Page 225 of Bishop

“Couldn’t how?” I snap under my breath, not wanting to alert Tilly to our argument while I glare at him. “You obviously spoke to Matthew.”

“I messaged him. Relayed information. And only in those first few days. I made sure he brought you here. Nothing more.”

“Did you also make him take credit for this place? Because he did.”

He raises his chin. “Yes.”

“Yes? That’s all you have to say? My brother lied to my face for you. Over and over.”

“He had no choice, Abri. My actions have been less than exemplary these past few weeks. He knew I was off the rails and that the threats I made for him to hold his tongue were real.”

I stare at him—stare so hard my eyes burn. “Threats?”

“I got creative. I was willing to say and do anything to keep my actions toward you under wraps.”

There’s so much to unpack in those short sentences. So much that I don’t know where to start.

“Don’t worry,” Bishop murmurs. “I wouldn’t have hurt him. The asshole knows it, too. I think the reason he kept quiet was because he held the same fears I did.”

“Fears?” I’m down to one-word questions, my vocabulary nonexistent.

“I didn’t know if you’d stay here if you knew this was my penthouse. I was worried you’d take off, and then I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe.”

My eyes widen. “This is your home?”

“It used to be. It’s yours now.”

I step back, mouth gaping, pulse erratic.

From my peripheral vision I catch Tilly pause her building game to sit straighter, watching me.

I’m forced to school my expression. Be calm. Smile. I look to her with bright eyes. “Hey, cutie-pie. It’s time for your nap.”

I need her away from here. Out of earshot from my building meltdown.

She pushes to her feet, eying Bishop as she approaches the kitchen. The murderous, manipulative bastard has the audacity to straighten with her proximity, like a lion frightened by the approach of a timid lamb.

He remains rigid as she reaches the counter, raises her arm above her head, and quickly retrieves the bunny he brought for her, snagging it to her chest before running for the hall.

He glances at me in confusion.

Goddamn motherfucking shit.

“It’s a good thing,” I mutter. “She trusts you enough to accept your gift.”

“Right…” He wipes a hand over the back of his neck. “Do you need to—”

“Help put her to bed? Yes.”

“Want me to leave?”

Yes. No.

Fucking hell. I hate this.

I want to tell him to get out of here. To give me time to straighten my thoughts and figure out what the heck has been going on.

But what if he disappears for another month?

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