Page 146 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

At the top of the stairs, I lean against the wall and take a few deep breaths. Riley heads down, and the conversation below screeches to a halt.

“Wow,” Eli mutters. His voice has a way of carrying. “You… that’s beautiful.”

I imagine her raising the mask, pouting like she did in my room.

“Where’s Margo?” Caleb asks.

“Oh, she’s coming,” Riley answers.

He grunts.

“Okay, Margo,” I whisper. I shake out my arms and remind myself to keep breathing.

The heels—gold—aren’t tall enough that I’m going to have trouble. But I still feel off balance as I grip the banister and walk down the stairs.

I hit the landing, round the corner, and my eyes lock onto Caleb.

I come closer, and he holds out his hand to me. There’s fire in his eyes, and I break out in goosebumps. There’s no one else in the room—just him and me and the sudden tension between us.

I slip my hand into his.

He smirks at me and squeezes once. His suit is dark, dark blue. And his tie? Spun through with muted gold and royal blue. It’s subtle enough to escape attention at first glance. But I have a feeling that the two of us together will bring the color out.

It’ll send a message that we’re a pair, him and me.

Someone gasps, and his spell is broken.

I blink and realize he and I have crept closer and closer. My chest almost brushes his. I take a step back, but his hand tightens on mine, keeping me from retreating too far.

Fair enough.

Lenora and Robert are by the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. And Riley and Eli are staring at us like we’re crazy.

“You’re stunning,” Caleb says in my ear.

I blush.

“And later,” he continues, his voice lowering, “I’m going to fuck you senseless in your dress.”

I shake my head. He’s so inappropriate. Yet, my whole body hurts from the way my muscles clench.

“Would you like to see your mask now?” He grins.

I straighten. Anticipation floods through me. “Yes.”

He presents a familiar box.

Carefully, I undo the tape on each side and lift the lid.

Damn.

The mask is shining gold, with negative space cut in a similar pattern to the beads on my dress. It’s inlaid with pearls, highlighting the eye space. There are tiny gold chains that loop along the bottom of the mask, made to drip down my cheeks.

It’s stunning—the same word Caleb used to describe me. A word that is much better suited to this accessory than me.

“And yours?” I ask.

He opens his own box and shows me a matching gold mask. It’s masculine, though: the cutout spaces are smaller, more of a honeycomb pattern, with a single crystal between the brows. It covers the entire upper half of his face.