Page 213

I don't know how much he realizes I heard. Maybe all of it. Maybe none. But I walk straight toward him.

The blonde's face goes pale. I don't bother acknowledging her.

I reach for Bishop's hand, and he takes it. Immediately.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He guides me away from the ballroom entrance, toward a quieter stretch of hallway.

We walk several steps before I stop.

“Bishop?”

He turns. “What?”

“You didn't have to do that.”

His jaw tightens. “You heard?”

“Enough.”

“Becks—” He exhales.

“I'm okay.”

He studies me.

“I mean it,” I tell him. “They're strangers. They don't know me.”

“Doesn't give them the right to talk about you like that.”

“No. It doesn't.”

I glance down at our joined hands. “Thank you, though.”

“For what?”

“For saying those things.”

He frowns. “What things?”

“About me.”

“Delaney.”

I lift my head.

He steps closer. “I wasn't saying them to make you feel better.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His thumb moves across the back of my hand. “Because every fucking word was true.”

And that's the part that gets me.