Page 127 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Heart. First I’m told I love her, now I’m referencing my heart?

Her eyes narrow. “We do need to talk, actually.”

I start to answer, but the bell cuts me off. I grab her hand and tuck her close to me. Her fingers curl around my biceps.

“I’m going to see my father,” she blurts out.

I twitch. It was only a matter of time before she decided to go see him. I’ve been dreading it since I realized her memory was blocked.

“Caleb?”

At eight years old, she wanted to gauge my level of interest—in her, that is. So she showed up with a white dress and let me fill in the blanks.

I’ve been missing that version of Margo, and she’s finally made a reappearance.

“I can’t stop you,” I finally say. “When?”

She squeezes my arm. “Tomorrow. After we get back from the game. Robert offered to take me, and I need him to help me remember what happened.”

I shake my head. “Why? Why can’t you just let it go?”

She yanks me to a stop, glaring. “Let it go? You did not seriously just say that. I had let it go—for seven freaking years! And then you came back into my life and you hated me for something I couldn’t remember!” She’s yelling now, her face red.

She’s hot when she’s angry. And she has a point.

“Fine,” I grit out. “But what he knows? You’re not ready for it.”

She stares at me, disappointed. “We’ll see about that.”

32

Margo

To say I’m mad at Caleb would be a lie. I’m not mad. Upset, irritated, frustrated, exasperated—all yes. But it melts away when he walks into Robert’s classroom.

He grins at me—a huge smile that touches his eyes—and kisses my cheek, then slides onto the stool next to mine. “You’re applying to NYU, right?”

I blink. “Um, I hadn’t thought about it.”

He levels me with a look. “You haven’t thought about it.”

We toured the school weeks ago, and it’s slipped my mind. To be fair, I’ve had a lot going on. Lenora and Robert haven’t brought it up, either.

He shakes his head. “The deadline is coming up. You don’t want to be stuck not having applied anywhere.”

“I always thought I’d just get a job after high school,” I mumble, shifting away to get my supplies out of my bag. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that…”

I glance back and wince at his scowl.

He meets my gaze. “What about your future? Don’t you want to dream bigger?”

“That ended the moment I was put into foster care,” I say quietly. I had dreamed bigger—of course I did. But I stopped. I forced those dreams to go away, and now I can’t remember them at all.

Robert pauses in front of us. “You’re not painting,” he points out.

I blush. “Sorry.”

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