I guess we all have our self-doubts. Every flaw we see in ourselves, we think is magnified ten-fold to the outside world.
Maybe the opposite is also true. Every doubt I’ve ever had, every single instance of inadequacy that I’ve felt at Yale… all of that was internal. It was what drove me to be better.
I guess that’s what Fey, and Sonja, and everyone else around me saw: A girl who was doing better.
It was all an illusion. My life at Yale wasn’t perfect--even if it was what I thought I wanted. It was only what I thought I wanted because it was the one way I saw of never ending up like my mother.
Did I make things seem… effortless? That’s what Fey implied. It was anything but. All the hours of work, the frantic scheduling, the unending nights spent preparing for exams or tests or writing papers… All of it took its toll on me.
And yet, before Jeremy, before… this… that type of academic life was all I knew.
I was free. But, at the same time, I was not. I was free to do what I wanted. However, all my goals were so narrowly defined that I might as well have been in a prison. Studying at Yale was an illusion, too. It gave me the illusion of choice. The illusion of freedom.
Realistically, what options did I have? The heavy student loans would burden me for years after graduating.
How funny that I always envied Fey. She was always so carefree and happy. I thought she had it made, what with her parents covering the cost of tuition. She had nothing to worry about except doing well in class and graduating with her diploma. Afterwards, she could do anything she wanted. She talked about volunteering with Teach for America. She had no concern for when the bank would demand her next loan payment.
I never had that flexibility. The second I got out, the banks would start calling. I’d be over two hundred thousand dollars in debt: a staggering amount for someone who grew up with a parent making less than a tenth of that each year.
But that was the only “out” I had. It was the only path I saw for myself that would eventually give me the control and the life I wanted.
The life I wanted. Or the life I thought I wanted.
Maybe I was too naïve. Maybe my goals were too narrowly defined. For all of my supposed intellect, I surely acted like a child.
If my number one goal in life was not to end up like my mother, did I really have to do the things I did? Were the sacrifices I made in high school, and college, and all the ones I was planning to make after I graduated, really worth it?
Here’s how I envisioned it once: I’d work hard at Yale. Nose-to-the-grindstone and all that shit. I’d graduate, somewhere near the top of my class—hopefully—which would, in theory, be enough to land me a decent job. I’d be fighting an uphill battle as a woman entering the male-dominated business world. Still, I’d continue working hard, dedicating at least half of every paycheck to the loans. Six, eight, ten years down the road, I’d finally be debt-free, in possession of a Yale diploma, hopefully on the upward career track. Only then would I stop and think about what I really wanted next from life.
Hah! Looking back, I can almost laugh. Thinking about that now, it’s pathetic how pedestrian my life would have been. I’d have turned into a soulless zombie, throwing away my youth in some far-flung attempt to avoid my mother’s fate.
Would any of it have made me happy? I… I don’t think so. I’d be satisfied in the sense that I achieved my goals. But where would all that leave me?
Middle-aged, alone and unloved. That’s where!
I never had the inclination to make time for a man. I saw what all those losers did to my mother… how they took advantage of her big heart, time and time again, until she broke down and became a trampled mess. So my plans never involved one. Marriage, kids, a family life? That was never on the radar.
But, then, Jeremy came along and swept all of my assumptions aside. At first, I hated him for it. I hated him for stealing my autonomy, for taking away my freedom. For taking away my ability to make choices.
That was the crux of it: The war between him and me was all psychological. His claimed possession of my body, the physical abuse… I could—and did—withstand that. It was the mental aspect that made me vengeful.
But… looking at things now… thinking about everything that has happened since, and knowing that it’s all led to this point… maybe I’ve been mistaken. Maybe what Jeremy did—stealing me from my past life—was not an abduction. Perhaps it was a… rescue?
I sigh and lower myself onto a stool. I’m going crazy in this large, soulless house if I’ve started thinking of what Jeremy did to me as a rescue. But recently, he’s exposed a side of himself that was never present when he was fucking me in the dark.
I see him now as a tiny bit more a human. Part of it is thanks to Charles. Part of it is Jeremy’s stupid confession of “love.” It’s worming its way into my mind. I still refuse to acknowledge that the feeling’s genuine, or in any way real. But, I’m powerless to stop its effect on me.
Besides, hasn’t Jeremy shown that he’s changed? Or that he is… changing?
He did not react violently after I told him not to touch me. He exerted his influence to make Rose apologize. Even if the apology was forced and completely meaningless, it’s still something that would never have occurred were it not for him. Rose didn’t do it on her own. I can tell that much.
He took my collar off. Yes, of course, the contract still looms in the background. But, he’s not mentioned of it once. He’s given me access to everything he has: his wealth, his possessions. His heart?
A thud at the window makes me jerk. I look… and my heart drops.
There, lying on the ground, is a tiny, fragile little bird. The glass is smeared where it collided against the pane. The bird isn’t moving. From the angle of its neck, I think it’s already dead.
I swallow and turn away. Memories of the dove come back unbidden.
The dove that Jeremy made me eat.
I shudder and rub my arms. I said before that it was not the physical abuse that got to me. It was the mental assault. Can a man who makes a woman eat an animal she’d adopted as a pet really be capable of love? Can that same man ever be redeemable in that woman’s eyes?
I shake my head. No. No! He cannot.
And I have to stop giving him any sort of credit. So what if he’s acting differently now? He is still the same person who was capable of such things. Just because I know more about him now, just because I’ve experienced a different side of Jeremy Stonehart, does not preclude him from being capable of doing worse things to me in the future.
And then there’s Paul. My father, Paul. I haven’t given him enough thought. He’s still there, trapped in that little room, with a collar around his neck. All because of Jeremy.
No, nothing that Jeremy has done can be forgiven.
I will be doing myself the greatest favor in the world if I keep that firmly in my mind for when he returns tonight.
Chapter Twelve
It’s dark outside when I see the headlights of an approaching vehicle flash through the front windows of the house.
I tense. Jeremy’s home. What’s going to happen now?
I strain my ears, awaiting the familiar sound of the front door opening. I wait for a count of ten. Then twenty. When it doesn’t come at thirty, or forty, or even fifty, curiosity gets the better of me. I get up to investigate what’s taking him so long.
I look through the window. The car is gone. Yet Jeremy is nowhere to be found.
I frown. He didn’t use the front door? Why?
I hold my breath. The silence surrounds me. It’s so bad it’s almost suffocating. It’s nearly as bad as the dark. There is no air-conditioning, no fans running. No regular household noises that would lend life to a place. Just that overwhelming, overpowering silence.
It almost makes me feel like I’m trapped in a horror movie.
Rose? She’s somewhere else. Probably at her house. Charles? He’s doubtless there with her. He’s quiet as a mouse, usually
, anyway. Even if he were around, I wouldn’t know it.
But where is Jeremy, and what is taking him so long?
All of a sudden, music explodes all around me. It makes me jump, heart racing.
It sounds like a waltz.
I spin on my heels. “Hello? Jeremy? Is that you?” The music is so loud that it completely drains my words. “What’s going on? Hello?”
And then I see him. He steps out from behind a faraway corner. How he got there, I’ll never know.
In one hand he has a bouquet of flowers, the sort I’ve never seen before. They look a little like roses except the leaves are a delicate, almost surreal blue. There are smaller buds in there as well, white as snow. Together, they make a beautiful medley that looks extravagant and yet very subtle.
Jeremy’s other hand is empty. He smiles when our eyes meet. That smile makes my heart melt. It’s unrestrained, unforced, and completely genuine. It is reflected in his eyes.
He extends his free hand towards me, and beckons me to him.
I walk across the hall, lost in a trance. The music continues to echo through the mansion. It feels like it’s timed to my steps.
As I approach him, and see Jeremy up close, I am again astounded by how handsome he is. He is a vision in his crisp suede blazer, perfectly lined pants, and a pair of stunning blue cuff links. I realize, on the spot, that those cufflinks are the exact shade of blue of the flowers.
That can’t be a mistake.
“What is all this?” I ask. “Jeremy, I don’t under—”
“Shh!” He silences me by placing one finger on my lips. He tucks his thumb under my chin and gently strokes my jawline.
Then he cranes his head to the side, and looks at me with such unrepressed adoration that my knees actually go weak.
“I’ve missed you, Lilly,” he whispers. As he speaks, the music starts to fade away, almost like a dream. “We ended on a bad note last night. I want to fix things. Here.” He offers me the flowers. “These are for you.”
I take the bouquet. I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. The flowers smell divine.
“They’re wonderful,” I say. “Thank you.”
“They’re nothing,” Jeremy murmurs, “compared to you.”
I perk an eyebrow at him. “Too cheesy?”
“Perhaps,” he says. “But perhaps not. It does not make my words any less true. Tell me, Lilly, do you dance?”
On his words, volume of the music increases. Before I can answer, Jeremy wraps his hand around my back and tugs me into him. The bouquet is crushed between our bodies. I gasp.
He leans down and kisses me. It’s a kiss full of passion and desire. The scent of the flowers mixes with his cologne to create an intoxicating aroma that I lose myself in. I am consumed by the heat of his lips against mine, by the feel of his body tight to me.
And then he lets me go. I’m a little woozy. My grip on the flowers loosens. They fall to the floor.
‘”That…” I clear my throat, at the same time trying to give a little laugh, “…was no dance.”
“No,” he says. “It was a kiss. To prove how much I’ve missed you. This…” He takes my hand and stretches our linked arms to the side, “will be a dance.”
“Jeremy, I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” All of a sudden, I feel inadequate. Here is a perfect specimen of a man, dressed to the nines, smelling like heaven and looking divine. Here is a man whose success is world-renowned.
And then there’s me: Dressed in little more than household rags, and suddenly reliving all the awful memories of high school gym class. I am a complete klutz.
I’ve never danced. I’ll make a fool of myself before Jeremy if I do.
He smiles. “It’s easy,” he says. He repositions his arm on my back and steps away, creating a space between us. “I’ll teach you. All you have to do…” he begins to guide me, “is follow my lead.”
At an up-tempo in the music, we begin. Jeremy surefooted. He seems to flow over the floor, never hesitating, never pausing.
All I can do is try to keep up. But only a few steps in, I discover my fears unfounded. Jeremy guides my body with his hands, his steps, his own positioning. He was right: all I have to do is follow.
We begin with something easy at first. A wide step left, and a swing. A wide step right, and another swing.
It doesn’t take long for me to become more confident. And—shortly after that—to begin really enjoying myself.
I feel a little like Belle from the ballroom scene in Beauty and The Beast. That is what this reminds me of. I don’t know where Jeremy learned to dance. But, I can tell by the ease of his motions that he is no novice. He’s done this before, many times.
It makes me feel somehow… privileged… that he’s sharing it with me.
The music swoops and dips in time to our movements. I lose myself in the song, in the moment, in the spectacular clarity that comes from simply being led by this man.
Our steps become more elaborate. We twirl and Jeremy begins to move faster. The song hits its crescendo. We spin round and round in such smooth, perfect steps that I almost feel like I’ve done this before.
The song ends. The music fades. And we stop, right in the middle of the floor. My heart is racing. All I feel at the moment is joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. Who knew that simply dancing could do that to me?
“You’re a liar,” Jeremy says. “You told me you’ve never danced.” He smiles to show there’s no malice hidden in his words.
“All you,” I say. “That was all you from beginning to end.” I can’t help the enormous grin that’s plastered on my face. “Jeremy, that was so much fun!”
“I hoped you would enjoy it.” He rubs my upper arm. “But, I wasn’t sure.”
“Are you kidding me? I loved it!” I gush. That very human sort of uncertainty that he expressed makes me feel even more unrestrained. “Can we do it again?”
He looks amused. “Lilly,” he tells me, “I would love to do it again.”
He reaches into his pocket to take out his phone. A second later, a different song starts. “This is Lehar by Mantovani,” he says. “A ballroom classic. It’s a powerful song, yet subtle, and perfect for someone like you.”
I almost recoil. “Someone like me? You mean, someone who can’t dance?” I say, my heart sinking.
“No.” An instant frown mars Jeremy’s perfect face. “Don’t ever second-guess yourself, Lilly. Not around me. I forbid it.”
“Then what?” I ask.
He smiles again. “Isn’t it obvious? Someone with delicacy, yet an unwavering spirit. You are… much like the song. You have more than natural, understated beauty. You shine, Lilly, but only in the eyes of the people sophisticated enough to see it. Your talents… your intelligence… your strength… would have been wasted if you found yourself on your own. But with me…” he looks quite serious, now, “… you will become all that you are capable of. And more.”
He steps away. Taking my hand, he drops to one knee. I stare at him, stunned.
“I will not harm you again, Lilly,” he says. My jaw falls a little bit. “That I swear. I will only nurture you, and mold you into the woman you are destined to become.”
Slowly, he reaches into his jacket pocket. I feel like I’m in a dream. Time crawls at a snail’s pace as I await whatever it is he has.
A ring? It can’t be a ring. No! There’s no way. He can’t be proposing. Not now! Not this soon…
Then again, nothing about Jeremy is predictable. Fear slices through the elation that defines this moment. If he pulls out a ring… I don’t know what I’m going to do.
When I see his hand emerge, relief surges through me. He’s holding a small envelope, thin and unsealed. There can be no engagement ring hidden inside.
“This,” Jeremy says, holding the square, folded paper between his thumb and forefinger, and looking at it with regret, “represents everything that you once were to me. It represents everything that you meant a scant half year ago.
Do you know what it is, Lilly?”
I swallow. I have a strong suspicion of what it might be, hearing him say that… but I don’t want to interrupt.
I shake my head slowly.
He gives a thin smile. “I think you do,” he tells me. “It doesn’t matter. I would hesitate, too, were I in your position.”
He lays the envelope on the ground between us. His movements are exaggerated and deliberate. With the classical music still playing in the background, it’s almost like I’m an actor in a foreign ballet.
Still on one knee, he puts his free hand behind him. It re-emerges as a closed fist.
“And this,” Jeremy says, extending that hand toward me and slowly unfurling his fingers, “Represents the start of a new beginning.”
Inside his hand lies a single, wooden match.
My heart starts to beat even faster.
Jeremy lays it on the ground beside the envelope. They make a perfectly-aligned pair. “I should have done this before,” he tells me. “But I’ve been waiting, Lilly. Waiting for the right moment. Tonight…” He looks at me, holding my gaze. “…brings to us, finally, the right moment.”
He picks the envelope up again. He hands it to me. “Open it. Please.”
My fingers tremble as they work under the flap. I peel it back.
Inside sits exactly what I expected. That thin, parchment-like paper with the vile words, THE CONTRACT slashed across the top.
“Take it out,” Jeremy whispers.
I do. I look at my signature at the bottom. It makes me remember the final desperation I felt when I gave in and signed it. But it also makes me remember my strength. I signed the document with a purpose in mind. Even if it meant giving five years of my life away, it also put me in a position to get back at the bastard who subjected me to the worst weeks of my life.
And now, that bastard is kneeling in front of me, repenting the things he’s done.
“Hold it out,” Jeremy says.
I do. I find it pathetic to see how the paper shakes in my unsteady hands.
He picks up the match, strikes it against the heel of his shoe, and brings the flame to one corner of The Contract.
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 55
