Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (30 page)

“Yes.”

“Then you know how slim I think the chances are of you earning another twenty TGBs before the end of the month. Still, it wouldn’t do to just give up now, would it? I mean,” he smiles cruelly, “—we still have to try.”

Together, we enter the dining room. The clock on the wall shows forty minutes past six. The table is empty.

Stonehart pulls out a chair. “Sit down, Lilly,” he instructs.

I walk around him and lower myself into the seat. Intuition is telling me that something is wrong.

I know how important appearances are to Stonehart. He would never let me sit at the dining table wearing a towel.

“So,” he says, walking around to the other side. He pours himself a glass of scotch from the cupboard before turning around to face me. “You agree that striving to earn as many TGBs as possible would be good standard practice for you, do you not, Lilly?”

I squirm a little under his penetrating gaze. I don’t know where he’s going with this. But it seems like a dangerous topic of conversation.

“Yes,” I answer softly.

“I thought you might,” he nods. He swirls the liquor in his glass. “Now, humor me this, Lilly. Imagine I come home one day to find an infestation of vermin. I did not know it was there before. What do you suppose I do?”

“Vermin?” I ask, not understanding…

“Yes, Lilly,
vermin
,” Stonehart snaps. The glass in his hand hits the table hard as he slams it down. “Vermin in my beautiful, pristine home.”

“I.. I don’t know, Jeremy.” I’ve never seen Stonehart outright angry except the time I threw the wine bottle at him. Right now, I think he is very close.

Why? I didn’t do anything. I can’t think of a single thing—

Unless. He can’t be talking about the
dove
, can he?

No. Of course not. Nobody would call that beautiful bird “vermin”.

“Think, Lilly.
Think
. That fucking Ivy League education must have done you some good. Use it!”

Now he is definitely angry. I’m very glad for the table separating us. Wearing what I am, I feel more exposed than usual.

“You’d—you’d get rid of them,” I say. I can’t stop my voice from shaking. None of this is an act on my part. I am legitimately frightened right now.

Stonehart stops and looks at me. A growing smile forms on his lips.

He’s back in control.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, that’s exactly what I would do, Lilly. Well done. It seems you do possess a semblance of common sense in that pretty head of yours, despite constant evidence to the contrary.”

Evidence to the contrary
? What does he mean by that?

I don’t get a chance to dwell on the question as Stonehart swings his chair around and sits on it sideways, one arm draped over the side.

“Rose?” he sings out. “Oh Rose, won’t you be a dear and come serve Lilly her dinner?”

A moment later, the elderly woman emerges from the kitchen. Stonehart watches her like a hawk.

Immediately, I see that her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying.

Alarm rises up inside of me.
What’s going on?

She has a small silver tray in her hands. In the middle is a single plate, covered by a gleaming, metal lid.

Rose keeps her eyes down as she carries it to the table. When she sets it down in front of me, I notice that her hands are shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers in a single breath. The words are so soft and come so fast that it takes my brain an extra second to work them out. By the time I do, Rose has already turned away.

Apprehension builds inside me as I stare at the covered plate. Stonehart waits until Rose is out of the room, then says, “Open it, Lilly.”

My own hand is shaking when I reach out for the lid. I lift it up, fearing the worst…

And find exactly what I expect.

I lose my grip on the handle. It clatters to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the plate, surrounded by a ring of steaming vegetables, is the distinct, small shape of the dove’s body. Stuffed and fried.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, a taxidermical construction of her head is mounted exactly where it should be.

My insides churn in a mix of revulsion, disgust, and disbelief. Before I can help it, I’m spewing my breakfast up. I turn and heave it all to the floor.

Stonehart watches me with a triumphant expression of satisfaction. I can feel his evil eyes on me as the dry heaves rock my body.

When I’m finally done, with my eyes watering, I turn back to find the dove still there, right in front of me.

I can’t believe he would do this. I can’t believe he would be so
cruel
. This was an animal that I took in and started to care for. And he… he…

He killed it, cooked it, and served it to me.

Stonehart walks slowly around the table. He grimaces when he looks at the vomit on the floor, and makes sure to step wide of it.

“Lucky you weren’t wearing expensive shoes,” he comments.

Those words are almost enough to make me break down and cry.

But I
won’t
. I won’t give him the satisfaction of deriving any more pleasure from this twisted stunt.

I force my back straight. I look up and meet his eyes, blinking through the tears.

“Now what?” I ask. I feel a surge of pride at how steady my voice is.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to have your dinner.” He hooks one finger into my collar and pulls me close to him. “Or maybe you’d prefer that we reactivate
this
?”

“No,” I say firmly. He lets me go. I pick up my knife and fork. I can’t bear to look at the dove’s head staring up at me. Its eyes are
open
, for God’s sake, and it looks like it could still be alive.

Stonehart plucks the head out of the meat. He rolls it between his hands by the wire sticking out from under it.

“Charles assured me that cooking the bird would have killed any diseases it was carrying.” He walks around the table and looks at me. “We don’t have to worry about your health being compromised by this meal.”

I direct the most cloying smile I can muster at him. “That is very considerate of you, Jeremy,” I say.

“Of course.” He sits back down. “We wouldn’t want you to be out of commission and unable to fulfill your obligations to me, would we?”

“No,” I say. I can taste the vomit on my tongue, but I make myself lick my lips anyway as if about to begin a delicious dinner. “Could you ask Charles if he has any water for me? I hate to criticize his cooking, but the meat looks a little dry.”

Something akin to disbelief blossoms on Stonehart’s face. It goes away after a fleeting moment.

“Of course,” he says stiffly. He pushes off and walks to the kitchen.

When I’m alone, I look down at the plate again. I feel so bad for the bird. She would have been alive were it not for me.

And now, I have to
eat
her. I shudder. But I can do it. All I have to do is pretend I’m having a little chicken. A little bit of chicken, that’s all. Nothing scary or wrong about that.

Thank God I didn’t give the dove a name. Then, this would have been so much more painful.

Stonehart returns a moment later with a tall glass of water. I rip my eyes away from the plate and look at him.

He sets the glass down in front of me. He has the dove’s head in his other hand.

He walks around the table, sits down, and leans in to watch me. “Eat,” he commands.

I smile at him. “With pleasure,” I say, and cut into the meat.

I have to treat this like a regular dinner. Now that the shock of it has started to wear off, I am more ready to face it—and face Stonehart—with the strength that I know I have.

He watches me closely, not saying a word, as I bring the first piece of meat to my mouth. I give myself a little pep talk, telling myself that the dove is in a better place, and take the first bite.

The meat is rubbery and tasteless. Even though I asked for the water out of spite, I am glad to have it now. There’s no way I’d be able to swallow without it.

Every piece of meat I force myself to chew is a struggle, but I don’t let Stonehart see it. In fact, when I’m halfway through, I can see him starting to look quite disgruntled.

I’m glad. It means, for the first time, I have given myself an advantage. Stonehart expected this to be torturous for me. By not showing him that reaction, I am frustrating him.

When my plate is finally cleared, Stonehart shoots me a disgusted look. “Have your fucking TGB,” he spits, throwing the dove’s head across the table. It skitters over the dark oak and stops right beside my plate.

Then, he gets up and stalks out of the room.

When I’m alone, I allow myself to think that maybe, just maybe… it’s
score two for Lilly Ryder.

Chapter Eight

I retreat quietly to my room. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I just saw Stonehart throw a tantrum.

The thought excites me. Knowing that I am able to affect him, in whatever small way, fills me with strength.

He was waiting for my reaction. He did not expect me to eat the bird with so little fuss.

I’ll admit, it took a lot out of me to keep the meat down. To continue eating. But I knew Stonehart wanted to see me balk. He wanted to see me uncomfortable and distressed.

He got none of that.

And poor Rose. Stonehart must have punished her, too, by making her carry out his order. She’d definitely been crying.

When we have the house to ourselves next, I will have to talk to her. I don’t want to do it with Stonehart around.

I take a quick shower to wash the chlorine off my skin and dress in comfy sweat pants and a collegiate hoody. I am always amazed by the things I find in my closet.

Next, I lie down in bed and stare out the window. I’ve turned the lights off, so I can look out at the dark ocean with no inside reflections blocking my view.

I feel a pang of sadness, and a twinge of guilt, for the tiny dove. If I hadn’t taken her in, she might still be alive. And it felt good, for however short a time, to be responsible for a living thing other than myself.

Stonehart didn’t like that, of course. Maybe it was because the dove represented something he did not give me himself. He is doing everything he can to make me reliant on him. The bird was something out of his control, and so it threatened him.

What comes next? I don’t know. Despite having full access to the house, I don’t want to be anywhere other than right here. The sunroom feels like it belongs to me. The rest of the house is his. This little nook is
mine
.

I snort a laugh. There’s nothing
little
about it.

I wonder if Rose is still here. A moment later—speak of the devil—I hear footsteps approaching, and twist back to find her bustling in.

“Miss Ryder?” she whispers. “Are you awake?”

“I’m over here, Rose,” I say. “And yeah. I’m still up.”

She gives a great sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.” She comes up to the bed and looks at the side. “May I?”

“Oh, of course,” I say, pulling the sheets aside to make room for her.

She sits down and smooths out her skirt. “I don’t know how to say this,” she begins uncertainly.

“Rose, it’s fine,” I tell her. I reach out and take her hand. The gesture makes her smile sadly. “You couldn’t have done anything. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“That was a horrible, despicable thing he did,” Rose says. I give a little gasp, thinking of the cameras, and Rose says, “Oh, let him hear. I made my opinion known straight away, for all the good it did us.”

“Can I ask you something?” I try cautiously. Rose nods, and I continue in a voice barely above a whisper. “How long have you known Sto—Jeremy?”

“Oh.” She sighs. “
That
is something he probably does not want you to know.” She makes her voice stronger, so that it rings through the room. “But I have no problem answering questions about my life with the
truth
.” She emphasizes the word. “I’ve known Jeremy Stonehart for almost twenty years, Miss Ryder.”

The figure blindsides me. “So that means you’ve seen… you’ve seen him…”

“I’ve seen him rise to the top, yes. I wasn’t being dishonest when I told you that I’ve never seen Mr. Stonehart as content as when you entered his life. But he still had no right to do what he did today. No right at all!”

“Rose, shh,” I hush her. “It’s okay. Really, it’s fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You poor thing,” Rose says. “I saw how gentle you were with the dove. How sweet. I thought it would do you good, having something to care for. But when he came home, he saw the box… and he became so angry…”

Rose breaks off as tiny sobs overtake her. I’ve never seen her this emotional.