Emalynne Wilder - Infinite Dolls - Cover Reveal

Born to be the best. 

Head of his class. 

No strings attached. 

The third year of medical school is supposed to be the hardest, but Callum Trovatto has no idea what he's about to face when Everly Anne Brighton stands between him and a passing grade, shaking up his world with her secrets, and digging into his dark past. 


Trapped by her father's rules. 

Longing for freedom. 

Expected to die before her twenty-first birthday, at the hands of a rare medical condition, Everly Brighton begins to defy the carefully crafted routine her father enforces to keep her alive, despite the fact that it could kill her. 

INFINITE DOLLS is an emotionally charged love story about finding faith, coping with loss, and living in the preciousness of Now.



I was on the fifteenth hour of my forty-eight-hour shift in the neonatal wing, thanks to Tatum Quade, my best friend and the only nurse who didn’t hold contempt for my rookie status. The halls were quiet as we watched the nursery from the window.
“So, how many times have you thought about quitting this year?” she asked.
She laughed. “Liar.”
“It’s not so bad. The long hours suck, but it’s the politics and drama that makes it unbearable.”
“And having Dr. Brighton as your attending.”
“That would be the politics and drama, Tatum.”
She soured. “He’s giving you a hard time because of Andrew?”
I turned to her. “His daughter is our patient in a differential.”
We’d been friends since elementary school. Not much else needed to be said.
“His daughter? You slept with his sick daughter? Callum!”
Okay, much was left to be said.
“No, I didn’t sleep with her. There’s this thing, though.”
“Yes. It’s called a penis. A penis that makes you stupid. Stupid enough to make you toss all your hopes and dreams out the window for one little piece of ass.”
“She’s not a piece of ass. It’s not even close to being like that.”
I faced the nursery, and when I grew quiet, she grew serious.
“So what is it then? What is the thing?”
“I don’t know—hence, calling it a thing.”
“Okay, let’s do a quick anatomy lesson, Third Year.” She turned me to face her as if we were bookends. “Look at my body and tell me, if I were... Wait, what’s her name?”
“Everly.” Everly. Everly. Everly.
“If I were Everly, what parts of my body get you all hot and flustered?”
“None, because I refuse to look at any of your parts.”
“Because my scary military husband will kill you? Or, because this Everly is just so damn brilliant, she doesn’t need breasts and a vagina to turn you on?”
“I really don’t like you right now.”
She grinned. “Just name a body part and get over the weirdness of it being my parts we’re using in a hypothetical conversation to uncover the mystery of your ‘thing.’”
“All right, I like you.”
“Name a body part, Callum.” She jutted out her chest.
“Oh, you lost me again.”
Tatum groaned, which made me laugh. Her hands landed on my shoulders. “Fine. Tell me what part of you—awkward penis aside—feels this thing for Everly.”
“I think it’s the worst in my head... hypothetically.”
“Like a throbbing pain?”
“Like... something sewed her into all of my thoughts. Even the pointless ones, like what I’ll eat for breakfast or where I’ll go for coffee. I start thinking about an omelet and then I’m thinking about what Everly is having for breakfast. I leave for a quick break and go to the same café I have walked to hundreds of times throughout my life, but every step is wondering if Everly Anne Brighton will be there waiting, and if she is waiting, is she waiting for me? Is it just a coincidence? You see—that look on your face—that is the same bewilderment I feel whenever this thing comes over me. What is it called?”
She smiled almost pitifully at me. “It’s obvious, that’s what it’s called.”
“I like her. I understand that part, Tatum. I’m trying to figure out how it happened. What kind of voodoo Everly Anne possesses that could perform this level of evil shit during third year.”
She shook with laughter. “You poor fool.”
“I wanted to kill a stranger for touching her leg. I might have killed him, if Noelle hadn’t stopped me.”
“You poor, poor fool.”
“She’s Brighton’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. His nineteen-year-old daughter.”
“You poor dead fool.”
“I’m contemplating walking her home after class tomorrow as if this is 1945. I’m thinking of courting this girl, Tater. Do you hear what I am telling you? Do you hear these unfathomable thoughts coming out of my mouth?”
“I think it’s gonna rain. Bring an umbrella.”


Emalynne Wilder is the voice of the Broken Hearted. The Forgotten. The Unheard. Painfully shy in person. Unapologetic on paper. She's the girl listening to your dirt from the corner of the room, as she plots turning tragedy into triumph. 

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