So here's the thing everyone will tell you about Twisted: it's not Tangled. Kate's POV instead of Drew's. Charlotte Penfield instead of Sebastian York. And yeah, I get why some people felt let down by that swap. But I'm gonna push back, because I think that expectation is exactly what trips people up — and if you let it go, there's something real and messy and honest waiting underneath.
I was deep in a rebrand project for a local mezcalería, surrounded by color swatches and agave illustrations, Diego asleep on my keyboard (as is his calling), when this book grabbed me by the throat around the prologue. Emma Chase opens with Kate alone, reflective, and the confidence she had at the end of Tangled is cracked just enough that you feel the draft. Charlotte Penfield nails that — her voice carries this quiet weight, like Kate's trying to hold it together but the seams are showing. It's not the cocky, motormouth energy of Drew. It's something softer and more guarded, and honestly? As a woman who's had to rebuild her sense of self after loss, I connected to that energy way more than I expected.
When Miscommunication Feels Like a Mirror Instead of a Plot Device
Okay. I KNOW. The miscommunication trope. People were literally yelling in their cars about it — and I almost threw my phone across the room during the stretch where Drew makes a massive decision without consulting Kate. Like sir. SIR. But here's where I'll defend Chase: the miscommunication in Twisted doesn't come from characters being stupid. It comes from two people who love each other being terrified of the same thing — losing what they built — and handling that fear in completely opposite ways. Drew barrels forward. Kate retreats to Greenville. And if you've ever been in a relationship where you and your partner process conflict on totally different timelines? Yeah. This book felt like someone eavesdropping on my therapy sessions.
The cheating angle — or the perceived cheating angle, let's be precise — is the part that'll either hook you or lose you. I won't spoil the mechanics of it, but Chase plays with your trust as a reader in a way that's genuinely uncomfortable. I was designing a menu layout and had to pause, take off my headphones, and just sit with my feelings for a minute. Frida looked at me like I was being dramatic. She was right. But also: my heart. MY HEART.
Charlotte Penfield Deserves Her Flowers
Let me be direct: Penfield's performance is not trying to be Sebastian York's, and that's the right call. Where York gave Drew this swaggering, almost theatrical charisma, Penfield plays Kate with dry wit and emotional precision. Her comedic timing during Mackenzie's dinner announcement scene — where this tiny child drops an absolute bomb at the table — had me cackling so hard I scared Diego off my lap. The way Penfield delivers the beat before Kate reacts, that half-second of stunned silence, is perfect. You can hear Kate's brain short-circuiting.
She's also great at shifting between Kate's inner monologue — which is more analytical and measured — and her dialogue, which gets sharper and more emotional when she's pushed. The distinction between Kate talking to Drew versus Kate talking to herself is subtle but it's there, and it makes the listening experience feel layered instead of flat.
And then there's the epilogue. Sebastian York comes back for Drew's POV, and I swear the temperature of the whole audiobook shifts. It's like the sun breaking through after an overcast day. The contrast between Penfield's grounded Kate and York's irreverent Drew in the final stretch hit me somewhere deep. I ugly-cried. Not the pretty kind. The kind where your cats stare at you and you whisper "I'm fine" to animals who absolutely do not care.
Who This Is (and Isn't) For
If you need constant banter and laugh-a-minute energy from page one, this will frustrate you. Twisted is slower and more internal than Tangled. It sits in the discomfort of a relationship being tested, and not every chapter is fun. But if you want a romance that actually grapples with what happens after the grand gesture — the part where you have to choose each other on a random Tuesday when everything is hard — this is your book.
Abuela would've had opinions about Drew's choices in this one. Strong ones. Involving a chancleta.
This Is a Rainy Sunday Book. Keep Tissues Nearby.
Seven hours is the right length for this story — tight enough that the pacing doesn't drag, long enough for the emotional payoff to land. At 1.0x, I finished it in a single workday, and I spent the rest of the evening just... sitting with it. Not every sequel earns its existence. This one does, even if it's messier and less flashy than its predecessor. Sometimes the messier thing is the truer thing. Ross Gay captures that same idea in essay form in Book of Delights — small, honest, imperfect observations that land harder than anything polished.
