Page 113 of Seven Days in June

Eva outright giggled.

“Thank you, Bonnie, but no. If aspirin worked, I’d be a totally different person. I’d be breezing through life like Chrissy Teigen! I’d be married to a pleasant pop star and hosting game shows. I, too, would be the funniest person on Twitter. I’d out-Teigen Teigen.”

Eva was on such a roll, she didn’t even notice that the women were looking at her like she was losing it.

“Actually, I just took an edible. And now I’m gonna find a ladies’ room and shoot myself with a Toradol injection.” She made a stabbing motion at her thigh. “No, it’s fine, I do it all the time. Feel free to eat my chicken paillard. No reason to let free protein go to waste. See y’all in ten!”

Eva’s words were slurring; her vision was blurring—but my God, was sheexhilarated. Just by that one small (huge) admission! She felt unburdened, unshackled. With a triumphant grin, she confidently strode from the table and across the dance floor. Holding a temple, she pinballed through the maze of people—until she was sideswiped by Khalil. He grabbed her by the waist and dipped her dramatically. Without hesitation, she elbowed him in the ribs, and ignoring his wail (“SENSELESS VIOLENCE, SIS?”), she headed toward the back of the room.

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’sThe 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 wereespeciallyloud. 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 platinumSrings.

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 fromCursed, Book One:HIS EYES WERE A CURIOUS BRONZE. LIKE A TUMBLER OF BRANDY ILLUMINATED BY THE SUN.

Another woman, with averyfamiliar-looking coppery bob, brandished a poster readingHIGH 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.

TheCursedCrew 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 aCursedfan 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. ShanewasSebastian. And theywerehigh 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’ddone this.She’dwhipped 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.

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