“It’s so beautiful up here,” I say, looking up at him from below. He looks down at me, his eyes glassy and red. “Bishop,” I whisper, my hand on his cheek. “What is it?”
He clears his throat, and when he opens his mouth, the next words he mutters steal a part of my soul. “She was raped because of me. I thought she cheated on me, but it was set up that way by our enemies. I thought she cheated. She didn’t. She was raped.”
I hold my breath, the pain vibrating in my chest long since he said the last word.
“But I was fucking tired. She still ran from me. Ran fucking far. She always runs. She doesn’t trust me. Trust that I’d keep her safe, and I don’t blame her.”
My nose snuffs.
He continues. “Because I failed her. I let them get to her, so now I’m letting her go. And that’s it. That’s the most I’ve ever told anyone, by the way.”
“Bishop,” I breathe. “Look at me.”
He does, his eyes meeting mine like best friends that have been separated for a lifetime. “That is not your fault, and it is not hers either. You can’t let the forces that are fighting against you both win.”
He smiles, but it’s not the one I’m used to. It’s fake. “I have to, because I won’t let this world touch her again. I know where she is. I know she’s safe.”
I pause. “You know where she is?”
He nods. “Yeah. She fucking knows I’d know where she is. This is the game we’re both playing. She knows I know where she is and could grab her whenever I wanted, and I know she knows where I am whenever she wants to bring her ass home.”
“You’d take her back?” I need to be reassured.
He stares down at me and smiles a genuine one this time. “Every fucking time.”
After Bishop showed me the room I would be staying in, I quickly ran a brush through my hair and slid into the slippers I brought with me. I think Brantley said the party would start tomorrow night, and he said fifty people would be coming. Fifty. Where would they all sleep?
I’m jogging down the stairs while wrapping my hair into a high bun when Tillie calls me into the kitchen.
“There you are. Bailey just got here. You’ll love her.” She pulls out a few bottles of wine and tumblers. “Come. We’re all outside.”
I don’t know who Bailey is or who is all outside, but I follow behind her out onto the back patio. Fairy lights light up the paneling of the architecture, flames from the candles flickering in the center of the large round table. There’s a girl sitting on the other side, beside Brantley, with another girl next to her.
Out of instinct, I seek out Bishop. My hands start to sweat, sending tingles down to my feet. My knees wobble from nerves and that same heavy boulder is back in my belly. I silently start taking deep breaths, and just as I’m about to spin around and go back inside, fingers connect with mine, tugging me down onto the chair in front of me.
“Saint, this is Bailey, Brantley’s little cousin, and the girl next to her is—” Bishop tilts his head. “Don’t fucking know and don’t fucking care.” He looks back at Bailey. “This is Saint.”
Bailey’s eyes come to mine with interest, but not enough to hold her attention. She’s already back on Bishop.
Bishop continues, “My sister, Tillie’s sister, and let’s just say her last name is Vitiosis, but she’s not blood, you feel me?”
Bailey spins herself around to face Brantley. “What’d you do?”
He flips her off. “Fuck off, Bailey.”
She ignores him. “What did he do?”
“Oh, you know,” Tillie interrupts, popping a grape into her mouth while taking a seat on Nate’s lap. “Stole a baby, raised her in his big, scary castle, locked her away from humanity, never let her out and—am I missing something? Oh yeah, kept it a big fat secret from everyone.”
That was an alarmingly accurate description of everything. Though from the outside looking in, I’ve come to realize it may look… weird to them. To me, it was everything but that. They talk about it as if it’s a bad thing, when it’s not. I never wanted for anything, never went hungry, always knew I had a home.
Bailey gasps, her hand covering her small, pouty mouth. Her wrists are filled with leather bands, her dark hair sleek and shiny, falling around her collarbone. “Cuz, why are you the way you are?”
He ignores her.
I turn to face Bishop, disinterested in being the topic of conversation. Can I meet everyone so that they can all get it out of the way, stare at me weirdly, and gasp in shock together? I’m tired. “I think I need wine.”