Uncovering You 9: Liberation (5 page)

Then I would have played my part to perfection.

The problem, of course, arose when the act became the truth. It came when Jeremy changed his attitude toward me.

Whatever outcome he expected when he first drugged me in the restaurant, it was not this. His whole life had gone precisely the way he’d planned it before. He thrives on control.

But burning the contract, removing my collar? Those were deviations from the plan. Very real deviations. They not only affected him, and his attitude toward me, but they affected me.

I would have never imagined that things would have transpired the way they did. That puts a damper on things. It changes my perspective just enough to make me reconsider my original stance.

There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to castrate Jeremy and have him kneel before me. That time is past. Now, I can’t envision doing anything, willingly, to harm the man.

Call it a feminine weakness. Call it me succumbing to feelings I should have never had. Call it whatever you want. But don’t dare call me weak.

It’s not weakness that is making me give in. It’s strength—strength, courage, and perspective. I’m not bull-headed enough to throw away everything Jeremy and I have built because of a promise I made myself before I gained a full understanding of events.

It’s almost like the question Jeremy asked me when he heard Fey reveal to me the reason
why
: He asked if knowing it made me hate him.

I said no.

It did not change things between us. I said no because it all happened in the past. I said no, most of all, because I was never there to influence things before.

I am now. Now, Jeremy’s vendetta against me and my family is not an empty rage directed at a faceless entity. When I came into his life as myself—not the idea of Paul’s daughter…When I did that, and he saw me for who I was, his perspective changed.

If a man as uncompromising as Jeremy Stonehart could be persuaded to change, is it such a stretch to think that I could change, too?

After all, my anger and hatred toward him was as uninformed, as flawed, as deaf and blind and dumb as his was toward me. It came before we knew each other. He was Stonehart, the monster in the dark, the sadistic rich mogul who seemingly took me captive and made me his slave just because he could. Just because, as he so aptly put it, he is a man who can, and therefore
does
.

Except that wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t even a glimmer of the truth. It was just one of his masks. At the time, it was a damned good one.

But now that he’s revealed the person he is underneath? My understanding of him has flourished. He is not the single-minded, cold-hearted
bastard I made him out to be. He is not the person he first
showed
himself to be. He is not even the person he thinks he is.

Stonehart was his adopted name. In the same way, it was his adopted persona. And yes, he is the master of flipping a switch and going from one extreme to the other. That is something he taught himself to do.

It is not who he is at the core

So, my understanding of him comes at the least opportune time. At the moment when I can truly strike, at the moment when he’s left his king vulnerable…I find myself looking away.

Looking away, and searching for the man behind the mask. Desperately wanting him to show more of that side of himself to me. Not because I need it for leverage. Not because I’m collecting ammunition for my revenge.

But for a less selfish reason. When he does that, I know we’re connecting. We’re building on what we have, strengthening our base.

In short, we’re treating each other as a man and woman should.

So where does that promise I made to myself so long ago fit in? Does it even have a place anymore? Or do I simply abandon it, much the same way as Jeremy abandoned the TGB’s?

Maybe it’s too soon to make that decision. As the plane starts its descent on the familiar California airfield, I find myself tucking those thoughts away. Revenge hasn’t been abandoned—not completely. But it has been set aside, with the understanding that, if things continue the way they are now, there is nowhere on earth that I would feel…

Happier.

Chapter Five

A surprise greets me when we drive through the gates of Jeremy’s estate and approach the entrance to his home.

There are cars surrounding the entrance. Many cars. The last rays of the sun are just fading over the horizon.

Lights shine through the window. I catch glimpses of people moving about within. Well-dressed men and women, in lavish suits and exquisite dresses.

“Jeremy?” I ask, turning to him and feeling anxiety rise within me. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He smiles. “A surprise party. To celebrate your safe return.”

“This is for me?” I say, feeling a little queasy. It seems wrong, somehow, to have to so many people inside Jeremy’s mansion. It feels like a transgression of the rules binding our lives, “I thought that you don’t entertain?”

“You’re right. In the past, I’ve kept this place to myself,” he tells me. “Partially for privacy, but partially for reasons that are obvious only to you.” He looks at me in a way that solidifies the meaning of his words.

He didn’t entertain here because he didn’t want anybody else to know about the plan intended to keep me captive.

“But the tides are shifting, Lilly. Stonehart Industries is now a public company. I thought it fitting to commemorate the occasion, and your return to the land of the living, with something like this.”

“But I don’t know anyone…”

“Don’t worry.” He touches my knee. “I’m sure you’ll see more than a few familiar faces.”

The minute Jeremy and I walk through the doors, we’re swarmed by an onslaught of people.

It’s disorienting and confusing and loud. It reminds me of our night at the gala, but on a different scale. The gathering here might be smaller—only just. But it feels more significant because of
where
it is happening.

The lobby of Jeremy’s mansion has been transformed into an enormous reception area. Tables are lined with food and appetizers. Three separate mini-bars are erected along the far walls. Waiters and servers and hostesses are everywhere.

Jeremy was right. I do recognize some of these people. They’re all from Stonehart Industries. Even if I don’t know all their names, their faces are familiar.

All my team members are here. Not one comments on my extended absence. All they say is how glad they are to see me again, how they cannot wait for me to return, and to ask if I’ll be coming back this week.

I don’t know what story Jeremy told them. But, I find it almost too easy to slip back into the act that Jeremy taught me. Be gracious but non-committal. Don’t volunteer information. Turn the focus onto them, away from me.

And so, navigating through the sea of strangers and half-acquaintances becomes something I do on autopilot. A waitress hands me a drink. I take it. Jeremy introduces me to some of his colleagues I do not know. I greet them and shake hands.

In short, it’s a party even if I’m not really there. As before—just as at the gala—everybody wants to talk to Jeremy. They don’t spare much more than a courteous glance at me.

I don’t know how much time passes with Jeremy keeping me at his side. My wine glass has been refilled more than a few times. Faces and voices are starting to blur.

“Jeremy, I’m tired,” I say when we find ourselves in a rare moment of isolation in a secluded corner. “I want to go to bed.”

“Already?” he asks. “I thought you would have enjoyed this.”

I shrug. “It’s not exactly my scene.”

Jeremy gives a secretive smile. “To tell the truth, it’s not mine either. I’d much rather be alone…with you…” His hand caresses the side of my stomach. “…in our bedroom, upstairs…”

“So end this,” I suggest. “Wind the party down. Tell everyone to go home. You’re the host.”

“As the host,” he says forlornly, “I still have certain duties to perform. But why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll see if I can’t get there soon.”

I hesitate. I haven’t left his side all evening. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“Definitely,” he says, kissing my lips. “I can manage. And if you’re tired, I don’t mean to keep you here…” He lowers his voice and looks at me with unspoken conviction. “…against your wishes.”

My head is spinning from too much drink to heed the danger of those words.

“Goodnight, then,” I say, “until I see you again.”

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,” Jeremy promises.

I break away from him and drift through the crowd. I hear murmurs that dampen when I come close. Whispers and furtive words. Are they talking about me?

Stop this
, I tell myself firmly.
You’re becoming as paranoid as Paul
.

And at that moment, like an apparition rising from the crypt, I see him before me.

Except, he’s not alone. My mother is there beside him. They are talking, speaking,
laughing
…as if nothing at all is wrong.

I blink, and the illusion shatters. Paul is not here. The man I’d mistaken for him is speaking to his wife. Pretty couple…

Jesus Lilly. Get a grip
! I chide myself, bringing a hand to my head.
Why would Jeremy bring
Paul
here
?

Noises and voices around me assault my senses. It’s suddenly too much. There are too many people, too many sounds, too much commotion. I made a grave mistake leaving Jeremy’ side. He was my anchor. Without him, I am lost.

I look back over my shoulder. But the spot where I’d left him is empty. He is gone.

Again, I’m surrounded by all the voices. All the people. Someone is trying to make conversation with me. I’m dimly aware of that. I mumble something back, some excuse that hardly sounds plausible even to my own ears. And then I flee.

I flee to escape all the voices. I flee to escape all the noise. I flee because being around so many people, in a place where I had been alone for so long, in a place where I’d glimpsed the darkest corners of my soul, feels worse than the gravest sin.

It feels like sacrilege.

I run through the halls, away from the sounds, away from the laughter, away from the mirth. Shapes and figures seem to rise out of the walls and leap at me. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

I’m frantic. I’m dizzy. I’m scared. This reaction—my reaction—is not normal. Far from it. I don’t know what’s going on, if it’s the alcohol or the brain damage or the utter unpredictability of my environment that has me raving internally like a lunatic.

“Lilly?”

A voice in the distance. A voice in the darkness. A voice that comes and pulls me up out of my blackened orb of despair.

I stop, turn around. I hear the voice again, though I cannot focus on its source.

“Lilly, are you okay?

Footsteps. Coming toward me. My eyes can see. I’m not blind. But my brain refuses to attach meaning to the imagery. But hear? I can hear. I can hear just fine.

I cling to that capacity like a drowning woman to a floating device.

“Lilly. Jesus! What’s going on? Help! Somebody get help!”

I’m horizontal. Lying on something hard. Did I fall?

“Lilly, you must hold on. Hold on. It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Help! Goddammit! Somebody help me!”

Hands. Hands on me. Hands touching me. Hands holding my arms.

“Help! Help!”

The cries are becoming frenetic.

Why? There’s nothing wrong.

I feel a tranquil peace slide over me. Those hands…they’ll keep me safe. Won’t they?

More footsteps. Rushing close. I can feel their thud on the ground. I am on the floor.

How did I get here?

“…I don’t know. I just found her like this. All on her own, yes…”

It’s that first voice again. The panic has subdued but not cast away. There’s a familiarity to that voice. Something that tells me I should know it.

And then, from out of the mist, my vision clears, and I see the scene clearly before me.

Tracy, my blonde-haired neighbor. Tracy is leaning over me. There, a man by her side. Somebody I don’t recognize. She’s holding both my arms, and looks to be close to panic.

I frown. “I’m okay.” I mouth the words. There is no voice attached. “I’m okay,” I try again. This time, it’s precious more than a whisper. “I’m okay,” I say once more. Finally, the words leave my lips as I intend them to.

Tracy blinks, and looks down at me. I push myself up. I am half-seated on the floor, with my legs tucked under me.

“What happened?” I ask. I get the uncanny sensation that either hours have passed—or no time at all.

There are people running down the hall. I see them all. I don’t want
them
to see me like this. “Help me up,” I mutter.

Tracy moves to obey in an instant. She slides an arm under my shoulder. Together, we rise.

“Jeremy,” I hear someone saying. “We have to get Jeremy!”

“No, no. I’m all right,” I say. “I slipped. That’s all.”

Tracy looks at me in disbelief. Then I catch a change in her eyes.
Understanding
.

“I’ve got her,” she says. “I saw what happened. She really did just fall.”

“We heard you calling for help,” a man counters.

“I panicked. Overreacted.” She forces a laugh. “I thought she might have hit her head and passed out.”

I feel a multitude of eyes on me. I feel them watching, waiting. Judging.

“It’s these damned heels,” I mumble. “Men have really got to stop insisting that we wear them.”

The tension breaks. A few people laugh. Others turn away, realizing this really was nothing more than a false alarm.

But Tracy, holding me tight, whispers, “You’re not getting away from so easily.”

***

She and I find a quiet room in which to discuss what happened.

“I saw you leaving before I got a chance to say hello,” she tells me. “So I went after you. I heard you talking to someone. I thought there was a man around the corner. But, when I got closer, you were alone.”