Page 13 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“But just out of curiosity, did you love him?”

“You can’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Aren’t you people supposed to be all about good manners?” This is a fine time to dodge and evade to my heart’s content. My mouth, however, won’t shut up. In vino veritas. “No. I didn’t love him. I liked him and I liked us as a couple, and I thought that would be enough. Like more would come given time, you know?”

He nods and picks up another peanut.

“What about you?”

His face goes blank and he’s suddenly on guard. “What about me?”

It would seem I have put my foot in it. He is allowed to ask me personal questions, but it doesn’t work the other way. Interesting. Though what would I know about being Alistair George Arthur Lennox, who has the whole damn world watching his every move. Despite having his back to the restaurant, he continues to draw attention. The maître d’ has asked several people to stop taking pictures.

“Well?” he asks in a cranky tone of voice.

“What’s your favorite book?”

“My favorite book? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, he just stares at me. Then he says, “Catcher in the Rye.”

“Ugh. You’re kidding me. No. That’s so...ugh.”

“You already said that.”

“It bears repeating. There’s just so much wrong with that choice.”

“Is there now?” The corner of his mouth curves upward. “It’s all right, Lilah. I’m joking. It’sThe Count of Monte CristoorThe Martian. They were both great.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank goodness.”

“So judgmental,” he tsks.

“Like you’re not.”

Having someone so pretty smiling at you makes it hard to care about anything. A bottle of champagne in your belly doesn’t hurt either.

“I shouldn’t have asked about your boyfriend if I wasn’t willing to share in kind,” he says in a low voice.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” I pour myself another glass and think deep thoughts. “Why do you even believe my bizarre story about the witch?”

“I’ve known a lot of liars,” he says, taking his time and choosing his words carefully. “When you were talking about it you had this look. There was fear in your eyes.”

I frown. “I don’t like any of this.”

“Apart from the champagne.”

“I don’t like any of this apart from the champagne,” I correct.

“And me.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just the champagne.”

“Then why did you specify that you were single?” he asks with a sly gaze. Like he’s caught me or something. Men are such idiots. Seriously.

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