Uncovering You 5: Confessions (3 page)

I wait for the oncoming explosion… and am caught by surprise when the only reaction that Stonehart gives is a widening of his smile. “I knew you had some spirit left,” he says, sounding pleased—pleased!—by the revelation.

He stands. “The collar is deactivated once more, Lilly-flower. Your freedoms have been reinstated. You are welcome to come and go as you please. And I, for my part, will do my best not to provoke reactions in you that will warrant future punishment.” He pauses. “I like seeing you happy and free.”

Then he turns back. “It’s a quarter to two,” he says. “Today is a rare day off work for me, but I won’t be calling upon you until six. Rose, you, and I are going to enjoy a wonderful dinner prepared by Charles. Rose is dying to see you. The only request I make is that you dress appropriately for the occasion.”

He stoops low and picks up my chamber pot. His nose wrinkles in disgust. “I’ll get rid of this awful thing for you.”

***

I wait until Stonehart is really gone before cautiously placing a foot on the cold, tile floor.

The AC is off. Thank God. Sunshine from outside is starting to warm up the room.

I push myself from the chair and stand. A brief wave of dizziness comes over me.
Not enough carbs,
I think.

I take a deep breath and wait for it to pass. This is it. I’ve survived the worst that Stonehart could throw at me.

Twice
.

The thought grants me precious little satisfaction. I know the reason is that Stonehart was
right
.

He was right when he said I find myself in such situations only because of my own stupidity. How different would things have been if I hadn’t fallen asleep when Stonehart came back from his trip? Where would I be, right now? What type of progress could I have made with him?

I wander to the huge window and look outside. It’s a dull, grey day. A thick sheet of clouds blocks the sun. The ocean is deceptively peaceful.

It feels like I’m trapped in the eye of a storm.

Just as I’m turning back, I catch my reflection in the glass. I turn and face it.

“You’re a survivor,” I whisper. “You’ve gotten through everything Stonehart has thrown at you, barely the worse for wear.”

That might not be entirely true. But, I need to make myself believe it. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’d risk a real mental breakdown.

When I start the shower, a few minutes later, my hand reaches automatically to turn the heat up as high as it can go.

I stop myself halfway through the motion.

I am not a prisoner in the chair any longer
, I tell myself. I settle on making the water a pleasant, unhurried warmth.

I step out a long time later and leisurely towel myself dry. I walk to the powder room and open the towel to examine my body.

Hmm
. I’m a bit skinnier than I remember. But I haven’t lost my curves. That’s a wonder. I haven’t been eating a lot during my most recent stay in the dark.

I check my hair. It’s gotten longer than I usually like to keep it.

With a start, I remember the cameras watching me from the other side of the mirror. I start to close the towel. But, then I stop, take a deep breath, and force myself to relax.

Like a starlet, I smile wide for the invisible audience, and turn away.

Freedom has rejuvenated me. Sure, I may not be free in the true sense of the word. I think I’ve given up on that possibility, anyway—at least in the short-term. For now, I’m happy enough not to be restricted to that damned chair.

I walk back to the sunroom, wrapped in a fluffy navy robe. It might be exactly the same as the one I wore most days during my confinement, but it
feels
different. Instead of the fabric being heavy and constricting, it’s soft and consoling.

It’s a wonder what a change of perspective can do to your psyche.

I walk toward the bed. With a hysterical giggle, I launch myself onto the sheets. I roll around for a bit, then stretch wide and yawn deeply.

I’ve missed this bed. I never thought I would say that, not after those three days spent trapped on it—but three days are nothing compared to the length of time I was stuck in that chair.

I roll onto my front and prop my chin up. I stare at that chair.

I hate you
, I think.
I hate you, you fucking goddamned chair.

It’s not just the reminder it gives that makes me loathe it. It’s everything else it represents, too. That is the chair on which I fell asleep waiting for Stonehart . That is the chair I left the dove on before Stonehart found her. That is the chair that earned me that painful slap when Stonehart thought I’d asked Rose for it.

That chair has been nothing but bad news. I want it gone.

I stand up and push it toward the glass door. I turn the handle and prop the door open with my hip. I pause for a second, just to make sure there’s no warning zap beneath my ear. When none comes, I haul the chair outside.

I stand back and admire my work. It’s out of the sunroom.

But if I just leave it here, it’ll never be out of my mind. I need to get it out my sight.

Tugging the sash of my robe to make sure it doesn’t come undone, I set about pulling the heavy chair out of the way.

The feet make horrible scraping sounds against the cement, enough to wake the dead. I grit my teeth and endure it.

As I’m struggling with the chair, heaving and grunting while pulling it with no regard to where I’m going, I collide with somebody I did not even know was there.

I spin back, startled—and my heart sinks when I find Stonehart looking at me, his lips pursed in amusement.

“Jeremy,” I say, flustered. I am suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look. And of how easily finding me like this might set him off. “I didn’t expect you.”

“No,” he says, his voice light and his eyes glittering with mirth, “clearly, you did not.” He looks over my shoulder, at the chair. “What are you doing?”

I strain my ears to find a trace of malice in his voice, but there is none. I think I’ve become so accustomed to him being displeased with every little thing I do that it’s a shock when he’s not.

“Um,” I blow out my cheeks and brush a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. I glance down at the stain on the seat and blanch despite myself. “I wanted to, er, clean it. Outside,” I lie.

Stonehart laughs. “By yourself?” he asks. “You know, we have hired help for that.”

“I didn’t want to trouble Rose,” I mumble.

“Not her.” He clicks his tongue. “The woman would kill me if I suggested anything of the sort.”

“She would…
what
?” I say, thrown off guard by the comment.

“It means, she wouldn’t do it,” he confides. “She would tell me off for even suggesting it. Have you seen her angry?” He mock-shudders. “I couldn’t imagine a more formidable foe.”

I stare at him. Here he is, talking to me as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened. Talking to me like I am… a regular human being.

I will never be able to understand what makes the man tick.

“I noticed your struggle from upstairs.” He motions to his bedroom windows overlooking the backyard. “I thought I would come down and offer my help.”

“You? Help
me
?” I ask, somewhat aghast.

He laughs again. “It’s an attempt at chivalry, Lilly.”

I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

“So, what do you say?” he continues. “Would you like my help, or not? Although, looking at the state of the chair, I don’t know how much success you’d meet cleaning it. May I suggest new upholstery, or perhaps a replacement chair?”

His eyes meet mine. Some of that intellect I was so impressed by when I first met him comes through. “I don’t think you’ll be eager to spend any more time on that one,” he says softly.

I nod, a little dazed. “You’re right. Thank you for the offer, Jeremy.”

“Of course.” He takes the chair by the back and lifts it as if it were weightless. Then, he glances at me, and I see an unexpected playfulness hidden in his eyes. “Your robe’s come undone,” he says. His eyes flicker down for a moment. “Your breasts are showing.”

As I follow Stonehart with my arms firmly crossed over my chest, he updates me on the things I missed during my “
absence
”. He terms it as lightly as if it were nothing more than a pleasant trip to the Bahamas.

His takeover of Dextran Technologies went through. He’d axed Esteban and appointed an interim CEO. The official word, he tells me, is that a search is being conducted for a permanent replacement. The way he looks at me when he says that, however, tells me that he does not intend to look far.

He can’t still mean to appoint me?
I wonder.
Why does he want me to think otherwise? The joke’s gone on far too long.

He leaves me alone to change. I spray a touch of perfume around my neck and behind my ears, and then put on a strapless red dress. It’s the one I meant to meet Stonehart in.

When I come out of the sunroom a quarter to six, I find Rose waiting for me in the lobby. She races to me, and, all pretense forgotten, envelopes me in a monstrous hug.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she whispers in my ear as she holds me tight. Her eyes are moist with unshed tears. “I’ve been asking Mr. Stonehart about you day and night. He told me that you were unable to take visitors until further notice. I just
knew
something horrible had happened to you. And all of those damn cameras—”

She cuts off, and a look of shock flies over her face. Then she shakes her head and continues in a steely voice, “All of those
damned cameras
don’t do me one iota of good because I don’t have access to their recording. I had no idea what was happening to you. Oh! But look at you now, so pretty and beautiful. I knew nothing could break your spirit.” She takes my hand and leads me to the dining room.

Stonehart is seated at the table, next to a man I’ve seen before but have not met. He is the one who drove Rose away from the guesthouse.

They both rise when they see me enter. Stonehart smiles and says, “Lilly, this is Charles. He apologizes for not meeting you earlier, but it always takes him time to warm up to strangers.”

Charles bows his head.

“It’s nice to meet you, Charles,” I say, extending my hand.

Something very strange happens. Instead of taking it, Charles looks at Stonehart, almost as if asking for permission. Stonehart gives a slight nod, and then makes a series of motions with his hands.

Sign language
, I think, startled.

A smile erupts on Charles’s face. He makes a few different gestures back, then reaches out and shakes my hand warmly, using both of his.

Then, before I can say another word, he bows his head again and ducks out of the room.

“Charles was always very shy,” Rose says from behind me. I look back at her. “It took me a full two years before he would even glance my way, when we first came under Mr. Stonehart’s employment.”

Stonehart chuckles and pulls out my chair for me. “But he’s the finest chef I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing,” he says.

I sit on the chair in a kind of disbelieving daze. This all feels so very normal. Domestic, even. Nothing at all about Stonehart’s behavior gives any hint of what he’d been subjecting me to for weeks.

Charles brings out the appetizers shortly. Then, he surprises me by sitting down himself, beside Rose. When she takes his hand, a smile blossoms on my lips.

I was right
.

Stonehart clears his throat. We all look at him. “Shall I say grace, then?” he asks.

Rose smiles and holds out her hand. He takes it, and then links his other one with mine. I am too off balance to do anything except reach across the table to hold Charles’ hand.

The whole thing is over before I can blink. After Stonehart gives his little speech, he leans to me and, shielding his mouth with one hand, whispers, “I’m not a religious man.” He tilts his head toward Charles. “But he is, and this was the only way he’d agree to join us for dinner.”

I give a slight nod, still uneasy. I feel tense and anxious about the whole affair. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. It’s all an act.

But, how did Stonehart find such willing performers in Rose and Charles?

“You know, dear,” Rose says as we start to eat, “I’ve been wanting to see you for so long. You really mustn’t take yourself away from us like that again.” She gives Stonehart a brief but pointed look. I’m certain she knows who’s really at fault.

But, why the pretense? Why can’t she come out and say what she really thinks?

Why didn’t she help me?

The only reason I can think of is that Stonehart has something on her. He is a master manipulator. Her unwavering loyalty to him must rely on something I don’t know about.

Stonehart smiles as he brings his wine to his lips. “You have a formidable ally in Rose,” he tells me. “Did you know, she actually threatened to resign if she didn’t see you for Christmas dinner tonight?”