"Don't Open Your Eyes" by Liv Constantine is a Club Calvi bonus book

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Club Calvi has a bonus book by an author familiar to readers.
Liv Constantine's book "The Next Mrs. Parrish" was a Club Calvi "Readers' Choice" in 2024 and a New York Times Bestseller. Now she's back with a new thriller out this week called "Don't Open Your Eyes." The book is told from the points of view of mother Annabelle and her daughter Scarlett.
"Annabelle is living what appears to be a picture-perfect life," Constantine told Mary Calvi. "Two beautiful daughters, a great husband, a career she loves. She starts having these terrible dreams where she hates her husband. She thinks it's just stress. But soon, some details from her dreams begin to actually materialize, things that no way she could have known ahead of time. She begins to realize that that these are not dreams, but premonitions."
Annabelle's daughter, Scarlett, is 15 years old. "She was a lot of fun to write," Constantine says. "I had to go back and try to channel my inner teen."
Scarlett is keeping secrets from her parents. "She's chatting with a new boy online who she hasn't met, and, of course, we are worried. Is he really who he says he is?" says Constantine.
Annabelle starts dreaming about her daughter. "In Annabelle's dreams, Scarlett's in danger. Annabelle's husband keeps telling her it's her own anxiety as a mother," Constantine explains.
Constantine says that while she wants readers to enjoy "Don't Open Your Eyes" and love the characters, beyond that, the book is an exploration of society's expectations for women.
"We don't always listen to our own voices and our own instincts when we should," Constantine says. "It's very easy to allow outside influences to tell us what we should be believing, when I think often we know in our heart what's really the truth."
You can read an excerpt, and purchase the "Don't Open Your Eyes," below.
The CBS New York Book Club focuses on books connected to the Tri-State Area in their plots and/or authors. The books may contain adult themes.
Bantam
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"Don't Open Your Eyes" by Liv Constantine
From the publisher:
Annabelle Reynolds has everything she's ever wanted. A devoted husband, two wonderful daughters, and a career she loves. She couldn't be happier. So why is she suddenly plagued by disturbing dreams of a future where she hates her husband and her daughters' lives are at risk? At first, she chalks the dreams up to an overactive imagination. But when details from her dreams, details she couldn't possibly have predicted, begin to materialize, she realizes these aren't just dreams but rather premonitions of a terrifying future. They all point to a singular choice, an unknown moment that holds Annabelle's life in the balance.
Then Annabelle has a dream that her daughter Scarlett is in immediate danger. Someone wants Scarlett dead, and Annabelle has no idea who or why. Suddenly, every choice she makes is fraught with peril, with no inkling of which move could bring this terrifying vision to life. As Annabelle's present life starts to collide with the future in her dreams, she wrestles with how much control she really has over her destiny and whether she can change what is meant to be.
Liv Constantine lives in Connecticut.
"Don't Open Your Eyes" by Liv Constantine (ThriftBooks) $23
Excerpt: "Don't Open Your Eyes" by Liv Constantine
Annabelle
"You're a monster!" I scream, my chest heaving as my heart pounds wildly. His eyes bulge, his face flushes red, and he looks like he wants to kill me. I back away as he closes the space between us. I'm wedged be­tween his body and the kitchen counter. I hate him right now with every fiber of my being. I shove at him with all my strength, but he doesn't budge. I watch, helpless, as his hands reach up and circle my neck. He begins to squeeze. I can't get a breath. I claw at his arms to no avail. My vision blurs. Blindly, I reach my arm behind, my fingers fumbling until they close around the handle of a butcher knife. With every ounce of strength I have left I pull it from the block. I swing my arm around and aim the knife at his chest. He releases his grip and drops his arms, back­ing away. I cough and rub my sore neck. He nonchalantly walks toward the door to the garage, his hand lingering on the handle a moment, then opens it. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, I just got news I won best doc. It'll be in next month's Connecticut Magazine. Thanks for voting." He winks and walks out the door.
Annabelle Reynolds's eyes flew open, and she sprang to a sitting position. Her face was wet with perspiration, and a feeling of utter terror flooded her senses. She drew a deep breath, and her eyes darted to the figure sleeping next to her. She slipped from under­neath the covers and grabbed her robe from the bench at the end of the bed, covering her naked body. Shaking her head, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, glancing at herself in the mirror. She splashed cold water on her face. You're being silly. It was just a dream. Yet the image of the two of them fighting, her husband's face red and contorted with rage, had seemed so real. It was espe­cially jarring because they hardly ever argued.
Today was their wedding anniversary. Two children, one dog, two guinea pigs, and too many goldfish to count later, and she was happy. As happy as she could be, despite everything that had happened before—when she had still believed in happy endings. After she'd married James, she'd promised herself that she'd put it all behind her. Over the years, Annabelle had tried to forget about the loss—to appreciate all she had gained. And even though there would always be a part of her that missed him, a part of her that couldn't let him go, she had to keep reminding herself that there was no point in missing something that was never meant to be. So, she did her best to think of him less often, every year trying harder to force herself to forget, to be happy. But maybe being happy was asking too much. Enough, she thought. Shake it off.
She brushed her teeth, mentally reviewing everything on today's agenda. After she dropped the girls at school, she had to swing by the drugstore to pick up an anniversary card for James. Then she had a full day at work. As she stepped into the shower, she spoke her daily gratitude affirmations aloud. "I'm thankful for my husband, my chil­dren, our good health, our beautiful home. I'm thankful for a job I love, and good friends." She felt a little foolish doing this, but her last client, a successful author of self-help books, had told her how benefi­cial a gratitude practice was, not only to mental health, but physical as well. Annabelle tried to be open-minded, so she'd committed to trying it for sixty days to see if it made any difference. She was on day ten now.
"Mind if I join you?" James's voice cut through her thoughts as he entered the bathroom.
"Please do."
He opened the door to the large shower and stepped inside.
"Happy anniversary," he said as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.
"Happy anniversary." Annabelle turned and kissed him, trying to dismiss the earlier feelings of terror from her dream. "Why don't we do this more often?"
A banging on the door made her pull back.
"Mooom, Parker's throwing up! I think he ate another sock."
She adored their golden retriever, but at times like this, not so much. Annabelle looked at James and rolled her eyes. "And that's why . . ."
"I'll go. Finish your shower." He stepped out. "Olivia, I'll be right there," he called through the door.
Half an hour later, Annabelle was dressed and downstairs. She walked into the kitchen, the smell of bacon filling the air. It was her favorite room of the house, featuring a built-in fireplace with a cozy sitting area, a custom-made farm table, and double French doors opening to their deck overlooking their swimming pool. Her mother had always said that the kitchen was the heart of the home, and some of Annabelle's best memories were of the two of them sitting and talking in their tiny kitchen around their worn wooden table. How she wished her mother was here now. She felt a pang of regret that her mother would never see her settled and content in such a beautiful place. Annabelle had never imagined that one day she'd be living in a gorgeous house, walking distance to the beach, and close to downtown Bayport, one of Connecticut's most charming towns. Parker ran up to her and nudged her with his nose as if sensing her sudden melancholy. She reached out to pet his head. "I hear you ate another sock, buddy."
"He's fine now. Someone must have left their socks out." James gave Olivia a meaningful look.
"Wasn't me!" their eleven-year-old protested.
"Well, I'm glad he's okay," Annabelle said, hoping to ward off a lecture from James.
He had made a full breakfast for Olivia and Scarlett: omelets, turkey bacon, toast, and an array of fruit. Annabelle gazed at her girls. Scarlett was a carbon copy of Annabelle—light brown hair and green eyes. James often commented that they were both the typical wholesome and natural, girl-next-door types. Annabelle thought it was cute when people commented on how alike they looked, but lately Scarlett seemed annoyed by it. Olivia was all James: blond and blue-eyed, with his bow-shaped mouth. But her sunny personality came from Annabelle.
James handed Annabelle a portable mug. "I made your coffee with oat milk and no sweetener. Consuming all those artificial sugars is bad for you."
"Yes, Doc," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She'd add some sweetener after he left. A couple of Splendas were not going to kill her, but it was pointless to argue with him. "I'm looking forward to our anniversary dinner tonight." They had reservations at her fa­vorite restaurant in New York City, a little more than an hour's drive from their house.
"Me too. Mom's coming over at six to stay with the girls."
Scarlett made a face. "We don't need a babysitter. I'm fifteen. Gram doesn't need to come over."
"It's nice for there to be an adult around with us being an hour away," James said.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dad. It's not like you're leav­ing the country. You'll just be in the city."
Annabelle and James looked at each other. "Well," she began, "she does have a point. What do you think?"
James scratched his beard and shifted his gaze to Scarlett. "I don't know. You and your sister tend to fight. Not sure you're the best person to be in charge."
"Give me a chance. Aren't you the one so big on us learning re­sponsibility?" Scarlett asked.
Annabelle suppressed a grin and said nothing, waiting to see his response.
He moved his head back and forth as he considered it. "Okay, we'll give it a try." He glanced at his watch, then gave Annabelle a peck on the lips. "You'd better hit the road if you don't want to be late." He looked over at the girls. "Take your plates to the sink and grab your backpacks."
"I got it. You should get going, or you're going to be late," Anna­belle said.
"Right. Have a good day, everyone."
A few minutes after he left, Annabelle cleared the table while the girls gathered their things. They filed out and got into Anna­belle's Volvo XC90. Once they were on the road, she gave Scarlett a quick look.
"Make sure you're not on your phone all night. I don't want you to ignore your sister."
"I won't. We'll watch a movie or something."
"And no one coming over," Annabelle said.
"Okay, Mom. Got it. Geez."
"I'll tell you if she does anything wrong," Olivia piped up from the back seat.
"I'm not going to do anything wrong. Ugh!"
"And you call me right away if there's a problem," Annabelle said.
"There won't be a problem! What did you get Dad for your an­niversary?"
"Remember the photo of the four of us on the beach last summer at the Cape?"
"Yeah, you made us all dress alike like a bunch of dweebs," Scar­lett said.
Annabelle laughed. "It's a great photo of everyone! I had it done in oil paints for Dad."
Scarlett didn't seem impressed. "Hmm. That sounds nice, I guess. Um, so, I was wondering—"
"What?"
"Did you have any other serious boyfriends before Dad?"
Annabelle's hand tightened on the wheel as an image formed in her mind. For the second time that day, the old pain returned. All these years later, she still felt like a part of her was missing. "Why do you ask?" Annabelle made her voice light, buying time.
"Just wondering, you know, if there was anyone really special before Dad. Like, did you know right away that Dad was the one?"
"Do you mean, was it love at first sight?"
"I guess."
Annabelle was careful to measure her response. "I don't believe in love at first sight. Your dad and I were friends first, and I fell in love with him gradually. But it's better, I think, because he's not only my husband, he's my best friend." What she didn't tell her daughter was that once upon a time, she had very much believed in love at first sight. Back when she was young and naive and hadn't had her heart broken. She'd experienced that all-consuming, head-over-heels, mad love that poets and philosophers wrote about, and it had nearly destroyed her. Maybe her knees didn't buckle when James kissed her, but that kind of feeling didn't last anyway. What they had was better, more real. The kind of love that would sustain her, not obliterate her.
Excerpted from DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES by Liv Constantine. Copyright © 2025 by Lynne Constantine. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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