Page 12 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“Like I follow you online. Come back when you’re Beyoncé.” A last lonely drop emerges from the bottle when I try to pour myself another glass of champagne. “Oh, it’s empty. How sad. As I was saying, people need to be free to explore new things in a safe manner through story. To expand upon their experiences and view the world through different eyes. That’s what was so remarkable about the invention of the printing press. It brought the struggles of the lower classes into the drawing rooms of the wealthy for the very first time.”

“I love it when you lecture me.”

I laugh and he smiles andyikes.The way it makes my tummy turn upside down.

“Excuse me, Your Highness?” A teenage girl is standing behind us with her cell phone in hand.

Alistair’s whole demeanor changes. His shoulders stiffen and his face falls. “You don’t have to call me that. I’m not, strictly speaking, one of them.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Just Alistair is fine.”

She blushes. “Could I take a selfie with you?”

“Sure,” he says gently. Though his smile as she snaps the picture is strained at best. The girl runs off back to her table, and his fingers tap agitatedly against the top of the bar. It must be weird to be famous for just being born. “Don’t you have someone you can call to come down here and wait with you?”

“It’s my best friend’s birthday today. I don’t want to ruin it with all of this. Same goes for my family. Just let them enjoy their weekend. I don’t want to tell them until I know what’s going on. Maybe not even then. I don’t know. I haven’t thought it all through yet.” I paste a smile on my face. “It was kind of you to stay. But it’s okay for you to go.”

“You’ll be alone.” This is the second time he’s said this. Like it’s a sticking point for him. “It’s not long now until the draw.”

“I don’t mind my own company.”

A line appears between his dark brows, but he says nothing. Not at first. “I hate that you’re so worried. That you’re even giving this bullshit the time of day.”

“You don’t even know me. I’m just a random stranger, Ali. Can I call you Ali?”

“I would very much appreciate it if you never called me that again.” He signals to the bartender and says, “She needs another bottle of champagne.”

“Those things are expensive. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why is it so surprising that someone would be nice to you?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question. It’s obnoxious.”

He gives me an amused look. He has many of them. Though they do generally tend more toward dismay than delight. “I am curious about how all of this turns out. I like hearing about people’s lives. Tell me about your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. The one who cheated on you.”

“Ew.” I scrunch up my nose. “Why?”

He tosses a peanut in the air and catches it with his mouth. The man has skills. I’m a little surprised he would do something so déclassé.

“We’d been dating since last summer,” I say. “He was in sales. I thought we were ready to try living together, but apparently not.”

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“That dry statement of facts is how you sum up your most recent romantic relationship?”

The new bottle of champagne arrives. He was right. I do need it. I could give or take oxygen, but alcohol in this situation is a must. “Were you expecting me to cry?”

“I was expecting you to care.”

“Fuck you,” I say calmly and clearly. “I care very much that someone I trusted just betrayed me.”

He pauses. “I apologize. Of course you do. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I nod and accept his apology like a gracious queen.

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