day, and every bone in their bodies had been broken postmortem. What did these victims suffer through in their months of captivity? And will the authorities catch this serial killer before they strike again?”


Two Months Later
BNN News Outlet: “This morning, at about seven thirty, the body of Rochelle Hammer was detected, displayed just as Kimberly Henning, Richard Bells, and Henry Miller were. After no bodies were uncovered last month, we all held on to hope that the brutal murders had ended. Sadly, that’s not the case. Rochelle Hammer’s body was found by a staff member outside the main entrance of Mayfield Children’s Museum. She was dressed as a puppet and was surrounded by dead flowers. What we know so far about The Broken-Doll Killer is that they take their victims, hold them for six months to the day, and then display them publicly in a haunting manner, bones broken, yet made to look perfect. Authorities have no leads, and the only connection anyone seems to have found regarding these victims is that they were all in their early twenties, in very good shape, and they were what many are referring to as beautiful people. Who is killing these young, beautiful, vibrant people? The mayor will speak tonight at Town Hall at six p.m.”


Three weeks Later
BNN News Outlet: “A remarkable rescue happened this afternoon. Two hikers came across a shack in the mountains, where they’d hurried in to escape a sudden rainstorm. Inside, they stumbled upon a man who’d been reported missing a little over three months ago. That is all the information being released at this time; for his safety, the man’s name won’t be announced. And what are they protecting him from? Sources say this young man was kidnapped by The Broken-Doll Killer. This is the biggest break in the case, and authorities hope this young man can help them finally put an end to these heinous murders.”



Saturday Series Spotlight

April 2025 Book of the Month:  Mine to Keep

June 2025 Book of the Month:  What's Left of Me

September 2025 Book of the Month:  Last One Standing

Audiobook Reviews



Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.



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EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com



What's Left of Me #4

Saint Brothers Series


πŸŽ…πŸŽ†πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film Adaptation-Xmas in JulyπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸŽ†πŸŽ…: Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding

 

Summary:
Meet Bridget Jones—a 30-something Singleton who is certain she would have all the answers if she could:
a. lose 7 pounds
b. stop smoking
c. develop Inner Poise


"123 lbs. (how is it possible to put on 4 pounds in the middle of the night? Could flesh have somehow solidified becoming denser and heavier? Repulsive, horrifying notion), alcohol units 4 (excellent), cigarettes 21 (poor but will give up totally tomorrow), number of correct lottery numbers 2 (better, but nevertheless useless)..."

Bridget Jones' Diary is the devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud daily chronicle of Bridget's permanent, doomed quest for self-improvement — a year in which she resolves to: reduce the circumference of each thigh by 1.5 inches, visit the gym three times a week not just to buy a sandwich, form a functional relationship with a responsible adult, and learn to program the VCR.

Over the course of the year, Bridget loses a total of 72 pounds but gains a total of 74. She remains, however, optimistic. Through it all, Bridget will have you helpless with laughter, and — like millions of readers the world round — you'll find yourself shouting, "Bridget Jones is me!"



January: An Exceptionally Bad Start

Sunday 1 January 
129 lbs. (but post-Christmas), alcohol units 14 (but effectively covers 2 days as 4 hours of party was on New Year's Day), cigarettes 22, calories 5424. 

Food consumed today:
2 pkts Emmenthal cheese slices
14 cold new potatoes
2 Bloody Marys (count as food as contain Worcester sauce and tomatoes)
1/3 Ciabatta loaf with Brie
coriander leaves--1/2 packet
12 Milk Tray (best to get rid of all Christmas confectionery in one go and make fresh start tomorrow) 
13 cocktail sticks securing cheese and pineapple
Portion Una Alconbury's turkey curry, peas and bananas
Portion Una Alconbury's Raspberry Surprise made with Bourbon biscuits, tinned raspberries, eight gallons of whipped cream, decorated with glacΓ© cherries and angelica. 

Noon. London: my flat. Ugh. The last thing on earth I feel physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to do is drive to Una and Geoffrey Alconbury's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet in Grafton Underwood. Geoffrey and Una Alconbury are my parents' best friends and, as Uncle Geoffrey never tires of reminding me, have known me since I was running round the lawn with no clothes on. My mother rang up at 8:30 in the morning last August Bank Holiday and forced me to promise to go. She approached it via a cunningly circuitous route.

"Oh, hello, darling. I was just ringing to see what you wanted for Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"Would you like a surprise, darling?"

"No!" I bellowed. "Sorry. I mean ..."

"I wondered if you'd like a set of wheels for your suitcase."

"But I haven't got a suitcase."

"Why don't I get you a little suitcase with wheels attached. You know, like air hostesses have."

"I've already got a bag."

"Oh, darling, you can't go around with that tatty green canvas thing. You look like some sort of Mary Poppins person who's fallen on hard times. Just a little compact case with a pull-out handle. It's amazing how much you can get in. Do you want it in navy on red or red on navy?"

"Mum. It's eight-thirty in the morning. It's summer. It's very hot. I don't want an air-hostess bag."

"Julie Enderby's got one. She says she never uses anything else."

"Who's Julie Enderby?"

"You know Julie, darling! Mavis Enderby's daughter. Julie! The one that's got that super-dooper job at Arthur Andersen ..."

"Mum ..."

"Always takes it on her trips ..."

"I don't want a little bag with wheels on."

"I'll tell you what. Why don't Jamie, Daddy and I all club together and get you a proper new big suitcase and a set of wheels?"

Exhausted, I held the phone away from my ear, puzzling about where the missionary luggage-Christmas-gift zeal had stemmed from. When I put the phone back she was saying: "... in actual fact, you can get them with a compartment with bottles for your bubble bath and things. The other thing I thought of was a shopping cart."

"Is there anything you'd like for Christmas?" I said desperately, blinking in the dazzling Bank Holiday sunlight.

"No, no," she said airily. "I've got everything I need. Now, darling," she suddenly hissed, "you will be coming to Geoffrey and Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet this year, won't you?"

"Ah. Actually, I ..." I panicked wildly. What could I pretend to be doing? "... think I might have to work on New Year's Day."

"That doesn't matter. You can drive up after work. Oh, did I mention? Malcolm and Elaine Darcy are coming and bringing Mark with them. Do you remember Mark, darling? He's one of those top-notch barristers. Masses of money. Divorced. It doesn't start till eight."

Oh God. Not another strangely dressed opera freak with bushy hair burgeoning from a side-part. "Mum, I've told you. I don't need to be fixed up with ..."

"Now come along, darling. Una and Geoffrey have been holding the New Year buffet since you were running round the lawn with no clothes on! Of course you're going to come. And you'll be able to use your new suitcase."

11:45 p.m. Ugh. First day of New Year has been day of horror. Cannot quite believe I am once again starting the year in a single bed in my parents' house. It is too humiliating at my age. I wonder if they'll smell it if I have a fag out of the window. Having skulked at home all day, hoping hangover would clear, I eventually gave up and set off for the Turkey Curry Buffet far too late. When I got to the Alconburys' and rang their entire-tune-of-town-hall-clock-style doorbell I was still in a strange world of my own--nauseous, vile-headed, acidic. I was also suffering from road-rage residue after inadvertently getting on to the M6 instead of the M1 and having to drive halfway to Birmingham before I could find anywhere to turn round. I was so furious I kept jamming my foot down to the floor on the accelerator pedal to give vent to my feelings, which is very dangerous. I watched resignedly as Una Alconbury's form--intriguingly deformed through the ripply glass door--bore down on me in a fuchsia two-piece.

"Bridget! We'd almost given you up for lost! Happy New Year! Just about to start without you."

She seemed to manage to kiss me, get my coat off, hang it over the banister, wipe her lipstick off my cheek and make me feel incredibly guilty all in one movement, while I leaned against the ornament shelf for support.

"Sorry. I got lost."

"Lost? Durr! What are we going to do with you? Come on in!"

She led me through the frosted-glass doors into the lounge, shouting, "She got lost, everyone!"

"Bridget! Happy New Year!" said Geoffrey Alconbury, clad in a yellow diamond-patterned sweater. He did a jokey Bob Hope step then gave me the sort of hug which Boots would send straight to the police station.

"Hahumph," he said, going red in the face and pulling his trousers up by the waistband. "Which junction did you come off at?"

"Junction nineteen, but there was a diversion ..."

"Junction nineteen! Una, she came off at Junction nineteen! You've added an hour to your journey before you even started. Come on, let's get you a drink. How's your love life, anyway?"

Oh God. Why can't married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? We wouldn't rush up to them and roar, "How's your marriage going? Still having sex?" Everyone knows that dating in your thirties is not the happy-go-lucky free-for-all it was when you were twenty-two and that the honest answer is more likely to be, "Actually, last night my married lover appeared wearing suspenders and a darling little Angora crop-top, told me he was gay/a sex addict/a narcotic addict/a commitment phobic and beat me up with a dildo," than, "Super, thanks."

Not being a natural liar, I ended up mumbling shamefacedly to Geoffrey, "Fine," at which point he boomed, "So you still haven't got a feller!"

"Bridget! What are we going to do with you!" said Una. "You career girls! I don't know! Can't put it off forever, you know. Tick-tock-tick-tock."

"Yes. How does a woman manage to get to your age without being married?" roared Brian Enderby (married to Mavis, used to be president of the Rotary in Kettering), waving his sherry in the air. Fortunately my dad rescued me.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Bridget," he said, taking my arm. "Your mother has the entire Northamptonshire constabulary poised to comb the county with toothbrushes for your dismembered remains. Come and demonstrate your presence so I can start enjoying myself. How's the be-wheeled suitcase?"

"Big beyond all sense. How are the ear-hair clippers?"

"Oh, marvelously--you know--clippy."

It was all right, I suppose. I would have felt a bit mean if I hadn't turned up, but Mark Darcy ... Yuk. Every time my mother's rung up for weeks it's been, "Of course you remember the Darcys, darling. They came over when we were living in Buckingham and you and Mark played in the paddling pool!" or, "Oh! Did I mention Malcolm and Elaine are bringing Mark with them to Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet? He's just back from America, apparently. Divorced. He's looking for a house in Holland Park. Apparently he had the most terrible time with his wife. Japanese. Very cruel race."

Then next time, as if out of the blue, "Do you remember Mark Darcy, darling? Malcolm and Elaine's son? He's one of these super-dooper top-notch lawyers. Divorced. Elaine says he works all the time and he's terribly lonely. I think he might be coming to Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet, actually."

I don't know why she didn't just come out with it and say, "Darling, do shag Mark Darcy over the turkey curry, won't you? He's very rich."

"Come along and meet Mark," Una Alconbury singsonged before I'd even had time to get a drink down me. Being set up with a man against your will is one level of humiliation, but being literally dragged into it by Una Alconbury while caring for an acidic hangover, watched by an entire roomful of friends of your parents, is on another plane altogether.

The rich, divorced-by-cruel-wife Mark--quite tall--was standing with his back to the room, scrutinizing the contents of the Alconburys' bookshelves: mainly leather-bound series of books about the Third Reich, which Geoffrey sends off for from Reader's Digest. It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting "Cathy" and banging your head against a tree.

"Mark!" said Una, as if she was one of Santa Claus's fairies. "I've got someone nice for you to meet."

He turned round, revealing that what had seemed from the back like a harmless navy sweater was actually a V-neck diamond-patterned in shades of yellow and blue--as favored by the more elderly of the nation's sports reporters. As my friend Tom often remarks, it's amazing how much time and money can be saved in the world of dating by close attention to detail. A white sock here, a pair of red braces there, a gray slip-on shoe, a swastika, are as often as not all one needs to tell you there's no point writing down phone numbers and forking out for expensive lunches because it's never going to be a runner.

"Mark, this is Colin and Pam's daughter, Bridget," said Una, going all pink and fluttery. "Bridget works in publishing, don't you, Bridget?"

"I do indeed," I for some reason said, as if I were taking part in a Capital radio phone-in and was about to ask Una if I could "say hello" to my friends Jude, Sharon and Tom, my brother Jamie, everyone in the office, my mum and dad, and last of all all the people at the Turkey Curry Buffet.

"Well, I'll leave you two young people together," said Una. "Durr! I expect you're sick to death of us old fuddy-duddies."

"Not at all," said Mark Darcy awkwardly with a rather unsuccessful attempt at a smile, at which Una, after rolling her eyes, putting a hand to her bosom and giving a gay tinkling laugh, abandoned us with a toss of her head to a hideous silence.

"I. Um. Are you reading any, ah ... Have you read any good books lately?" he said.

Oh, for God's sake.

I racked my brain frantically to think when I last read a proper book. The trouble with working in publishing is that reading in your spare time is a bit like being a dustman and snuffling through the pig bin in the evening. I'm halfway through Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, which Jude lent me, but I didn't think Mark Darcy, though clearly odd, was ready to accept himself as a Martian quite yet. Then I had a brainwave.

"Backlash, actually, by Susan Faludi," I said triumphantly. Hah! I haven't exactly read it as such, but feel I have as Sharon has been ranting about it so much. Anyway, completely safe option as no way diamond-pattern-jumpered goody-goody would have read five-hundred-page feminist treatise.

"Ah. Really?" he said. "I read that when it first came out. Didn't you find there was rather a lot of special pleading?"

"Oh, well, not too much ...," I said wildly, racking my brains for a way to get off the subject. "Have you been staying with your parents over New Year?"

"Yes," he said eagerly. "You too?"

"Yes. No. I was at a party in London last night. Bit hungover, actually." I gabbed nervously so that Una and Mum wouldn't think I was so useless with men I was failing to talk to even Mark Darcy. "But then I do think New Year's resolutions can't technically be expected to begin on New Year's Day, don't you? Since, because it's an extension of New Year's Eve, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system. Also dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover. I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second."

"Maybe you should get something to eat," he said, then suddenly bolted off toward the buffet, leaving me standing on my own by the bookshelf while everybody stared at me, thinking, "So that's why Bridget isn't married. She repulses men."

The worst of it was that Una Alconbury and Mum wouldn't leave it at that. They kept making me walk round with trays of gherkins and glasses of cream sherry in a desperate bid to throw me into Mark Darcy's path yet again. In the end they were so crazed with frustration that the second I got within four feet of him with the gherkins Una threw herself across the room like Will Carling and said, "Mark, you must take Bridget's telephone number before you go, then you can get in touch when you're in London."

I couldn't stop myself turning bright red. I could feel it climbing up my neck. Now Mark would think I'd put her up to it.

"I'm sure Bridget's life in London is quite full enough already, Mrs. Alconbury," he said. Humph. It's not that I wanted him to take my phone number or anything, but I didn't want him to make it perfectly obvious to everyone that he didn't want to. As I looked down I saw that he was wearing white socks with a yellow bumblebee motif.

"Can't I tempt you with a gherkin?" I said, to show I had had a genuine reason for coming over, which was quite definitely gherkin-based rather than phone-number-related.

"Thank you, no," he said, looking at me with some alarm.

"Sure? Stuffed olive?" I pressed on.

"No, really."

"Silverskin onion?" I encouraged. "Beetroot cube?"

"Thank you," he said desperately, taking an olive.

"Hope you enjoy it," I said triumphantly.

Toward the end I saw him being harangued by his mother and Una, who marched him over toward me and stood just behind while he said stiffly, "Do you need driving back to London? I'm staying here but I could get my car to take you."

"What, all on its own?" I said.

He blinked at me.

"Durr! Mark has a company car and a driver, silly," said Una.

"Thank you, that's very kind," I said. "But I shall be taking one of my trains in the morning."

2 a.m. Oh, why am I so unattractive? Why? Even a man who wears bumblebee socks thinks I am horrible. Hate the New Year. Hate everyone. Except Daniel Cleaver. Anyway, have got giant tray-sized bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk left over from Christmas on dressing table, also amusing joke gin and tonic miniature. Am going to consume them and have fag.



At the start of the New Year, 32-year-old "singleton" Bridget decides it's time to take control of her life and start keeping a diary. 

Release Date: April 13, 2001
Release Time: 97 minutes

Director: Sharon Maguire

Cast:
RenΓ©e Zellweger as Bridget Jones
Colin Firth as Mark Darcy
Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver
Jim Broadbent as Mr. Colin Jones
Gemma Jones as Mrs. Pamela Jones
Celia Imrie as Una Alconbury
James Faulkner as Uncle Geoffrey
Shirley Henderson as Jude
James Callis as Tom
Lisa Barbuscia as Lara
Charmian May as Mrs. Darcy
Paul Brooke as Mr. "Tits pervert" Fitzherbert
Sally Phillips as Shazza
Embeth Davidtz as Natasha Glenville
Patrick Barlow as Julian
Felicity Montagu as Perpetua
Donald Douglas as Admiral Darcy
Dolly Wells as Woney

Awards:
2002 Academy Awards
Best Actress - RenΓ©e Zellweger - Nominated

2002 BAFTAs
Best Actress - RenΓ©e Zellweger - Nominated
Best Supporting Actor - Colin Firth - Nominated
Best Adapted Screenplay - Richard Curtis, Andrew Davies, Helen Fielding - Nominated
Best British Film - Nominated

2002 Golden Globes
Best Motion Picture(Comedy or Musical) - Nominated
Best Actress in Motion Picture(Comedy or Musical) - RenΓ©e Zellweger - Nominated









Helen Fielding
Helen Fielding is the author of Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, and Bridget Jones’s Baby: The Diaries. She was part of the screenwriting team on the associated movies. She has two children and lives in London and Los Angeles.


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