Page 23 of Seven Days in June

This Shane guy has a “G” signature branded on his wrist. SAME PLACE, SAME ZIG-ZAG SCRIPT. G is for Gia, obviously. He’s obsesseddd.

But the plot thickens, friends. We all know that Gia doesn’t write using the Phoenician alphabet. And her signature is never even mentioned inCursed.

And there’s more. Shane Hall has BRONZE EYES. Like Sebastian.

As always, leave your Book 15 plot predictions in the comments. And #staycursed.

Eva’s stomach hit the ground.

In a mere forty-five minutes, her deeply private life had become a public soap opera.

Eva had no idea why Shane had roared into her life on a Monday evening, but she knew one thing: he had to go. Not just now, butrightnow.

The urgency wasn’t really about Shane at all. Eva was scared of who she’d been with him: out of control. Irresponsible. One big, raging impulse. It had taken everything she had to bury that troubled teenager. And now he was here, digging that girl up.

Two years after Shane, she had landed in New York with a new book, new money, and a new name. Genevieve Mercier had seamlessly become Eva Mercy. And Eva Mercy had devoted herself to building a life that was as safe as a Disney movie. She’d married the most uncomplicated man in the land and then had the friendliest divorce. She lived in the most family-oriented hood in Brooklyn. TheCursedseries was smut, sure, but her refusal to try writing something new? Peak safety.

But. She did think of him sometimes. Lying alone in a hospital bed at 2:00 a.m., or during bouts of writer’s block. He’d appear on the fringes of her thoughts—no face, just a feeling. His warm, minty-vanilla scent. The rough softness of his skin, like velvet caressed against the grain.

They’d stayed out of each other’s way for fifteen years. Eva had to find out why he was here now. She was also prepared to offer her own Amex points to help book his outgoing flight. She needed Shane gone.

Eva felt his eyes on her again. With a vague tilt of his chin, he beckoned her to his corner of the room. Frowning, she gestured for him to come to her instead. This situation was stressful enough without having to hobble across the room on stilts.

Shane nodded. Hesitated. Then he shoved his fists in his pockets and headed over to her.

Eva slipped her phone into her clutch. When she looked back up, there was Shane. Right in front of her.

The room had been clanging with chatter. But to Eva, it suddenly simmered down to a muted hum. God, had he gotten taller? He was so at ease in his bones now. So broad-shouldered, so…much. Too much.

She reminded herself to breathe. She wasn’t going to do this now. Take him in like this, in public. After their little performance onstage, they had an audience.

“Hello, stranger,” she said, and full-body cringed.

“Hi.”

Shane’s eyes locked in on hers. Her stomach seized.

You’re fine. Just say what you need to say and get out fast. Do it now…

“Can you meet…”

“Do you wanna…”

“Sorry, you go.”

“No, you.”

Eva refocused, threw her shoulders back, and started again. This was excruciating.

“Can you meet me at the Kosciusko Café, just down Eastern Parkway? Tomorrow morning, ten a.m.?”

Shane rarely did what he was told. But to this, he nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Good,” said Eva, and then she began stress-babbling. “I’d…uh…meet up now, but I…I need to pick up something for my daughter’s art project. Feathers. Hashtag mom life! Also, I gotta get out of this dress.”

Then she thrust a wad of paper into his hand. It was her number, scrawled on a Hale and Hearty receipt from her purse. “In case you need it…”

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