Uncovering You 5: Confessions (14 page)

The silence that comes next is deafening.

Jeremy’s exclamation came like a thunderclap. It filled the insides of the cabin and shattered the tremulous tendrils of peace.

It’s the first time I’ve heard Stonehart raise his voice like that. It’s the first time I’ve seen him lose control.

He seems just as surprised as I am. He’s breathing hard, clearly amped up. His hair is disarrayed. His nostrils flare with every exhale.

I suddenly feel very small, very vulnerable, and very, very alone.

I start to cry.

I don’t know what brings it out of me. I’ve never been overly emotional before—at least, not outwardly so.

“Shit,” Stonehart says softly. “Shit, Lilly, I’m sorry.”

He starts to move along the seat toward me. “I—”

“Don’t,” I say. I dab at my eyes. “Don’t apologize. I’m fine. I’m okay. Just… don’t come any closer, okay? Not now.”

Stonehart ignores my request. He shifts across to my side. His movements, however, are not predatory. And his eyes are soft.

I look away. I hate for him to see me like this. I’d hate for anyone to see me like this.

Sniffling, I try to stop the stupid little hiccups that make me sound so pathetic. I blink rapidly, trying to erase the tears.

All of a sudden I feel Stonehart’s arm come around me. He pulls me toward him, but does not force it. I resist, at first, but… little by little… he coaxes me closer.

Without really knowing how I got there, I find myself pressed up against his body. It’s hard and firm and—as much as I hate to admit it—comforting.

He lets me cry into him. He does not say a word.

He starts to stroke my hair. I feel his nose and mouth touch down atop my head.

“This is my fault,” he whispers. “I don’t enjoy seeing you like this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just me,” I blubber. “I’m being stupid.” I start to push away. “I’ll get over it. Just give me a second.”

But he refuses to let me go. Instead, he tugs me even closer to him.

The solidity of his body serves, against all reason, as an anxiolytic. I guess some things and some reactions—the nature of being held to be comforted—are so deeply ingrained in us that in certain moments, our bodies are unable to distinguish who it really is doing the comforting.

Stonehart’s deeply male scent fills my airways. I find that comforting, as well. I cry a little more, and then the ebb stops. In place of the tears comes a peculiar kind of peace.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” Stonehart murmurs. His free hand finds mind and he grips it tight. “My father used to yell at my mother, did you know? He did it all the time, even more so after she became deaf. I always blamed him for that. And I promised myself that I would never degrade into the type of man who has to yell at a woman to be heard.

“So I’m sorry, Lilly. Truly, I am. I wouldn’t regularly admit it, but your accusation… hurt.”

“What accusation?” I ask softly.

“That I am having sex with other women behind your back.” He grips my hand tighter. “It only happened once, and it was a mistake. I told you why I did it, but those reasons do not excuse the fault. It was wrong. And I am clean. I value my health very highly. An optimized body is key to a powerful mind.”

“Why couldn’t you just say that at the start?”

“Because.” He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. “Because you should know better. Because, it was a stupid fucking question.”

“Yeah,” I say, pressing my face into his body. I laugh a tiny bit. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

“You know how I detest sloppiness, my Lilly-flower,” he says. “And you know how precious you are to me. I wouldn’t do anything to put your health in harm’s way. Not like that.”

Just in all the other myriad of ways you’ve invented,
a tiny, annoying voice squeaks in the back of my mind.

I shut it up.

The limo comes to a stop. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed that we had left the main road.

“We’re here,” Stonehart says.

I push off him and look out the window. “We’re in a… marina?”

“Come on,” he says. He twines his fingers through mine and helps me up. “Come on, let’s forget about all this. I’ve planned quite a surprise for you, Lilly. I think—I hope—that you’re going to love it.”

We step outside. The sun is close to the horizon, casting the final minutes of the day in a glorious, magnificent red.

Stonehart looks around, orienting himself, and then smiles and points. “There,” he says.

I follow the direction of his finger. He’s pointing at the very end of the pier, where the largest, most ostentatious yacht I’ve ever seen is floating in the water.

It must be forty, fifty feet in length, at least. It’s moored away from all the other boats due to its sheer size. The dying sun reflects off its glossy, pristine hull, all in white.

Stonehart links arms with me and leads me forward. It only takes a few steps before the sun is hidden beyond the massive yacht, making it seem to glow like an incandescent pearl.

“That’s yours?” I ask. Of course, I know by now to expect only the grandest expressions of wealth from Stonehart.

“For the next week, it’s
ours
,” he corrects.

We climb aboard. The limousine driver ferries our luggage after us. I’ve never been on a boat before, much less a yacht, much less one as spectacular as this. Everything is shiny and new. The gold metal of the railing feels cool under my hand.

Stonehart shows me inside. It’s all lacquered wood and whiter leather. The overhead lights, embedded in the ceiling, come on as soon as we enter.

“So?” he asks. “You’re quiet. What do you think?”

“I’ve never been a fan of the open water,” I hedge. Stonehart’s eyes narrow. “But,” I continue, breaking out in a smile, “I think this yacht might be enough to make me change my mind.”

Stonehart laughs. “Come,” he says. “I want to show you the bedroom. I have a feeling we’ll be spending plenty of time in there.”

***

I sleep late the next morning, and wake up alone.

Stonehart wined and dined me last night. The entire time, he was a perfect gentleman. There were no surprises, no unpleasantness. In fact, I can legitimately say that I enjoyed the hours I spent with him last night.

It felt a little like a continuation of the time we had together before his two-week trip. Before my massive blunder. Before the ensuing punishment.

Of course, things can never go back to that. I was naïve back then. I was breaking, though not in the way that was clear to me. It was more subtle, more insidious than that. I was starting to believe, deep down, that maybe Stonehart could change. That maybe his behavior in the past could be forgiven.

I was seduced by the illusion of the man. By the illusion of the life he granted me. A giant mansion, a limitless estate, unlimited wealth… and him. At the heart of it, always him.

But he is not capable of change. A man who built himself up from nothing, who discarded his name before overthrowing his father, to whom vengeance and revenge mean so much…

No, I cannot expect Stonehart to change. Not in the way I thought he might, before.

But that doesn’t matter now. I don’t need him to change. I need him to remain exactly the same. I need to lure him into a false sense of security. And then, at the point he’s most vulnerable… I will strike.

I yawn and stretch. Having sentiments like that doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable in the present moment. It doesn’t even mean that I can’t enjoy moments, like last night, with Stonehart. Yet, seeing Paul… coupled with the revelation that he’s my father… that will anchor me against Stonehart forever.

There’s the collar, too. But as long as I watch my behavior, it’s not going to hurt me.

One final thought occurs to me just as I’m about to get up: Paul might not even
be
my real father.

His story was certainly convincing. But his sanity is questionable. I saw the episode with the tea set. Who’s to tell if the elaborate tale wasn’t something that Stonehart implanted in his head to fuck with me?

But that’s not the important bit. It doesn’t matter if Paul is truly my father of not. He’s a human being who once played a part in my life. And he is being manipulated, just as I am, by Stonehart.

That’s what I will always remember. Seeing Paul thrashing on the floor was worse than when Stonehart showed me tapes of my own few days of captivity. Because it happened to someone else. Because I felt responsible for Stonehart’s actions.

He doesn’t know what the trip to Cedar Woods did to me. It changed things, irrevocably, between us. Whereas before, a tiny, nonsensical, and very emotional part of me might have held out hope that there really could be some sort of acceptable future between myself and Stonehart… one based on a relationship not defined by the contract… that part has been obliterated.

All for the better, for me. And for the worse, for Stonehart. I don’t know what his intentions are or how they might have changed since I first arrived in his home. All I know is that I am more steadfast and resolute than I’ve ever been in my life. Thanks to Cedar Woods.

The only thing that comes close to the sense of purpose I feel now was in high school, when the drive to succeed, to not end up like my mother, propelled me to bury myself in my books and aim for the Ivy League. I made it. The acceptance letter from Yale was the final vindication of all my effort.

That was the greatest achievement of my life. The joy I felt, the satisfaction, it made all the sleepless nights and weekend study sessions spent as a hermit worthwhile.

I know it will be nothing compared to the feeling I get when I bring Stonehart down.

Applying to college was following a defined path. It was identifying a process and exploiting it, like so many others have done before.

There is no process for what I intend to do now. That makes it more exciting. I’m breaking new ground. I’m going head-to-head with a madman… who also happens to be one of the most successful business minds in the country.

It’ll be my wits against his. My cunning against his cunning. My intellect against Stonehart’s intellect.

It’ll be a chance for me to prove, to myself, the type of woman I really am. I thought, some six, seven, eight-odd months ago, that my work with Corfu Consulting was my chance to showcase my abilities to the world.

But that was peanuts compared to this. The stakes are so much higher now. I’ve played the role of prisoner for long enough. Stonehart might think me tamed. Has he lowered his guard yet, as well?

Perhaps. Though, perhaps not. I cannot underestimate him. But what else would have prompted him to take me out of the mansion, to bring me to Portland, then to Florida, and then here?

I refuse to believe that his actions are as clear-cut as he claims. All that bullshit he spewed the night of the Christmas dinner… his nonsensical justification of his actions, the apology he gave me, the ‘reason’ for starting to be enamored with me… I know that’s all a lie.

He showed who he truly is when he introduced me to Paul. He showed me that he can never change. He showed me that I was a fool for believing otherwise.

I smile, and get out of bed. I should thank him for that visit. Because, against his best intentions, and despite my near-hysterical reaction afterward… it was a watershed moment. It will stand out in my mind, as clear and hard as any diamond: The point when everything changed.

After I shower and get dressed, I wander out to the deck of the yacht.

We’re sailing over the water. A sense of alarm rifles through me when I realize that I can’t see any land anywhere.

I hurry to the captain’s quarters, where I discover Stonehart steering. He has a great big grin on his face. He’s wearing white cargo shorts, boat shoes, and a baby-blue, casual t-shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway exposing his chest. I catch a glimpse of his hard body through the V. Memories of last night’s lovemaking come to me unbidden.

“Hello, beautiful.” His smile widens when he sees me. “Enjoy your rest? It’s a glorious morning.”

He’s right about that. The sun is bright. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The air smells fresh and clean.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“What, you couldn’t think we’d stay moored to that dock forever? What’s the point of a yacht if not to explore the open ocean? We’re taking advantage of her power.”

I frown at him, not from any great displeasure, but to show him that his shtick of avoiding answering my questions is growing old.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he tells me, kissing my crown. “For now, why don’t you go lounge on the deck? The weather’s perfect for sunbathing, and I would love to see that flawless body of yours in a tight little bikini.”

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be four
days later.

When the yacht continued sailing, all through that first day, I began to suspect that Florida was never our intended destination. But Stonehart deflected all questions about where we were going no matter how hard I tried to wring out an answer.