Page 219 of Bishop

“Okay.”

“And you don’t have to keep relying on Layla for backup either. You know what you’re doing. You’re one of the most natural mothers I’ve met, and those skills don’t come easily.”

“Thank you.” I push to my feet, making my way toward Tilly. “I’ll try not to call her so much.”

“Good. Enjoy your weekend.” She slips into the hall, the automatic lock engaging as soon as she pulls the door shut.

“Well, sweetheart, strap in for a wild weekend without the good doc. Things could get crazy.” I settle myself on the rug beside my daughter as she concentrates on the towering construction in front of her. “Are you getting hungry?”

Tiny hands pause on large plastic blocks as bright blue eyes peer up at me. She nods. Energetic. Enthusiastic.

Pride consumes me. “Would you like to help me pick a snack?”

Would you like to help Momma pick a snack?—Kim would correct if she was still here. Get those subtle changes in place, Abri. Get her used to you being her momma.

But I can’t.

Not yet.

I may hold the title—now not just maternally, but in practice—but it’s too soon. My soul would shatter into a million pieces if Tilly sat straighter and glanced around as if the slain woman who’d raised her was suddenly alive again.

We need to take baby steps when possible since everything else around us has moved in leaps and bounds.

We’re still climatizing to the D.C. move, and even though I grew up in luxury, this lush penthouse has taken getting used to. All the appliances are brand new and above my technical knowledge. The security system alone is a minefield of buttons I refuse to press. One that wasn’t installed until after we arrived.

I’d begged Matthew not to worry about it.

He hadn’t listened.

In fact, he doesn’t listen to much of anything when it comes to the safety and security of me and Tilly. He just gets grouchy and refuses to humor the conversation.

What’s more hurtful is how Bishop has become a taboo topic. Nobody speaks about him. Not Matthew. Or Lorenzo, who calls to check up on me every few days.

There hasn’t even been word from the man himself.

There’s been nothing but radio silence after he demanded I marry him the last night we spoke. So it’s safe to assume that unprotected sex was a deal-breaker.

I’d laugh if it didn’t make me want to cry.

“Froot?” Tilly pushes to her feet, picking up her tattered rabbit by the ears.

“We can definitely have fruit.” I reach out a hand for her to take, her soft fingers sliding over mine. “Or honey on toast. There’s also the sandwiches those nice ladies delivered this morning. I think there were some of the cheese ones you like so much.”

“Cheese pease.” She beams.

My heart damn near melts.

“Okay. Cheese it is.” I make my way to the fridge, unbelievably thankful for the support network I now have. Meals are brought to my door each morning. Cleaners come every few days. Toys and clothes and books are delivered without notice.

It’s as if Matthew is trying to make up for all those lost years between us. And whenever I try to thank him he becomes this awkward, macho man who doesn’t want to discuss the millions of ways he’s enriched my life.

“Why don’t you get your special Bluey plate out of the cupboard and I’ll see if there’s a juice box in the fridge with your name on it?” I squeeze Tilly’s fingers and release her hand.

She nods and runs ahead to the kitchen.

We’re both seated at the dining table a few minutes later, my daughter nibbling her sandwich while I sip on instant coffee because I can’t figure out how to work the expensive coffee machine, when my cell buzzes in my pocket.

I smile, knowing it’s Layla. I bet she’s already on her way here.

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