Uncovering You 5: Confessions

by Scarlett Edwards

  Stonehart walks to the cabinet and leans over it, supporting himself with his arms. He looks over his shoulder at me. The tears—the imagined tears?—are gone.

  “Yes, Lilly, she’s dead, and I was unable to prevent it. I could have helped her. If only I hadn’t been so goddamned weak. So goddamned stupid. I could have saved her!”

  “When?” I ask gently.

  He snorts a sour chuckle. “More than twenty years ago. Not long after you were born. If I’d had five more years… hell, if I’d had three… I could have changed things. Maybe she would still be around today. But I did not have the power, twenty years ago, that I command today.

  “I’m not talking about doctors or medical bills, Lilly. You know my father was rich. He had the means. My mother’s death did not come from a want of resources. It came from something else. Something… more ominous. A type of madness—though none but I see it that way.

  “Anyway.” He shoves off and shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant to tell you. This isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s supposed to be about you. But…” He exhales, “…for you to understand, it has to be about me. Don’t you see? You, and your effect on me.”

  Stonehart takes another deep breath. “Maybe it’s not about me any longer. Maybe it’s about us. I’ve never thought, before, of existing as a cohesive unit, as being reliant on another person. I’ve never thought of a relationship as worth more than just sex. And you know,” he smiles, “that I have an insatiable appetite for that.”

  Heat floods my cheeks. He’s certainly right in that regard.

  “My mother’s death propelled me ever farther into the depravity I was building for myself. I had nothing left, so I attacked the world with a single-minded ferocity. I built my empire because it was all I could do.

  “But it was more than that, Lilly. I found that I thrived on the competition. I thrived living on the edge. Building Stonehart Industries from the ground consumed me. It gave me purpose. It gave me goals. Clear, definable goals, where success could be measured in dollars and cents.”

  He chuckles. “Well. Maybe not cents. It’s been a long time since I worried about cents.”

  “Material possessions were all I craved. I got all those. When I was younger, I thought they’d be enough to satisfy me. You’ve seen but a glimpse of the splendor I’m talking about. Cars, yachts, jets. Estates in the country, in the mountains, apartments all over the word. New York, Paris, Sydney, Crete. Clothing. Beautiful women—most paid, some not. The reason for that,” he clarifies, “is so that there could never be emotional attachment. Not from my end. I was never at risk for it. But theirs. Professional… models from Sweden, from Russia, from the East… also view sex as a business transaction.

  “That’s all I wanted. No complications. No feelings. No histrionics.”

  He sits down on the side of the bed. “I’ve had stalkers, Lilly. More than a handful. That is why I live the way I do. That is why my California estate is so secluded. What young, beautiful, but down-on-her-luck woman wouldn’t want to be with me? What lengths would she not go through to nab the CEO of Stonehart Industries?

  “I know who I am. I know my success makes me a magnet for the worst type of women. In my thirties… I made the mistake of letting one in. She almost ruined me.”

  “What happened?” I ask softly.

  “Nothing relevant for you, my Lilly-flower,” he says gently. Sweetly. “Especially because I vowed never to make a mistake like that again. I vowed, and I stuck to it. But this…” he turns over, and lowers himself beside me, “…us…you… This is no mistake.”

  His fingers brush my arm. I shiver.

  “Stand up,” he whispers.

  I blink. He’s just come closer, and now he wants me to stand?

  But, something inside me propels me to do as he says without protest. I don’t want to break the spell that’s come over him.

  “Stand before me.” He sits up and places his feet on the ground. He tugs me between his legs, and caresses the side of my hips with both hands.

  “You are lovely beyond compare,” he says. “And when I thought I had lost you… when I thought that I might not see you awake again, I promised myself that I would mar your beauty, your innocence, your sweetness no longer. Do you know what I’m talking about, Lilly?”

  “No.” My voice sounds distant and soft, as if it’s not even my own.

  He takes my hands and brings them to his lips. He inhales deeply, then slowly starts to rise.

  At full height, he towers over me. “I’m talking about…” his hands come up behind my neck. He touches the collar. “This.”

  My breath catches.

  He can’t… he can’t be doing… what I think he’s doing.

  Can he?

  “Tilt your chin up,” he whispers.

  I do. He does something with his fingers. A faint click sounds.

  And the collar falls off.

  Stonehart turns and places it on the bed. My hands shake badly as I bring them up to feel my neck. My fingers explore the spot where they expect to find that thin piece of plastic.

  All they discover is my own smooth skin.

  A choked sob rises out of me. Just one. My entire body feels light. Too light. As if it’s not my own any longer. As if I’m… as if I’m…

  As if I’m finally free.

  Tears fill my eyes. My knees buckle.

  Stonehart catches me before I can fall. He picks me up and handles me with the care given to a newborn child.

  He walks with me slung across his arms and sets me on top of the desk. He touches the trail of wetness on my cheek. His thumb continues down my body. He slips off one strap of my top.

  Lightly, his hands brush over my breasts.

  “You,” he says, “are so wonderful. And I promise you Lilly, that I will never mistreat you again.”

  And then we kiss, and I lose myself completely in his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stonehart extends our stay on the island to make up for time lost.

  No. Not Stonehart. Not any longer.

  He’s Jeremy now, both in my thoughts and in my speech. He’s Jeremy, and I feel no qualms calling him that.

  Everything feels wonderful. This really is a paradise, now. I’m free in mind, spirit, and body.

  I soak up the sun and eat every bite of the exotic dishes Manuela prepares. At night, Jeremy and I make love. We drink. Either rum or tequila or wine or whatever other liquor he has in the house. We talk frivolities. We laugh.

  With the collar gone, it’s almost like a weight has been lifted off Jeremy’s shoulders. He is freer in his expressions with me than ever before. I don’t get the sense that he’s holding anything back. He’s just being himself.

  And that is a wondrous, wondrous thing.

  There aren’t any more confessions or revelations of the sort he gave the night he took the collar off. But I don’t mind. There’s an unspoken innocence to our interactions now.

  One night, lying on the beach beside a great bonfire, Jeremy makes an unexpected announcement.

  “Tomorrow evening,” he says. “A helicopter will arrive and pick us up to bring us to the main island. There’s a charity function that I’ve been asked to attend. They want me to speak. At first I said no, because I did not want to cut into my time with you, but I think, with all that’s happened recently, we can risk a real public outing.”

  My eyebrows go up. “ ‘Risk’ ?”

  He motions lazily with his hand. “You know what I mean. In isolation, like this, we’re fine. But we haven’t yet attended a proper social function. There will be media there, Lilly. They will want pictures. It’s all very glamorous, and I think it’s about time that I am seen with you.

  “Now.” He turns to face me. “The question is: Are you ready to take the next step?”

  “Yes,” I answer resolutely.

  “And…” his fingers touch my collarbone, “…are you able to guarantee your behavior? Or will you need,” he fro
wns, and touches the spot just above the base of my throat, "the proper motivation?”

  I sit up and look him square in the eyes. “Jeremy,” I say. “I promise you, I will not do anything to compromise your position.” I sweep my hair over one shoulder and adopt a haughty air. “I will be the most perfect companion for you tomorrow night.”

  “I hope so,” Jeremy murmurs. “I really, really do.”

  ***

  The next day we’re airlifted from our paradise and brought back to civilization.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen so soon. I’m going to a public gathering, with Jeremy, without the collar.

  How much has the world changed since I’ve last been a part of it? How much of it has remained the same? The months I’ve spent in isolation can either be considered an eternity or a mere blip on the radar.

  My nerves have been acting up all day. Jeremy says he trusts me. He acts like he trusts me. But there are layers and layers and layers to the man.

  I haven’t forgotten my resolve, my purpose, or my ultimate goal. Those things are always lurking in the back of my mind. Because of them, I have not once been able to achieve the type of carefree enjoyment on the island that Jeremy has.

  They are the reason tonight has to be perfect. I cannot do anything that would betray Jeremy’s trust, or make him suspect my true intentions. Because I know, it will take much longer than a week together for me to position myself in a spot where I can destroy him.

  We land. The waiting limo takes us through busy streets. I miss all of it.

  “Lilly.” Jeremy touches my knee. “Relax. You look exquisite. You’ll do fine. Remember the things we talked about, and there won’t be any problems.”

  I squirm a little in my seat, and tug at the hem of my red silk dress. It doesn’t even cover half my thighs.

  ‘The things we talked about.’ Jeremy’s rules, which he articulated this morning.

  Of course, I knew they were coming. Hearing them spoken aloud, however, reminded me exactly of the position I’m in.

  They were simple, really, and not much of a departure from the ones he had established prior to our dinner in Portland.

  Smile, but do not speak. If addressed, defer to him. Single-word answers are permitted. In conversation (which I should make every effort to avoid), be noncommittal. Never speak of my past, of my relationship with Jeremy, or of how we met. Do not volunteer personal information other than my first name.

  “You’ll be the perfect mystery,” he announced. “Draped in red and black, you will dazzle them with your beauty and silent charm.” Then he came close, and whispered in my ear, “Do not make me regret the choices I’ve made with you, for things that are done…” and he touched my neck, “…may yet be undone.”

  That was the only allusion he made to the collar. Past that, he left me alone to prepare.

  We pull up in front of a lavish hotel. Crowds of people line the entrance. I see flashing lights from the paparazzi. Cameras. Expensive cars and velvet barriers. Stylish men and glamorous women, adorned with jewels of the type I’ve never seen outside of magazine ads.

  I feel suddenly inadequate. I do not belong here. What do I know of celebrity, of the lives of the rich and famous?

  “Ready?” Jeremy asks. He takes my hand. “It’s show time.”

  We step out of the limo into a flurry of flashing lights and a cacophony of noise. I’m immediately thrown off balance by the fervor of it all, the commotion.

  I cling to Jeremy’s hand as my single lifeline. He guides me through the throng.

  I hear his name being called out, again and again and again. He ignores the shouts. I hear questions about me: Who I am? Where did I come from? Jeremy pays them no mind as he leads me inside.

  But mere feet from the door, a young reporter jumps the separating barrier and lands before us. He jabs a microphone into Jeremy’s face like a weapon.

  “Jeremy Stonehart,” he demands. “Your company has faced immense public scrutiny after announcing intentions of an IPO last week. With the date for the public offering less than two months away, and all the recent controversy surrounding your operations in the Middle East, would you agree that it was a mistake to act so early?”

  “No,” Jeremy growls. He tries to step around the reporter, but he just parries with him.

  “Stonehart Industries is a well-known public supporter of UNICEF. Don’t you find such support highly disingenuous, in light of recent reports of your use of child slaves in Chinese mining operations?”

  “That’s false,” Jeremy says. He looks around. “Can someone get this prick out of my face?”

  “An explosion in a Pakistani textile factory recently claimed the lives of six hundred workers. The government claimed it was an accident, but my newspaper has uncovered massive oversights in factory safety conditions. My sources have discovered that this factory is owned by a subsidiary of Stonehart Industries. What compensation do you have planned for the families?”

  “Those are baseless lies,” Jeremy growls.

  Blessedly, we escape inside. Jeremy is clearly agitated by the encounter. But, he covers it up the moment the doors close behind us.

  The lobby is spectacular. All around me are beautiful, sophisticated people. There’s a vibrant energy to the room that comes from the hum of conversation. It’s a stark departure from the commotion outside, but no less exciting.

  Jeremy leads me through, stopping to greet some people, being hailed and stopped by others. In here, he makes time for them all.

  I play my role to perfection. I smile graciously and accept the compliments given me. But as we swim through the crowd, pausing here and there for a few words, I start to understand why Jeremy felt it was safe to bring me.

  It’s because I don’t matter. Nobody in here cares who I am. The men all want to talk to Jeremy. The women couldn’t give two shits about me—except to shoot some envious glares when they think I’m not looking.

  Outside, it was different. The media throng was only there for frivolous details like who arrived with whom and to compete for the most scandalous photographs. Inside, the people are classy, and beyond such interests. To them, I am little more than a wall decoration. A pretty bird to sit on Jeremy’s shoulder and repeat the obligatory thank you’s following the throwaway remarks on my dress, my hair, my youth. They’re all empty words, of course. These people know that I do not matter.

  It’s slightly galling to be the subject of such passive disrespect. But would I want things any different? No. This way, there can be no mistakes. This way, I can further Jeremy’s trust in me, little by little.

  Eventually, we end up in the dining room. There’s a stage set in front with a podium for the speakers. For Jeremy.

  The MC announces the start of dinner.

  “We are honored to have a special guest tonight,” he says into the microphone. “His appearance has already caused quite a stir. I’d like to invite all of you to join me in welcoming to the stage, President, CEO, and founder of Stonehart Industries, Mr. Jeremy Stonehart!”

  Jeremy stands to a massive round of applause. He is a vision in his crisp, black suit, his perfect hair, his skin tanned from our time in the sun. He breathes in the attention given to him like a rock star.

  This is his environment, I find myself thinking. This is where he excels.

  He makes his way to the stage and shakes hands with the MC. He steps before the mic, and the applause continues.

  He taps it twice. “Yes, yes,” he acknowledges. “I know you love me. But please, save the applause for when I do something really special.”

  Laughter. He has made a joke. Jeremy Stonehart, starting his speech with a joke. I never thought I’d see the day.

  From that point on, everything passes in a blur. Jeremy returns to me after he finishes his presentation. I gush at how powerful it was, how moving, at how the audience clung onto his every word.

  He smirks, now full of hubris, and says, “Well, did you expect anyt
hing different?”

  A live auction follows. It provides our entertainment during dinner. The grand item up for bid is a weekend retreat to the Alps, valued at just over $25,000. All proceeds to charity.

  Jeremy bids half a million and wins.

  It’s only after dinner is over, and we are free to mingle, that disaster strikes.

  Jeremy and I are exploring the crowd. He is being congratulated on his speech, on the news of Stonehart Industries going public, on his supreme generosity at the auction. I’m but a shadow on his arm, invisible to all…

  Or so I think.

  Out of nowhere, I hear my name being called out.

  “Lilly! Oh my gosh, Lilly, is that really you?”

  I freeze. Terror fills me. Stonehart is too engaged in his current conversation to have noticed. I start to turn, but before I get even halfway around a pair of long, elegant arms throw themselves around my neck.

  I’m let go. A woman, maybe a decade older than Jeremy, stands beaming before me.

  Her dark skin contrasts with her white dress and makes her shine with radiant beauty. Her hair is different from the last time I saw her. It’s now blonde.

  That doesn’t stop me from recognizing her right away.

  It’s Thalia. Fey’s mom.

  But what is she doing here—

  Of course. Fey has rich parents. It makes sense that they’d have connections required to attend events like this one.

  Yet what are the odds of her running into me here?

  Jeremy, by now, is aware of the disturbance. He turns to Thalia. His eyes flash at me, demanding an explanation.

  I want nothing more than to turn away and pretend I don’t know her. But it’s too late for that now.

  “Lilly, it’s so good to see you!” Thalia exclaims. “I can’t believe I found you here. And you’re with—”

  She looks at Jeremy. Her eyes widen in perceptible shock.

  “Jeremy Stonehart,” he says smoothly, offering her his hand. As she shakes it, her eyes go back to me, full of disbelief.

  “Jeremy Stonehart,” she repeats under her breath. “I saw you on stage. You were spectacular. My husband speaks of your company all the time.”