A sun-soaked trip to the Amalfi Coast promises a fresh start—and reveals secrets never imagined in New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak’s tender new novel.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Meet Me in Italy by Brenda Novak, which releases on April 7th 2026.
In the wake of her debut novel’s breakout success—and a very painful public divorce—Charlotte Williams-Jackson has something to prove. With her second novel overdue, she’s scrambling to hold it together. But her focus is rocked when she discovers that her childhood wasn’t as it seemed—and she has a tween half-sister who’s been orphaned in Italy.
Alongside her best friend, Sloane, and Sloane’s charming brother, Julian, Charlotte ventures to the Amalfi Coast to meet her sister. She would never turn her back on family, especially since this girl doesn’t have anyone else, but between her looming deadline and her entire identity being flipped upside down, it’s a lot. Determined to rebuild her life, Charlotte must confront the relationships she’s held dear—and the loss of those she thought she had but didn’t—forcing her to question everything she understood about herself and the bonds that shape a family.
Charlotte had packed a suitcase and moved back in with her parents, who lived in Newport Beach, while Cliff was gone. She wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted; it’d been his money that’d bought the house in the first place.
But even after living an entire week in her old bedroom, whenever she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she felt strange, as if she’d stepped into a time capsule. Her parents hadn’t changed a thing since she’d graduated from high school and left home. Her yearbooks were stacked in the closet, the cluttered bulletin board above her desk held, among other things, a picture of her and Doug Green at senior prom, along with the dried-out corsage he’d given her, various notes from the friends she’d been closest to at the time, her SAT results, her acceptance to Stanford and her old book lists, which were extensive because she knew, in order to become a writer, she needed to be well-read. That she’d been able to achieve her dream of getting published by a major publisher and hitting The New York Times bestseller list so easily and early in her career certainly wasn’t typical. But she hadn’t marveled at the anomaly too much. For her, nothing had seemed off-limits. As far back as she could remember, the world had bowed at her feet. She’d always felt loved, valued, capable, happy.
Until now. Now the world had, without warning, become completely hostile. The press was having a field day with her divorce (“Clifford Jackson Kicks out Queen of the ‘Sports Romance’ ”; “NBA Star Leaves ‘Queen of Sports Romance’”; “ ‘Sports Romance’ Author Unable to Create Her Own Happily-Ever-After”; “Clifford Jackson Giving up on ‘Storybook’Romance”), so she wasn’t just brokenhearted; she felt like a laughingstock. It didn’t help that the friends she’d made since marrying Cliff had become unresponsive to her; apparently, they’d decided they’d rather remain friends with him. She didn’t even know if she’d have the emotional wherewithal to finish the second book on her contract, so her career might go the same way as her marriage. The manuscript was due in just three short months, and because she’d been so intimidated by the success of her first book, so scared she wouldn’t be able to top it, she’d started five different stories only to abandon them all.
Now the fear was worse than ever—overwhelming, paralyzing, suffocating. The fact that Cliff was responsible for so much of the word of mouth she’d received when Playing for Keeps was released made her feel like an imposter, as if she hadn’t deserved what she’d received in the first place, and her second book would reveal just how inept a writer she really was.
She pulled the blankets over her head to block out the light. Her mother had come in an hour or so earlier and put up the shades. Penny was making lunch—or dinner; Charlotte couldn’t keep track. She just knew that her mother wanted her to come down to eat.
But she had no desire for food. She’d been in bed since she came home and still couldn’t summon the strength to get up. Everything she’d built since she’d left this room eleven years ago had been leveled—or soon would be.
She heard someone at the door but didn’t pull the blankets down so she could see who it was. Her father, a hedge fund manager, didn’t usually get home until six, and it was somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere in the middle of the week, so she was fairly certain he was still gone. It had to be her mother, who’d been a tennis instructor at the local club before her health had started to deteriorate. The longer Charlotte stayed in bed, the more Penny began to hover. She said encouraging things, offered to take Charlotte shopping or to lunch. She’d even mentioned getting her a good therapist. Her family was wealthy, so they could afford that kind of help. But right now, even those baby steps seemed too daunting.
“You’re not coming?” her mother said.
“I’m not hungry,” she replied.
The bed dipped as Penny sat beside her and tugged the covers down. “That can’t be true,” she said as she smoothed the hair out of Charlotte’s face. “You’ve hardly eaten for days.”
“I’d rather sleep.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s all you’ve been doing!”
“I must be catching up,” she muttered.
Penny’s cool, gentle hand cupped her face. “What about your book, honey?”
Just the mention of her book caused fear to burn like acid in Charlotte’s stomach. “What about it?”
“Isn’t it due soon? Don’t you need to write?”
“I’ve got time,” she lied.
Her mother studied her with concern. “I’m so worried about you.”
Charlotte curved her lips into as close an approximation of a smile as she could manage. “I’ll be okay.”
“I can’t believe Clifford would do this to you,” she responded.
“You . . . you haven’t heard from him, have you?”
The first few days after she’d moved back in with her parents, Charlotte had checked her phone religiously. She couldn’t help hoping Cliff would change his mind, feel some regret. She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d been a loving, devoted wife. Surely, he’d realize he was tossing away someone who was important to him, someone he missed and needed in his life.
But no . . . She winced as she remembered how torturous it’d become as the days passed and she received no calls from him—no messages, either. The Lakers had managed to beat the Knicks, and he’d scored over thirty points. She’d been hoping he’d do well because that usually made him eager to celebrate with her. But he still didn’t call.
Then she’d made the mistake of googling his name to see what was going on in his life—or what the press was reporting about it, anyway—and came across a headline that’d nearly made her throw up: “Clifford Jackson Seen in Vegas with Model Marija Vidmar.” There’d been a picture to corroborate the brief sighting—of her husband holding hands with the tallest, most beautiful woman she’d ever seen—and she hadn’t picked up her phone since. For all she knew, the battery was as dead as her marriage.
“I haven’t heard from him,” she mumbled.
“Then you need to let him go.”
“I know that.” Instant annoyance had caused her to speak too sharply, but if it was that easy to get over Cliff, she would’ve done it already.
“Time heals all wounds,” her mother said, attempting to soothe her, but it was difficult to believe anything could help. Charlotte could barely open her eyes they were so red and swollen from the crying jags that would hit her out of nowhere.
Her mother stood, then bent over to gather the balls of tissue that’d avalanched onto the carpet from the nightstand. “You have to keep up your strength. Come on down and at least try to eat something.”
Charlotte allowed her heavy eyelids to close. “Not tonight.”
“But I have a surprise for you.” Penny was clearly disappointed. “Something guaranteed to cheer you up.”
She forced her eyes open again. Unless her mother could put her marriage back together, nothing would cheer her up. “Mac and cheese won’t do it this time, Mom,” she said. “But Iappreciate the effort.”
“It’s Julian,” Penny said.
Charlotte shoved herself into a sitting position. “Davis?”
Lines of confusion creased her mother’s forehead. “Do you know another Julian?”
She didn’t, but she hadn’t heard from her best friend’s twin brother in years. He’d hung out with them a lot in high school. But when they graduated, they all went off to different colleges. He’d gone to a school on the East Coast to play lacrosse, found a girlfriend and gotten busy. She’d only remained in contact with Sloane. The last she’d heard about Julian, which was a couple of years ago, he’d become a landscape photographer who traveled extensively for work but was now based out of Moab, Utah, where he’d opened his own gallery, and he’d become engaged to some woman who worked for one of the travel magazines that featured his photographs. She probably would’ve heard more about him, but Cliff hadn’t liked Sloane, and Sloane hadn’t liked Cliff, so even her relationship with Julian’s sister had been mostly nonexistent in recent years, especially once Sloane got married and moved to Seattle just after telling Charlotte about Julian’s engagement. “What does he want?” she asked her mother.
“Didn’t say. He just came to the door to see if you were home, and I invited him to join us for dinner.”
She groaned. “You didn’t . . .”
“Why wouldn’t I?” her mother replied. “You’ve always loved Julian. I’ve always loved Julian. I was happy to see him, especially because I thought . . . Well, I thought he might be able to help me pull you out of this . . . funk.”
Her sinuses were plugged, making her voice sound nasal. “I’m going through a divorce. It’s not a funk. Anyway, look at me.” She grabbed a tissue and held it up before blowing her nose, which she’d wiped so often in the past week she could’ve played Rudolph in a Christmas show. “I haven’t showered for three days. I don’t want him or anyone else to see me like this.”
“Then take a few minutes to clean up,” she said. “You’ll find us in the kitchen when you’re done.”
“I can’t face getting ready! Tell him I don’t feel well,” she said to her mother’s retreating form and flopped back down on the pillows.
Penny turned at the door. “Charlotte, please. Staying in bed isn’t doing you any good.”
It was better than allowing others to witness the depth of her devastation. That was probably what Julian had come to see; it was what everyone on the internet was speculating about. Millions of strangers were talking about her online, probably dying to catch a glimpse of her. If someone happened to take a snapshot and post it on the internet, she could only imagine the number of views it would get . . .
The world was no longer safe. “I’ll eat later,” she said.
“You’ve been putting me off for days.” Her mother gestured at the rumpled bed. “I can’t see you like this anymore. If you won’t come down, I’ll call him up.”
Panic gripped Charlotte, causing her to bolt back into a sitting position. “No!”
Her mother didn’t even hesitate. “Come on up, Julian!” she yelled in a fatalistic voice.
The sudden movement had made Charlotte’s head swim. She put a hand to her right temple. “Mom!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.
Penny winced as she glanced back, but she was far more determined than Charlotte had expected. When Julian came, she merely turned to the side to make room for him to get past her in the doorway before she left.
“You look good,” he said sarcastically.
All too aware of her greasy hair, swollen eyes, red nose and blotchy face, Charlotte sniffed. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me?”
“Pretty hard to ignore the obvious.”
Unfortunately, he looked incredible. Of course that would be the case. These days, everything seemed to be engineered to make her feel bad. No longer the scrawny late bloomer he’d been in high school, with terrible acne and braces on his teeth, he had a clear, unblemished complexion, broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. And the white cotton of his T-shirt contrasted nicely with his dark tan and cornflower-blue eyes. Those long, golden eyelashes matched the lighter streaks in his hair and had always been attractive, but now they were positively dreamy.
She preferred the tall, lanky physique of her husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband—she told herself. She’d always liked basketball players. But she could see how some women would find Julian’s stockier frame appealing. He looked incredibly strong.
“You don’t feel even the least bit sorry for me?” she said.
“Looks like you’ve got that covered.” A crooked smile coupled with a wink softened his words, but she took exception to them all the same.
“My husband just . . . My husband dropped me without any warning and hasn’t looked back since, Jules,” she said, easily and automatically falling back on the nickname his closest friends and family had always used. “This was the man I was hoping to have a family with—the man I was hoping to grow old with.”
His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “He’s also the man who doesn’t deserve you. Good riddance to Clifford Jackson—that’s what I say.”
“Because he’s a professional athlete?”
“Because he’s a selfish bastard.”
She stiffened in surprise. “How would you know?”
“It’s obvious from the way he plays ball.” He opened the doors to her closet and stepped inside.
“What are you doing?” It looked like he was rifling through her suitcase, which was lying open on the floor. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Why would she? She’d been hoping Cliff would invite her back to the gorgeous Malibu mansion she used to call home.
“Finding something for you to wear,” he replied.
“I’m not coming down to dinner,” she reiterated.
“I know.” There was a plop as he tossed some of her clothes to the side. “We’re going out.”
“What?”
His voice drifted to her, once again, from inside the closet. “You heard me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she argued.
He took a moment to poke his head out. “It might look weird if I’m carrying you over my shoulder, but I guess that’s up to you.”
She felt her jaw drop. “You’re saying you’ll haul me out of here if you have to?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not going to let Clifford Jackson get the best of you—that’s why.”
She considered his response, found it somewhat empowering and, therefore, appealing. “How do you propose we stop him?”
“We’re going to be seen around LA, make sure we’re photographed together and leak those pictures to every online source that might be interested.”
That would be a long list. For the news outlets, it’d be almost like receiving shots of Hailey Bieber hanging out with another man if she ever split with Justin. “You want to make him think we’re seeing each other? That I’ve already moved on?”
“He can think whatever he wants as long as he knows you’re not sitting in your room—” he poked his head out again “—crying over him.”
“What about the evidence?” she grumbled. “You don’t think my swollen eyes and red face will give me away?”
“That’s what makeup and sunglasses are for.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip as the nasty online comments she’d read about herself floated through her mind. It wouldn’t help her broken heart, but maybe it would feel good to salvage a portion of her pride . . . “You really believe we can sell it?”
“Why not? Any woman would want to be seen with me. After all, I’m a hell of a good-looking guy.”
That made her laugh out loud in spite of everything. “You’re definitely not bad.”
Excerpted from Meet Me In Italy by Brenda Novak. © 2026 by Brenda Novak, used with permission from MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.
