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The Strangers We Know

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About The Book

Imagine seeing your loving husband pop up on your best friend’s dating app. Now imagine that’s the best thing that happens to you all week...

When Charlie sees a man who is the spitting image of her husband, Oliver, on a dating app, her heart stops. Her first desperate instinct is to tell herself she must be mistaken—after all, she only caught a glimpse from a distance as her friends laughingly swiped through the men on offer. But no matter how much she tries to push her fears aside, she can’t let it go. Because she took that photo. On their honeymoon.

When other signs of betrayal begin to surface, Charlie does the only thing she can think of to defend herself—she signs up for the app to catch Oliver in the act.

But Charlie soon discovers that infidelity is the least of her problems. Nothing is as it seems, and nobody is who she thinks they are...

Excerpt

Pilot
SATURDAY, 25 FEBRUARY 2017 (9.07 PM)
 
It was a Saturday night at Electric House and my life was about to change forever. I didn’t know it yet, of course, just like how Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman didn’t expect Richard Gere to pull up in that Lotus Esprit. Or, you know, how Marvin in Pulp Fiction didn’t expect to get his face blown off. It can always go either way, right?
 
It was raining and cold that night, so the heating was on and the windows had misted up. I was supposed to be meeting my best friend Tess for a drink; I hadn’t been out much since “The Breakup” and she’d said if I didn’t practise doing my eye makeup and flirting with someone soon I’d probably forget how. So I’d strapped myself into my prettiest dress, highlighted the shit out of my cheekbones and forced myself to go. But now here I was, alone at the bar, staring down at her text message: Work emergency. 20 mins. Sorry. Xxxx
 
I looked up and around, searching for my bartender: My drink, I need my drink.
 
That’s when I first saw him: Oliver.
 
Watching me.
 
He had thick, dark hair, a chiselled face, broad shoulders and was wearing a white t-shirt under a dark dinner jacket. He was leaning on the bar. Alone. And I remember thinking: Very James Dean. Our eyes met and I thought he’d do what people usually do whenyou catch them looking at you: look away. Stare down at his phone. Pretend it hadn’t happened. But he didn’t. Instead he smiled this big, perfect smile. And, for a split second, I awkwardly smiled back.
 
But then insecurity hit: Shit. He’s probably smiling at someone behind me.
 
My face grew hot, my blood raced—How embarrassing—and I quickly stared back down at my phone, frowning at the screen like something very important had just come in.
 
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
 
It’s okay, Charlie. Just pretend it didn’t happen. You’re an actress—you can do this.
 
Calmly, I looked up again, my face set to neutral as I watched the slowest bartender in the world fiddle around with lemons and limes near the far wall. I refused to look back at Oliver—that would just make it worse—but there he was in my peripheral vision, right where I’d left him. He shifted his weight. Cocked his head. Instinctively the movement drew my eye. And do you know what he did next?
 
He poked his tongue out at me.
 
For real.
 
There, amid all the ripped-jean wannabes living on their credit cards and acting cool and superior, was this incredibly handsome man sticking his tongue out at me. You couldn’t have scripted a better “meet-cute.” I burst out laughing—it was ridiculous. But that was always the thing with Oliver. He was anything but predictable. No. He was the closest thing to magic I’d ever seen: it was as if he’d stepped straight out of a rom-com. Like the cast of Friends might be trailing close behind.
 
But shit, shit, shit—what was he doing? He was moving towards me now. I could see him weaving his way through the crowd.
 
I wasn’t ready for this.
 
My head grew light.
 
“So,” he said, appearing beside me for the first time. He was six foot two. I’m five foot seven so we matched well. And from the way he looked at me, it felt like maybe, just maybe, the pendulum was finally swinging back my way.
 
The bartender was back. He slid my drink across to me on a napkin and I took a sip. Chilled. Tart.
 
“So,” I replied. I could smell his cologne: Ylang-ylang? Spice? And feel the warmth pulsing from his chest.
 
He grinned at me and leaned in to talk into my ear. The music was loud, it would have required shouting otherwise. “I’m Oliver,” he said. His hair smelled clean and my heart was pumping hard.
 
“Charlie,” I said into his ear, the warmth of his cheek against mine.
 
“Like the perfume?”
 
“Pretty sure that’s what I was named after,” I said, pulling back to look at him. Our eyes locked and all I could hear was static. We were standing close. So close. Grinning at each other. Neither of us breaking eye contact. I was proud of myself: if this wasn’t flirting, nothing was. I couldn’t wait to tell Tess. And for the first time since my breakup I wasn’t thinking things like: How will I hold it togetherwhen Josh asks for his key back? That was his name. The one before Oliver: Josh.
 
Instead, I stood soaked in the present moment, my fingers wrapped around an icy glass, my eyes tracing the stubble on Oliver’s jaw; his mouth, his eyes. His eyelashes were unjustly long. But there was something in his expression that told me he was mentally weighing things up: should he say it or shouldn’t he?
 
“What?” I asked—Say it—and he smiled.
 
Then he leaned forward again. “Are you feeling brave?” he asked.
 
I squinted at him. “In what way?”
 
“Well, I realise this is forward but do you fancy going somewhere? Grabbing some supper?”
 
His eyes were clear, traffic-light green and full of promise.
 
“Ummm,” I hesitated, taking another sip of my drink. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. I needed something good to happen, something to make me believe in life again. In me again.
 
“It’s just dinner, Charlie. Don’t overthink it,” he said. “Yes or no.”
 
I liked the sound of him saying my name and, logically, he was right. What harm could dinner do? A little bit of spontaneity, a dash of recklessness, would be good for me.
 
He smiled at me again, his hands in a prayer position: “Pretty please?”
 
And I laughed. “Sure,” I replied, reaching for my phone. “I just need to text my friend.”
 
And as I typed out the message—I think I met someone. He wants to go for dinner. Can we do drinks another time? x—I thought: Wow, I almost didn’t come out tonight. I almost missed this. It felt like fate, really it did.
 
It was only six weeks later that Oliver admitted to me what that movie-style meeting really was: a bet. Courtesy of Justin, his best friend and long-term work colleague.
 
Nothing is ever as it seems, is it?
 
So there you have it: how we met. Where it all started. How I ended up here, years later, still trying to figure out how something like this happens. Because things like this are not supposed to happen.
 
No, we like to believe we’re in control of our lives; that if we buy insurance, think positive thoughts and pay our bills, we’ll be safe. Everything will be okay. But the truth is: sometimes it’s not okay. Sometimes all it takes is one plot twist to realise nobody is who you think they are and everything you know to be true is actually false.
 
Well, a plot twist and a dating app . . .
 

About The Author

Daleya Marohn

Pip Drysdale is an author, musician, and actor. She grew up in Africa, Canada, and Australia, became an adult in New York and London, and lives on a steady diet of coffee, dreams, and literature. All four of her previous novels—The Sunday GirlThe Strangers We KnowThe Paris Affair, and The Next Girl—have been bestsellers in Australia. Connect with Pip at PipDrysdale.com or on Facebook and Instagram @PipDrysdale.

Product Details

  • Publisher: Simon & Schuster (November 7, 2023)
  • Length: 352 pages
  • ISBN13: 9781668021491

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Raves and Reviews

The Strangers we Know begins with a bang and doesn’t let up from there. Our heroine, Charlie, finds herself in a most awful predicament—she’s spotted her beloved husband, Oliver, on a dating app. And things only get worse from there. Pip Drysdale dabbles some wry humour into her wild-ride of a plot. Readers will fear and cheer for Charlie as life as she knew it unravels. A book I found impossible to put down!”
AMY STUART, #1 bestselling author of A Death at the Party

The Strangers We Know is my first Pip Drysdale book, and she is now an auto-read author for me. Drysdale's fresh, compelling voice and sharp wit captivated me through every delicious page. Wickedly fun and wonderfully structured with a hilarious, relatable heroine, this twisty suspense dazzles and delights.”
SAMANTHA M. BAILEY, USA Today and #1 national bestselling author of Woman on the Edge and Watch Out for Her

“A relatable heroine, a riveting mystery, and plot twists that will make you gasp. I loved it.”
ROBYN HARDING, bestselling author of The Drowning Woman and The Perfect Family

“I raced through this book and loved the sharp, sassy suspense story of a marriage on the edge.”
SARA FOSTER, bestselling author of The Hush and You Don’t Know Me

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More books from this author: Pip Drysdale