Uncovering You 6: Deliverance

by Scarlett Edwards

  “Shock you, before the time was up. Electrocute you. Break the rules I set. Because I was afraid of the pull you were exerting on me. I was afraid of becoming victim to an . . . obsession.”

  His lips curl in a crude snarl. “I could not respect myself if I fell victim to that. And so, I had to sever the connection. I tried to break the hold you were exerting on me. I tried to reestablish the boundaries that I had set and maintained for many years.

  “But I was helpless against them. I was helpless against you. Why do you think I forewent the TGB progression, as I set it out, by bringing you to Portland, by bringing you here? It was a way for me to try to make amends. I broke my own rules, once, so why should I leave you as the only one still bound by them? That would not be fair.”

  Distaste fills my mouth. “So then, that’s what all this is?” I sweep my arms around to take in the room. “This is just you evening the score? This is just you trying to relieve your guilty conscience?”

  “Yes. That’s what it was.” Jeremy steps towards me. Finally, mercifully, I don’t back away. I face him head on, channeling all the strength I know I possess. “All the way up to the yacht. Hell, even the wine on the beach, at the start, was me trying to make amends. To quiet the cognitive dissonance in my mind.”

  He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “But all of that changed the day you almost died. The accident . . . caused by me . . . made me realize the truth I’ve been hiding from for so long.”

  “Oh?” I challenge. “And what truth is that?”

  He takes the last step towards me and wraps me in his arms. “That I do love you.”

  Chapter Four

  We’re late for brunch. After all that‘s happened in the preceding hour, I feel understandably flustered.

  It’s not just Jeremy’s declaration that has my mind spinning. It’s the way he went about making it, the ease with which he shifted swiftly between his personas. It’s the knowledge that he’s been harboring these feelings for me and was still capable of doing something like triggering my collar, or shocking Paul, and subsequently reveling in his power over us.

  It’s him giving me the brooch and then wavering and taking it off. It’s the removal of the collar, so much sooner than I could have dreamed of, and the fact that, at some point last night, he considered putting it back.

  Does that means he brought it with him on this trip? Is it still somewhere in his possession? The thought causes an uncomfortable shiver to crawl down my spine.

  I look over my left shoulder at him. He’s driving. I’ve never seen him do that before. The inside of the rented white Bentley is as beautiful as the outside. The cream leather upholstery matches the light wood trim. Jeremy behind the wheel, performing such an ordinary, everyday task, seems . . . vulnerable. It makes him mortal. Something tells me that beneath the persona of the richly, successful business mogul lies a common man.

  Of course, Jeremy Stonehart is anything but common. Still, seeing him drive makes him seem more accessible.

  He notices me looking, then glances over—and winks. I’m so startled by the gesture that I almost jump.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I have absolute faith in you. You’ll be perfect this morning, Lilly, as you always are.” His eyes darken for a split second. “You know the cost of failure.” Then he looks back to the road. “But I have no fear of there being any chance of that, as long as you abide by the rules.”

  The rules. The rules. It’s always the rules with Jeremy. Of course, I know that he has no other choice. He doesn’t have an alternative. In situations that he cannot directly control—like the meeting this morning—his rules ensure that I do not step out of line.

  Again, he told me of them just before we left. And again, he kept them simple and easy to understand. Complexity leads to confusion which increases the chances of non-compliance, as he’d explained to me. And non-compliance leads to . . . well, I don’t want to even think of the things he’s threatened.

  Jeremy told me to approach the meeting as if it were occurring under regular circumstances. There did not have to be anything frightening or unnerving about it. The only thing I had to watch for was what I revealed about the months since I dropped off the face of the earth.

  He had a long story for me—one that he made me repeat six times before we left the hotel. The final time he asked me to do so, I was so frustrated with the process that I screamed it out at him.

  That earned nothing more than chuckle and a steady, “You’re ready.”

  Like he’d told Thalia last night, I was a star at Corfu Consulting. Word of the orbital success of my first, then second, then third advertising campaign, all for ZilTech, reached the ears of the president of the parent company . . . who just happened to be Stonehart. He was present at the launch of ZilTech latest consumer technology product. This happened just weeks before Christmas in time for the holidays. The story checked out because there were pictures of him talking at the event, congratulating the team on a successful launch.

  At the same time, I was trapped on that blasted chair, in the dark.

  Of course, the consultants who assisted with planning the campaign were present at the event as guests. They were not visible in the pictures. The affirmation of their work came not in glamour shots and praise but in the hefty paychecks ZilTech gave out.

  That was where Jeremy and I met. He was interested in congratulating the laborers behind the work. I made an impression on him—as he would tell Fey and her parents. The rest was history.

  Now, how was I to explain the way I fell out of contact with my former friends? That was easy, too: I was too busy. Corfu demanded complete dedication. That meant hundred-ten, hundred-twenty-hour work weeks were the norm. My social life revolved around the firm, around the projects, around the other associates. I simply did not have time for anything else.

  But I was to ask Fey if she’d received my Christmas postcard:

  “What postcard?” I’d asked Jeremy in disbelief.

  “The one I had sent to all your old acquaintances,” he’d told me in reply. “Apologizing for your lack of contact with them in recent months.”

  “You did that?” I said. “And you didn’t think it’s rather suspicious? I’ve never sent out a postcard in my life!”

  “Of course not,” he answered. “But that was when you were still a child. Now, as a newly-minted professional woman, you’ve come to value a postcard’s simple utility. Besides, everybody else in your office sent out one. You did it on their advice.”

  “Fine,” I’d agreed, rubbing my arms. There’d been something particularly disquieting about the thought of Jeremy, or somebody he’d hired, posing as me writing a postcard. Did he have my handwriting, my signature, forged, too?

  More than anything, though, Jeremy’s instructions hinged on me focusing on Fey. After so many months apart, there’d be plenty of things to catch up on. How was senior year going? What did she have lined up post-graduation? That sort of thing.

  There was also a planned escape in case things got out of hand. If Jeremy did not like the direction of the conversation, or he deemed something Fey or I said as bordering on dangerous, he would warn me by touching my knee. I’d have a short grace period to try to return the conversation to safer waters. If I failed, Jeremy would pretend to receive an urgent phone call from one of his business partners requiring him at an impromptu web conference. That would be our exit.

  But that was only for minor things. If there was a greater breach–such as my mentioning or alluding to any part of what had actually been happening to me the last few months-- well, let’s just say that Jeremy had a very thorough contingency plan that he deemed viable to deter any such mishaps. It involved Paul, and his collar, and Jeremy’s ever present link to him.

  Suffice it to say that threat alone was enough to make me step very warily.

  By the time we reach the beachfront café where Jeremy made arrangements to meet, my palms are sweaty. Anxiety pulses through me like a malicious
fever. I’m not the only one to be affected by my performance in front of Fey and her family. My father is, too.

  Of course, I have no intention of betraying Jeremy’s trust. Not this soon. My purpose is clear in my mind. The pronouncement of love, or whatever Jeremy considers to be love, has not swayed me in the least.

  At least, I think it hasn’t. I hope it hasn’t. I know that I need to keep a clear view on my true goals. I can’t forget them. I won’t forget them.

  And yet, I’m still afraid of how things might change when I see Fey.

  Jeremy parks the car and looks at me. “Ready?” he asks.

  I swallow, and put on my bravest face. “Ready,” I confirm.

  He opens the door and steps out, then comes around the front and opens my door. This is the touristy part of the island where all the rich vacationers flock. I’m thankful for that. It means, at the very least, that our expensive car and clothing do not stand out.

  Jeremy offers me his arm. I take it graciously. He lifts me from the seat, and wraps his hand around my lower back.

  In seconds, we’re on the sidewalk, among other people. Actual living, breathing people. The novelty of it must make me tense because Jeremy leans over and whispers in my ear, “Relax, Lilly. You’re doing fine. There won’t be any surprises waiting for you at the end of the day so long as you act in accordance with the rules I’ve laid out.”

  Easy for you to say , I think sourly.

  We pass busy storefronts on our way to the café. I catch a glimpse of myself and Jeremy reflected in a window. I’m astounded by what I see.

  We look … normal. Jeremy Stonehart, in his casual shorts and light pink button down, with those glasses covering his eyes, looks like any other man.

  Any other man in possession of a killer body, a handsome face, and an aura of self-assured confidence, that is.

  And I, walking there beside him, look like any other woman. Any other free woman, out on a stroll in the morning sun with her man.

  Nothing about the image we cast gives even a hint to all the screwed up things that define our lives. Nothing in the reflection shows any sign of a once-abused woman and a vindictive man. Nothing at all hints at the shit floating under the surface.

  Jeremy told me once that appearances must be maintained. Looking at the image other people see, I’d say we’re doing a damn fine job of it.

  We enter the café. There are fewer patrons inside than out. The barista behind the counter greets us and earns a congenial nod from Jeremy. He leads me straight through the rows of tables to the back patio door.

  And there, sitting beneath the shade of an oversized beach umbrella, I find Fey.

  Immediately, and without a warning, an enormous jumble of emotions crash into me. I lose my footing and nearly fall.

  Jeremy tightens his grip around my waist. “Easy now,” he says under his breath.

  Fey hasn’t seen me yet. She’s with her mom. They’re both sitting facing away from us, looking out at the ocean. I don’t see her dad.

  All the memories of everything she and I have ever shared come rushing to the surface: Our first meeting under the willow tree. All those sleepless nights we’d spend studying together. Laughing with her and Sonja over lunch at the latest eccentric antics of our psychology professor.

  I remember the way she looked after me that week I got sick with a throat infection that left me unable to speak. She’d gone to every one of my professors and teaching fellows for me, despite her own busy schedule, to ensure that I didn’t fall behind. When I petitioned the board to add a sixth course to my junior year curriculum, she’d come in with Sonja and vouched for my ability to handle it.

  I remember the Friday parties we’d crashed at the Skulls and Bones and all the other secret societies. I remember the way she helped me ward off aggressive, drunk frat boys and then laughed about it after. I remember . . .

  So much. I remember so much. Above all, I remember how good a friend she’d been to me—both her and Sonja. They were the first girls I felt an actual, real connection to. Ever.

  And now, I am about to send her away after an absence of months and months and months, and somehow expect to remain cold and apathetic and distant?

  “It’s not too late to turn away,” Jeremy says. His voice brings me back to the present moment. “We can still turn around, Lilly, if this is too much for you. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I’ll send Thalia my apologies and explain that I had to—”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. The last thing I want to do is acknowledge, in front of Jeremy, that I am weak. Turning away now would be admitting complete defeat.

  “No, I’m all right. We’re already here. They’re waiting. I’m ready.”

  “Remember what we discussed, then,” he says softly. His hand tightens possessively around my hip. “I won’t tolerate any mishaps.”

  “And I won’t give you any,” I smile. It’s a forced smile. But, somehow, it seems to soothe my nerves.

  “We’ll see,” Jeremy mutters. “Don’t give me reason to punish you, Lilly. Your behavior must be impeccable.”

  “It will be,” I promise. I take a deep breath. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s”.

  He guides me through the patio doors. Thalia, looking around, sees us first. She gives an excited squeal, quickly taps Fey’s arm, and points in our direction.

  Fey leaps up as soon as she sees me. She races toward me and nearly knocks me off my feet as she crushes her body against my. She hugs me fiercely, hugs me tight. Even though I promised myself I’d remain distant, I’m right there hugging her back.

  “Lilly,” she says. Her voice trembles. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve missed you so much!” She steps back and holds me by the shoulders. Even through the enormous, dark sunglasses sitting on her nose, I can see that she has tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve… missed you too,” I hedge, hesitating slightly midway through, extremely aware of Jeremy’s eyes on me and his proximity to us. But what am I supposed to say? No, I haven’t missed my best friend who’s been like a sister to me for more than three years?

  She looks me up and down. “Wow!” she whispers, almost in awe. “Lilly, you look magnificent. Is that Hermes?”

  I pluck at my blouse. “What, this old thing?” I’m sure it is. But, I didn’t even look at the tag when I put it on. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to how expensive it might be. “No way. I got it second-hand from the thrift store.”

  Fey laughs. I feel a smile tugging at my own lips. God! I haven’t heard her laugh in so long. She has a delicate, very pretty laugh that has never failed to warm me.

  Jeremy laughs, too. His laugh is of a different kind, rich and deep and masculine, and perfectly in line with his seductive voice. It’s a laugh that immediately draws attention from any surrounding women. It rumbles through my body with a gyrating force.

  Fey is not immune to it. She looks at him, and has to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. She takes a nearly imperceptible, tiny gasp and runs a hand through her hair.

  I can read her well enough to know that she only does that when she’s feeling flustered in the presence of an extremely attractive man. I’ve seen it happen to her only twice: once, when she, Sonja and I were introduced to Liev Schreiber when he made a surprise visit to his alma mater and dropped into our liberal arts film theory class; and once, when Senator Scott Wolf hosted a ten-person private seminar that Fey and I were lucky enough to get tickets to.

  “You must be Mr. Stonehart,” she says, kind of stumbling over the formal title used in such an informal setting.

  “Jeremy,” he corrects, extending his hand. “Please, call me Jeremy.”

  Fey takes it. Instead of shaking it, however, Jeremy brings it to his lips and brushes a kiss across her knuckles. “You are every bit as lovely as Lilly described.”

  Charming, self-assured bastard, I think with just the barest hint of resentment.

  “Oh, wow,” Fey mutters. I watch as bl
ood rushes to her cheeks. She takes a step back, stumbles over her own feet, and nearly falls.

  At least now I know I’m not the only one who reacts that way to Jeremy Stonehart.

  Fey regains her composure quickly, however. She grabs my hand and pulls me out of Jeremy’s grip, turning me towards the table. There, Thalia is still seated, smiling warmly at me over the rim of a red and orange margarita.

  “I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you again, Lilly,” she says as I sit down. “We’ve been waiting more than an hour for your arrival.”

  “Mother!” Fey admonishes. She turns to face me. “She doesn’t really mean that,” she says. “I would have waited all day if it meant seeing you again. Oh! Sonja’s going to be so jealous!”

  I smile weakly at Fey. She would have waited all day for me? That’s so . . . sweet. And it’s so like her.

  It saddens me that very soon, I’ll have to adopt that cold and distant persona that is so essential.

  Jeremy lowers himself beside me. “Hello, Thalia,” he says. She shifts, in almost a disdainful way, and offers him the briefest of nods. “Jeremy.”

  Shit! I thought it’d be Fey I had to worry about, not her mother! But Thalia seems to have some inherent grudge against Jeremy. I only hope that he won’t overreact and blame it on me. He is not a man used to being addressed that way.

  But thankfully, the dismissive greeting brushes off Jeremy like water off a duck’s back. He just smiles at her, cordially, and picks up the menu. “Have you already eaten?” he asks.

  Thalia huffs. “Waiting so long, of course we’ve eaten!”

  “Then you must have recommendations,” Jeremy says smoothly. I actually find myself feeling quite proud of how well he’s taking Thalia’s attitude. “Neither Lilly nor I have eaten anything since last night. We’re both starving.”

  Jeremy calls the server over, and orders two plates of lunch and an extra round of drinks for everyone

  I look at Fey. “Where’s your dad?” I ask.

  “Oh, Daddy came here with us but was called away before you arrived.” Fey smiles apologetically. “He would have loved to see you, though. And to meet Mr.—um, Jeremy.”