Page 112 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

“Wait, when is the dance?”

Caleb eyes me. “In two weeks. Don’t worry, you have time to find a dress.”

Bastard. “Yeah…”

“Lenora would love to help,” Robert says. “We never got to go dress shopping with…”

I look at my shoes.

Robert clears his throat. “I don’t mean to bring up the past.”

Caleb goes over and pats his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mr. Jenkins. I understand.”

My foster dad nods at Caleb slowly. “I know you do. But anyway, I’m sure you two have better things to do today? It’s Margo’s first day of freedom, after all.”

“It’s only been a week of being grounded,” I say pointedly. “It isn’t really freedom.”

“Just go with it,” Caleb murmurs. “I was actually going to go run an errand in the city.”

New York City is only about an hour and a half away. By a stroke of pure luck, I didn’t end up in the NYC foster system. That would’ve been hopeless.

Because I lived in Rose Hill, which is part of Hillshire County, I got looped into that particular foster system. There are enough homes and group housing around here to keep me within an hour radius.

And that meant I avoided New York City.

“What errand?” I ask, perking up. “I haven’t been—”

“Since you were a kid?”

Robert tuts. “We could plan a day trip, Margo. I didn’t realize it was something you might want to do.”

I shrug. “I used to watch all the holiday events on TV. The tree lighting and the parades…”

“I was hoping you would come with me,” Caleb says. “It’s still too early for the Christmas vibe, but…”

“Can I go?” I ask Robert.

“After that spiel? How can I say no?”

I run upstairs, changing into nicer clothes. We’re going to the city. It’s luxurious and daunting all at once. I’ve heard horror stories about people getting mugged, pickpockets, insane taxis. But over all of that is the shiny appeal of Times Square. Central Park. Horse-drawn carriages and big floppy slices of pizza.

Caleb comes upstairs before I can start putting makeup on.

He intercepts me on the way to the bathroom, taking my makeup bag out of my hand. “You don’t need this. Not today.”

I scowl. “I want to feel pretty.”

“You can feel pretty without it.”

I try to snatch it back, but he raises it over his head.

“Caleb,” I snap.

“Stop.”

I jump for it.

“Goddamn it, Margo,” he snarls, shoving me back against the wall. “Just—stop.”