Hayley Kiyoko's first book, Girls Like Girls, took the world by storm becoming an instant bestseller as she brought fans further into one of her most iconic songs ever. Now, the author and singer is changing things up and taking us back in time for their latest novel that brings a special twist to the 1880s that will no doubt make you fall in love with her writing even more.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at Hayley Kiyoko's Where There's Room For Us, set to be released on November 4, 2025. The novel was not only inspired by her own personal meet-cute, but takes place in a reimagined Victorian England where everyone is open to love who they love. It's a beautiful swoon-worthy love story that is bringing sapphic representation to historical romances. Here's some more info from our friends at Wednesday Books:
DELUXE EDITION—featuring beautiful sprayed edges, custom endpapers and a foiled case stamp. Order your copy while supplies last!
In WHERE THERE'S ROOM FOR US, #1 New York Times bestselling author Hayley Kiyoko brings us a young adult novel set in a reimagined 1880s Victorian England where everyone is free to love whoever they choose.
When her brother unexpectedly inherits an English estate, the outspoken and infamously daring poet, Ivy, swaps her lively New York life for the prim and proper world of high society, and quickly faces the challenges of its revered traditions–especially once she meets the most sought-after socialite of the courting season: Freya Tallon.
Freya’s life has always been mapped out for her: marry a wealthy lord, produce heirs, and protect the family’s noble status. But when she unexpectedly takes her sister’s place on a date with Ivy, everything changes. For the first time, she feels the kind of spark she’s always dreamed of.
As Ivy and Freya’s connection deepens, both are caught between desire and duty. How much are they willing to risk to be true to themselves—and to each other?
Inspired by Hayley Kiyoko’s own experiences and classic favorites like Little Women and Pride and Prejudice, Where There’s Room for Us is a romance set in a world where society’s expectations are everything—but love is so much more.
If you're already excited to see what Hayley has written, then you're going to be even more hyped to hear that the audiobook is also narrated by Hayley and Girls star Jemima Kirke. And yes, you can get your first look with an excerpt of both the book and audiobook below! Just make sure to pre-order Where There's Room For Us before diving in!
An Excerpt From Where There's Room For Us
By Hayley Kiyoko
Read by Hayley Kiyoko and Jemima Kirke
Prologue
Freya
November 1879
“ It’s here!” Dani’s shriek nearly pierces Freya’s eardrum.
She winces as Angelica shoots their little sister a look as piercing as her voice. They are in the tearoom at their house in London this afternoon, enjoying a rare burst of sunshine as it shyly peeks through the winter clouds and streams through the window. And now Dani is running into the room at full tilt, waving something at them.
“What are you on about, Dani?” Marigold asks, not even looking up from her notebook, where she’s scribbling notes about some sort of invention or another.
Dani skids to a halt in front of them and throws herself down on the end of Freya’s lawn chair, nearly causing it to tip over in her dramatics.
“Careful, dear,” Freya warns gently, grabbing her cup of tea before it spills all over her gown. Mama would never let her hear the end of it. And Dani never gets the blame because she is the baby.
“It’s here!” Dani’s clutching a slim book, bound in a pink-colored linen and embossed with a riot of ivy leaves in gold. As Dani tilts the book toward Freya, she catches sight of the title: The Silk Secrets.
“What’s that?” Freya asks. “A novel?” It seems a bit slim for that.
“A book of poetry,” Dani says.
“Scandalous poetry,” Marigold adds with a wry smile. “At least, according to everyone who tried to get it banned in Britain.”
“Didn’t you read the prime minister’s editorial about it in the paper last month?” Dani asks.
“You know I like books over the news,” Freya says, but her interest is piqued. What’s so dangerous about words on paper?
“I swear, the prime minister seems to be as against poetry as he is against women riding bicycles,” Dani mutters.
“I believe he said, and I quote, because I remember it for being so absurd, ‘Women with no propriety will be inspired to cavort in the streets together if such poetry was held up as having literary merit,’” Marigold says with an eye roll. “I don’t know about him, but that sounds like a good time.”
Freya ducks her head to hide her smile, but Marigold’s wife, Ros, doesn’t bother. Ros snorts with laughter beside her. “I would be displeased if you went cavorting without me, my love.”
Marigold takes her wife’s hand and kisses it. “I would never, darling,” Marigold says. “I promise the only cavorting I’ll do is with you by my side.”
“You two,” Angelica says with an affectionate but slight shake of her head. She has never been one to approve of displays of affection between couples, even among family. But Freya thinks how comfortable Ros is among the sisters is sweet. Ros is so formal around the rest of the family, though Freya can hardly discount her for that. Freya’s father, Lord Tallon, is a formidable man of tradition who would intimidate even the strongest of suitors. His imposing presence would put anyone who married into their close-knit family on their best behavior.
Angelica snatches the book from Dani, examining it with growing concern. “Dani! Did you really buy such a thing? And with the pocket money Papa gives you?” Angelica looks like she’s two seconds away from tapping her foot in disapproval.
“Papa has always told us we can use our pin money for whatever we wish,” Dani says stubbornly, taking the book back from her.
“You know he would not approve of this,” Angelica scolds, trying to make another grab for the book. Dani hurls it at Freya, who catches it calmly, tucking it under her arm to hopefully stop an impending wrestling match. Angelica is a hair puller and they have a ball to attend tonight.
“Now, Angelica,” Marigold says. “Poetry is a map of the soul and heart. Surely that cannot be harmful.”
“You just say that because you want to read it as well,” Angelica says.
“Much has been written about the poet,” Marigold admits. “Miss Ivy Yada-Lovell has made quite the name for herself in certain circles.”
“And with certain behavior,” Dani adds with a smirk. “Why, they say she is the reason Miss Astoria Parker called off her wedding last year!”
“That was her?” Freya asks in sudden interest. She looks down at the
book of poetry. The scandal of Miss Astoria Parker’s wedding was so great that the gossip reached them in England all the way from New York.
“I wish a famous poetess would come whisk me away from my aging groom,” Dani sighs. “How romantic.”
Freya looks down at the book, tracing the ivy leaves with her finger. “So the poems are about their grand love story?” That seems more romantic to her than interrupting a wedding. Someone writing lines and lines of poetry all about the love they hold . . . that is the stuff of great romance.
“You see, that’s what’s so scandalous,” Dani says. “According to my friends who have read it already, it’s very clear Ivy’s poems are about many different women. Scads of them! Talk is, every poem is about a different woman!”
“How many poems are in here?” Freya asks.
“And there are rumors that Miss Parker quietly married another man just weeks after running away from her own wedding!” Dani continues, oblivious to Freya’s question. “It seems like Ivy Yada-Lovell is a rake and she doesn’t care who knows it.” Dani sighs enviously. “What a world Manhattan must be. Why was I born in England instead? We are ever so stodgy!”
“You are talking nonsense, Dani, women cannot be rakes,” Angelica says.
“You obviously have never been to The Bridge,” Dani says with a giggle.
“Well, of course not,” Angelica says. “It is not my place or community. It is yours and Marigold’s.”
“All are welcome at The Bridge,” Marigold says, as Ros and Dani nod. “But I do agree with Dani. Women can be just as cavalier with other women’s hearts as men.”
“Quite right,” Ros says.
“Did this Ivy do Miss Astoria Parker wrong, do we think?” Freya asks, flipping the book of poetry open, curious despite herself. The fine vellum speaks of luxury, the dedication simple: For her.
But who is “her” if the poems are about various women? Dani said “scads.” How many exactly is that?
“I guess we’ll have to read and find out,” Dani says as their mother calls for them from the other room. Freya’s sister grabs the book out of her hands, running off, and Freya sighs, gathering her shawl and sewing, getting up to follow her.
As the winter snow starts to fade in the coming months, they will head to Berkshire to their country manor for the start of the social season. With two failed seasons prior, this third round will be critical for Freya. It’s hard not to feel the pressure to make a decision, a fact she is trying not to worry about. She dreads the stuffy ballrooms and instead chooses to think of swimming at the lake and playing rounders on the lawn.
Soon, she thinks, I’ll be home.
~
By the time Freya stumbles upon the pale pink book of poetry again, several months have passed since that day in London. The gray of fall and the holidays has come and gone and she finds herself wandering around the library of Tallon Manor one rainy Saturday. That silly book, The Silk Secrets, catches her eye, tucked haphazardly among Shakespeare’s sonnets.
She shakes her head with a smile. Leave it to Dani to abandon her book of illicit love poetry lying about in the family library. Angelica would never let her hear the end of it if she discovered such a thing during her frequent visits to the manor. At first, Freya merely picks it up to take it to her sister—and maybe scold her a little. But as she pulls it from the shelf, she remembers Angelica and Dani’s argument those months ago.
Can a woman be a rake?
Settling into the armchair closest to the fire, she flips open the book out of curiosity and begins to read the opening line of the first poem.
Your skin against mine, secret touches
Freya slams the book shut. “My goodness,” she says. If her father knew Dani was reading such things, he would be most displeased. Such things are not for unmarried ladies to read.
Knowing her mother will call her for dinner at any moment, she tucks the slim volume of poetry behind a thick set of Shakespeare’s complete works and hurries out of the library. Joining her family at the table, Freya loses herself in the rhythm of conversation and the clink of silver on fine china.
“. . . don’t you think, Freya dear?”
“I’m sorry, what was that, Papa?” she asks.
“That ‘Jonathan’ is a strong name for a boy.”
Freya smiles at Angelica, who has just found out she and her husband are expecting their second child, and is abuzz with name choices. “Oh, Papa, you know that if Angelica has a boy, she shall name it after you!”
“Exactly!” Angelica agrees. “There is no question, Papa.”
“You girls are very sweet,” Papa says.
“I think you should name the baby after me,” Dani says grandly, and Freya laughs so hard she has to hide it behind a napkin. “What?” her little sister protests. “It’s a name that works for a boy or a girl!”
“You are quite right,” Papa says.
“It’s why we chose it back then,” Mama says, and the two of them exchange a bittersweet, wistful look.
“Are you visiting the village after church, girls?” Papa asks, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“I am,” Freya says. “The reverend wants me to check in on the Hollings. And I have sweets for the children.”
“You cannot stuff them full of sugar, Freya,” Papa warns. “They need hearty food to fuel their farmwork.”
“The children deserve some fun, Papa,” Freya insists gently. “Especially after such a hard winter. They aren’t all working the farms, after all. They’re going to school.”
“You have a gentle heart, dearest,” Mama tells her.
“I am just trying to follow your example,” Freya says. Her mother is one of the most beautiful and gentle ladies she knows. Everyone admires her. Freya can only hope to be revered as she is someday.
“I will indulge you, my dear,” Papa says. “But they must remember their places and you your own. I don’t want you distracted from your social obligations.”
“Of course,” Freya says. “Whatever you say, Papa.”
1
Ivy
Five months later
The rattle of the carriage wheels against well-kept roads is almost like a lullaby to Ivy after two full days of travel. Her eyes drifted shut somewhere after they passed the third or fourth county named something-shire. She’ll have to ask what a shire is, exactly, when they arrive at the manor house. Surely someone will know.
Her mind drifts, the carriage rattle lulling her back into a near-sleep, her head pillowed against her bunched-up pelisse and the carriage wall— when something hits her on the knee.
Ivy’s eyes crack open as Prescott taps her knee again with his tall hat. “Yes, brother dear?” she asks sarcastically.
“Are you really going to sleep the whole time?”
“At least I don’t snore like you,” Ivy says.
“Lies,” Prescott insists. “I’m quiet as a mouse when I sleep.”
Ivy snorts. Her only brother is many things: sarcastic but sweet when need be, loyal to a stunning degree, and, when she’s feeling generous, handsome in that pretty dandy way some women lose their minds for. But he snores like a steam train roaring down the tracks at sixty miles an hour.
“You better hope whatever wife we find for you in England is a deep sleeper if you plan to share her bed, is all I’ll say,” Ivy tells him. “Now let me nap in peace. I need to be well rested by the time we arrive.”
“Ivy,” Prescott says, a bit of a pleading note in his voice.
Ivy sighs. “What?”
“Are you going to eat your meat pie?” He points to the basket the inn owner’s wife packed them. It’s simple English fare: meat pies, cold cuts of chicken, and a brown bread with hardy slices of cheese. Prescott devoured his pie hours earlier—she should’ve known he’d have his eye on hers, too.
“Yes, I am going to eat it,” she says. “Don’t you dare.”
He lets out an entirely put-upon sigh that makes her roll her eyes.
“What’s really bothering you?” she asks, giving up on sleep now. She’s promised herself she’ll support Prescott in any way she can. It is going to take both of them to pull this whole thing off, after all.
“I’m nervous about arriving at the estate today,” Prescott says. “I don’t know how to be a viscount.”
“I’m not sure that being a viscount is actually something you learn,” Ivy says. “I think it’s just . . . something you are. And according to all those letters we got from the estate’s lawyers—excuse me, ‘solicitors’—you are Viscount Yada-Lovell.”
“This inheritance seems false still,” Prescott says. “Almost like a prank. I always thought of Father and Grandfather as American. I never envisioned myself even visiting England, let alone living there.”
“I’ve always made plans to visit Japan and Mother,” Ivy admits. “England hadn’t really crossed my mind as a place to go.”
“And now . . .” He trails off, the weight of the responsibility heavy between them. “I suppose now it’s my home.”
“Our home,” Ivy says. “For as long as you need me, I’ll be by your side.” She pauses. “Well, until my publishers demand I do another tour for my next book of poetry . . . or until your wife kicks me from your palatial mansion, of course, because I am so very annoying,” she adds with a grin.
“You’re only a little annoying,” Prescott says. “And just to me. Everyone else is either scandalized by you or in raptures about your talent.”
“Sisters should be annoying,” Ivy tells him. “It will be all right, Prescott.” She tries to sound reassuring, but she’s just as unsure as he is.
Making a new home is always an unsteady journey, but this is more than that.
They’re entering a brand-new world—one full of responsibility and conditions and a society completely different from their American life. Ivy has always enjoyed a large amount of freedom and independence in Manhattan, not just because her works of poetry give her notoriety and a good living, but because of the inheritance from their father that was split between her and Prescott. That is a freedom many of her fellow poetesses do not have.
And what a name she has made with that freedom. She smirks at the thought. It’s not every day a whole prime minister accuses you of being a harbinger of sapphic doom. That gave her a laugh last month when her British publisher informed her of the prime minister’s warning in The Times. But now Prescott is to take his spot among all the lords and dukes who likely agree with the men who grumble and write editorials about her. That is a little nerve-racking. She doesn’t want her work to be the reason Prescott is socially scorned.
English society is so different—it has dukes and duchesses, and debutantes desperate to marry those dukes and duchesses. In an age of modern change as railroads blossom, trade increases, and great machines are built, all while new scientific heights are being reached every day to solve problems, things like royalty and dukes seem almost quaint. England certainly leads in some areas of progress, but in others, it is woefully behind.
“I feel very unsure of myself,” Prescott confesses. “These are uncharted waters.”
“And we shall traverse them together.”
Ivy and Prescott have made a dastardly duet for years now. They aren’t without their reputations, though Ivy always feels it is unfair when Prescott gets a pass for being a flirt and she certainly does not.
A fresh start after that whole mess last year is appealing to Ivy. She didn’t mean to become part of the story of the century by interrupting the wedding of the century, but she also couldn’t let her Astoria Parker marry a man five decades older than her. But while Ivy may have saved Astoria, she didn’t spare herself from heartbreak. Astoria married the man she really wanted just weeks after Ivy’s rescue. And Ivy tried not to feel as used as she felt heartbroken while her publishers leapt on the rush of interest in her work after the interrupted wedding. Her two volumes of poetry are now a global sensation—something she only dreamed of before. But with world-wide reach comes the kind of fame and talk about her she is not used to.
This break in England is just the thing she needs . . . especially because she is suffering from a hellish case of writer’s block.
Excerpt from WHERE THERE’S ROOM FOR US © 2025 by Hayley Kiyoko. Reprinted with permission from Wednesday Books, an imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Audio excerpted with permission of Macmillan Audio from WHERE THERE'S ROOM FOR US by Hayley Kiyoko, read by Hayley Kiyoko and Jemima Kirke © Hayley Kiyoko ℗ 2025 Macmillan Audio.
Where There's Room For Us, by Hayley Kiyoko will be released on November 4, 2025 from Wednesday Books. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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