Page 220 of Bishop

Layla

How was the visit with the doc?

The warmth in my chest grows.

Me

Good. Slow progress as always. But progress, nonetheless.

Layla

How long until Tilly’s nap?

Me

About twenty minutes. She’s just having something to eat.

Layla replies with a thumbs up two seconds before a knock sounds at the door, startling me.

She was messaging me from the hall?

The concierge never lets her up without approval. Then again, she’s been here every day for weeks, so it’s safe to assume she’s welcome.

Tilly continues to munch on her sandwich as I stand, her tiny jaw working overtime, her cute little lips smooshed.

“Do you think that’s Aunty Layla coming to check on us?” I ask as I cross the room.

Tilly ignores me, too engrossed by her cheese and bread.

I fling the door wide. “Fancy seeing—”

The greeting dies on my lips.

My heart stops.

It’s not Layla.

The person standing before me is tall, broad, bearded, handsome, and wearing his trademark perfectly fitting black suit as he strangles a plush blue bunny in a one-handed grip at his side.

“Bishop.” I swallow over my drying throat. “What are you doing here?”

His brows knit in an expression I can’t decipher. It’s not anger. Not even frustration. If anything, the awkward furrow makes him look sheepish. “I needed to see you.”

I don’t know what to say.

In all honesty, his fragility makes me itch to close the door in his face and forget his existence. To shut out a complication I don’t need. A hurt that’s still fresh. Yet I can’t. Not with my stomach twisting in knots and my pulse picking up pace as if I’m reaching the finish line of a marathon.

“How are you?” he asks.

I drag in a deep breath, wishing I could give him a placating response. But this man owns more of my truth than anyone, and lying doesn’t feel right.

“I’m okay,” I admit. “Most days.”

“I hear you’re taking motherhood in your stride.”

“You’ve been checking up on me?” Why does my heart skip a beat at the thought? “I hope whoever’s feeding you information described my stride as that of a newborn foal.”

One side of his lips quirk up, reminding me how rare his smiles are. “I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

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