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“It doesn’t matter if you intended for it to happen, it did, and the consequences are resting on your shoulders now. I just want you to know that if she dies, it will be partially your fault. If you would have believed her, she would be with us right now… safe. She didn’t deserve what you did to her.” His voice trembles, his gaze hardening, and I nod acknowledging his words, because like always, he’s right.
He was right when he said we shouldn’t do it. He was right when he said Harlow was more important than any family rivalry.
I should’ve listened to him. I should’ve followed my heart, but I didn’t, and now the one person who shouldn’t have paid the price, has. But I’m a Bishop, and above all, a man, so I’ll do what I need to do to make things right.
Harlow Lockwood will be ours again, and this family rivalry ends now.
1
Harlow
One Month Later
Staring down at the pale blue comforter, I try and piece the jigsaw puzzle called my life back together again, but every time I start to think about it, about anything, nothing pops up. It’s been three days since I was released from the hospital. I’ve been living in this huge house that is supposed to be my home… but it just doesn’t feel like it.
There are no memories; happy or sad, there is nothing—a dark, endless sea of blank space. It’s so strange to think that one day you are whole, your life full and vibrant, and the next you’re merely a shell of what you used to be. A soft knock sounds against my bedroom door, and I look up, knowing it’s the woman that calls herself my mother.
“I know this is a lot for you to take in and all, but your father wanted me to let you know that Matt, your fiancé will be stopping by tomorrow. Your appearance while he is here is very much appreciated.”
I will my mouth to work, for words to come out, but they just won’t. Every day since I got home, either my mother or my father have been with me, trying to make me remember a life they say I enjoyed. Though deep down in my gut, none of it feels right; this huge house, the expensive dresses, and maids to do whatever I want. It doesn’t seem like something I would’ve liked, let alone enjoyed.
In fact, this place feels like a prison, but I don’t understand why. I’m sure any girl my age would enjoy having the world at her fingertips, which clearly, I had, and still do, so why does it feel like none of those things mattered to me.
“Harlow!” my mother barks, and I blink from the blank space in my mind.
“Yes. I’ll be here.” I tell her softly, unsure of how I should respond, how I would’ve responded before. Am I being myself? I don’t know. It occurs to me then, where else would I be? I have nowhere to go, no friends, besides Shelby, who came to visit a few times, but was of no help. A fiancé that I don’t remember, and haven’t met, because he’s not been in the country until now.
My mother’s icy gaze softens, “You’ve been in your room almost all day, maybe you could come downstairs and have dinner with us? I had Margaret make your favorite; baked spaghetti.” Baked spaghetti? Hmm, it wouldn’t hurt to see if eating this so-called favorite meal of mine jarred a memory.
“Sure, I would like that,” I tell her, as I climb off the four-poster bed, and pad across the floor. She smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes and looks forced, awkward even, as if it’s not something she often does.
Silently we walk down the hall, and then down the grand staircase before entering the dining room. There’s a chandelier that hangs above the table, giving the room an elegant feel. My father is already sitting at the table and gives us a tense smile when we enter.
“It’s very nice of you to join us for dinner, Harlow. Have any of your memories returned?” he asks, almost in a robotic way. I pull out the chair next to him, and sag down into the seat, though I would much rather have taken a seat at the far end of the table.
Margaret, as well as another maid, brings out dinner, placing plates down in front of us like it’s a restaurant, and we’re not capable of making our own plates.
“So, what did I do for fun? Did I go anywhere? Hangout with anyone?” I blurt out, causing both of my parents to look up at me like I just asked them to solve a math problem. “The doctor said I’m supposed to do things I did before to jog my memory, but I don’t exactly know what that was, and I’ve been kind of bored. So, what did I do?”
