There is a general rule that I follow when it comes to literature: Poorly written books can also be good books. “Verity” is why I follow that rule. The writing was bad, and there were so many holes in the story, but despite the holes, cheesy dialogue,  even cheesier vanilla sex scenes, and unrealistic scenarios, the plot twist was brilliant, and the book was full of suspense! “Verity” is named after one of the characters, Verity Crawford, a best-selling author who was left brain-dead and paralyzed after a car accident. Lowen, a less seasoned author,  is tasked with the responsibility of completing Verity’s highly anticipated book series thanks to Verity’s husband, Jeremy, fascination with her writing. Low on funds, recently evicted from her apartment, and facing homelessness, Lowen accepts Jeremy’s offer to spend a weekend at his home scouring through Verity’s files to do research. While doing so Lowen stumbles across Verity’s shocking and disturbing autobiography, to protect Jeremy – who had recently lost his twin daughters – from additional pain and suffering she keeps the contents of Verity’s autobiography a secret.

A weekend turns into weeks and as she is attempting to put together the pieces of Verity and Jeremy’s past from Verity’s writings, Lowen begins to question Verity’s health condition while seamlessly incorporating herself into the Crawford household, making herself comfortable with Verity’s son, and even more comfortable in Verity’s bed with her husband. Talk about predictable! I knew that was going to happen! When an author places two vulnerable, horny adults in close quarters, what else can be expected?

In “Verity” bad things happen to good people who do bad things and within the crevices of the Crawford home and in the shadows of loss, murder, secrets, deception, and manipulation is the truth, the truth, which is revealed at the end, but may not be the truth at all.