Seven Days in June(91)
The only thing standing between her and the exit doors to the lobby was the standing-room-only crowd of fans, book-club members, and Goodreads contest winners, just there to support their favorite authors. They were a lively bunch, rocking tees and totes repping their favorite books. One woman was dressed up like the cover of Tiffany Haddish’s The Last Black Unicorn. Another was convincing Tayari Jones to sign her iPhone case.
Scanning the crowd for an opening, Eva lasered in on a group in the back. Wow, they were especially loud. And loudly dressed.
And familiar. They were…Wait…
Wait.
Barely five foot three in her sneakers, she rose to her tippy-toes and saw the witch hats, the brooms, the platinum S rings.
One woman held a sign with the pic of Eva and Shane eating ice cream. In Sharpie, she’d written, BEST OF LUCK TO EVA AND HER REAL-LIFE SEBASTIAN, TONIGHT! A dude had silk-screened Shane’s photo on his tee, accompanied with a quote from Cursed, Book One: HIS EYES WERE A CURIOUS BRONZE. LIKE A TUMBLER OF BRANDY ILLUMINATED BY THE SUN.
Another woman, with a very familiar-looking coppery bob, brandished a poster reading HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS → BESTSELLING BAES! #SEBASTIANANDGIAAREREAL.
High school sweethearts? But…no one knew…
Eva squinted at the woman. The red bob. She slapped her palm over her mouth. It was the hovering waitress from Cece’s party! Quickly, she checked the latest post on her Facebook fan group.
The Cursed Crew Group
Major fandom news…
I spotted Eva and Shane Hall at a Brooklyn party. VERY together. AND I overheard that they dated in high school. AND I overheard that Sebastian is based on him. We’ve found our Sebastian, kids. #staycursed
Eva’s migraine was face-meltingly, unreasonably awful. And now she was being hit with the fact that her best friend would accidentally hire a Cursed fan to pass out shrimp.
Eva was horrified. She wanted to clean it up—to march up to that spying waitress and demand that she stop spreading lies.
But…they weren’t lies. Shane was Sebastian. And they were high school sweethearts. Every author got inspiration from somewhere, and her muse just happened to be a real person. It was the truth, and it was hers, and she had nothing to hide.
A week ago, being exposed in this way would’ve killed her. But tonight, Eva accepted it. She’d done this. She’d whipped her fans into this frenzy over the years. She could finally see that their devotion was a testament to her work. To her, Sebastian and Gia were a burden. But to her readers, they were live-or-die love. Something to root for.
And then, despite her pounding head and rising nausea, clarity hit her. This was exactly what she didn’t want. She wanted steady love. A love that was too ordinary to inspire fiction. A collection of sacred, small, everyday moments—not high-stakes drama. She wanted a relationship that was a choice, every minute of every day.
Fighting back tears, she wove her way to the group. Before anyone could react to her presence, Eva abruptly and enthusiastically embraced a fan wearing platinum fangs.
The group gasped.
“Eva Mercy, as I live and breathe!” exclaimed the fanged fan. “What’s that for?”
“For staying with me all these years. In a ballroom of great writers, you picked me. Thank you.”
With that, she made her way to the exit. Unburdened, unshackled.
*
Shane was pacing in the lobby, the muted sounds of music and applause floating through the doors. He’d been pacing for so long, he was beginning to worry that he’d never have the nerve to enter the ballroom.
The lobby was empty, except for a few photographers and junior publicists hanging around the step-and-repeat. Every so often, the doors would open, and people would rush through to the lounges. But no one bothered him, which was no accident. His expression strongly discouraged people from wanting to chat.
Shane had left the airport bathroom so quickly he hadn’t gotten a chance to check his appearance. He was a bleary-eyed, unshaven wreck in the cobalt-blue Tom Ford suit he didn’t remember buying or packing. Sore from head to toe, he’d been clenching every muscle in his body all day. He hadn’t eaten. He was still reeling. He’d lost Ty.
By the time Shane had gotten to the hospital, Ty was on a ventilator and unresponsive. Shane held his large, soft hand, willing him to wake up. He bargained with him, promising Ty that he’d do everything to keep him safe, that he’d visit Providence once a month—no, twice a month. He’d buy an apartment in town, where Ty could stay. Shane told him that he’d never have to do anything dangerous for money again, that he’d give Ty whatever he needed. Finally, he recited the planets over and over, until his voice cracked and the futility of it made continuing too painful.
It was no use. Ty was gone. So Shane said goodbye.
His loss felt too great, too raw, to process. But despite how hollowed-out he felt, he willed himself forward. He could think of only one thing now: what he was going to say to Eva.
This time, he would be prepared. It wouldn’t be like when he showed up a week ago, winging it. She deserved more than that.
He wrote an entire speech on the plane.
He practiced in the rental car he drove to the Litties.
And now he was rehearsing as he was pacing.
Shane was ready. Until Eva burst through the doors of the lobby, shocking the hell out of him.