Page 209 of Bishop

I’ve spent two days talking to her despite her silence. She doesn’t even acknowledge when I call her name, but Layla keeps encouraging my patience. She tells me not to fret. To give my daughter time.

I’m trying, oh, God, how I’m trying. Yet all I do is worry.

Is Tilly still thinking about what happened? Does she understand that the only mother and father she knew are now dead? Does she trust me? Is she eating enough? Will she always cry herself to sleep?

“I’m sure she’ll love it here.” Matthew slides a hand across my back as he slowly passes.

“We all will.” Layla follows close behind, her concerned stare fixed on my brother while he hesitantly descends the steps onto the tarmac.

“Do you hear that?” I whisper in Tilly’s ear. “We’re all going to love it here.”

The last forty-eight hours have been a crazed minefield of emotion.

We stayed in the safe house the entire time—me, Tilly, Matthew, and Layla, with nothing but the peace of isolation and the confinements of my parental ignorance while Remy and Salvatore took our mother God knows where under our uncle’s guidance.

The heartache during those days was the heaviest I’ve ever felt—not only while I questioned if I’d made the right choice to burden Tilly with me as a mother, but also the pain of not knowing what happened to Bishop.

Hours were spent staring at the tire tracks trailing down the hill toward the safe house, waiting for him to show.

He hasn’t called.

Not even a text has been sent.

I was told of his fight with Lorenzo. How he walked away from the only family he’s ever known. And it’s all my fault.

I dragged him into a battle he never should’ve been a part of. I would’ve sickened him with my seduction when his adrenaline was high and his morals low. I didn’t even stay in the car when I promised I would, and now he’s disfigured, or scarred, or maybe even dying of infection.

Between the long hours Matthew spent resting to recover from his bullet wound, he assured me Bishop would be okay. Layla did, too. But I could hear the worry in their voices. Could see it in their eyes.

Everyone is as concerned as I am.

“Come on, Bree,” Matthew calls from the tarmac, jerking his head toward a waiting limousine. “There’s a lot to do.”

I nod, then quickly fumble to catch Tilly’s bunny as it slips from her hands. “Hold tight, cutie-pie. You don’t want to drop him.”

I descend the stairs, my heart squeezing at the thought of her losing the only thing she has from her past.

She cried the entire time Layla had the plush toy in the washer. Then didn’t seem to notice that half the color had bleached from its fur when it was returned, the blood no longer visible.

Layla tells me it’s normal. That kids don’t care about their favorite things being torn or scuffed or disfigured, just as long as they know they’re there to cling to.

The comfort of familiarity is all they need.

“Become that familiar comfort,” she’d told me. “Love her. Let her rely on that love. And someday soon, she’ll give hers in return.”

I’m not holding my breath for that moment to arrive, but each morning my chest grows tighter.

Everything has changed in such a short space of time.

Was it a week? Ten days? I can’t even remember how much time has passed since the gala. It’s all a blur of memories, each one filled with Bishop. How he changed my life. How he saved me from everything—my father’s plans, from Gordon and his men, from myself.

I went from barely knowing him to not wanting to know life without him, all in the blink of an eye.

But I guess I’m destined to live with one part of my heart always missing.

Matthew holds the limo door open, his free hand gently pressing to the top of my daughter’s head as I climb inside to slide against the far seat next to Layla.

“Are you ready to see your new penthouse?” Layla beams at Tilly. “I’m told it’s absolutely beautiful. You can even see Capitol Hill.”

---