She’d already taken the maximum dose, but the pills had barely dulled the pain. If not for her upcoming vacation with her foster sister, Valerina London—Vale—she would have pulled the covers over her head and sobbed in the dark. Now, at least, she had a reason to get up in the morning.

“Which one of these dresses do you want to take on our trip?” Vale emerged from the walk-in closet, tall and willowy, with pale white skin and bicolored hair, half the color of snow, half the color of midnight. Thick dark slashes rimmed her hazel eyes; the tattooed liner gave her a perma-smoky look and the best Resting Bitch Face ever.

In one hand, Vale held a red dress with more cutouts than material. In the other hand, she held a conservative black dress usually wore to funerals. “The one that says my body is a wonderland, and there’s a price for admission,” she said. “Or the one that says come near me, and I’ll remove your testicles with the power of my mind.”

Nola chuckled. “You’ve met me, right? Wonderland. Obvi.” Once upon a time, she’d longed to fall in love and become someone’s wonderland. She’d had crushes, she’d flirted and she’d dated. For some reason, she’d vomited every time she’d tried to be intimate. Ultimately, she’d given up on love, relationships and romance, instead focusing on getting healthy and making money for her trip.

Well, she’d mostly given up on love. A few years ago, she’d started dreaming about a gorgeous man with golden everything, and the muscle mass of a hulk. No other man had ever measured up.

A breathy sigh escaped. Her golden god never called her the “Asian chick” or “the living sex doll, Korean edition.” He never lied to her, or stole money from her purse. He only ever referred to her as “princess,” and asked—demanded—she find him in Russia. The Khibiny Mountains, to be exact. His presence had become a nightly comfort, and dang if she wasn’t halfway in like with him already. Maybe because he wasn’t real, so he would never die?

Her parents—dead. Her favorite doctor—dead. Carrie, the world’s greatest foster mom in history—dead. Other foster moms and dads, foster siblings, caseworkers, friends had died metaphorically, leaving her in their dust. So far, Vale was the only exception.

“Excellent choice.” Vale gave her a thumbs-up. “Carrie didn’t raise a fool.”

With a wink and a grin, Nola said, “But if she did, it’d be you.”

Vale snorted. “You are such a meme queen. Just be sure to carry wet wipes in your purse, in case people drool on you when they see you in the dress.”

“In case? Please,” she retorted, playing along. “It’s as good as done.”