Uncovering You 6: Deliverance (5 page)

“I see . . . a goddess,” he tells me. He does not back away. “I see such strength. Such magnificence. Such pure, innocent, uncorrupted goodness.”

He exhales. His shoulders fall, and he looks down at his hands. He flexes and unflexes them into fists.

“And when I look in the mirror … when I saw myself this morning before I left, do you know what I saw?”

I shake my head. My voice trembles nearly as much as my body quakes. “No.”

He brings his eyes back to mine. When he speaks, I hear something completely uncharacteristic in his voice:

Uncertainty.

“Would you like to?”

I swallow and give him a tiny nod. I want to massage my throat where his fingers doubtlessly left a mark, but I dare not move and draw more attention to myself.

“I see a bad man. An unworthy man. A man who is regarded, by the only woman he’s ever loved, as a
monster
.”

I fall back. My head is spinning from sheer emotion. He… loves me?

I blink away sudden tears. I feel weepy again. But, I do not want him to see me cry.

Jeremy stops by the window. He puts both his hands against the glass, above his head, and leans his forehead into the pane.

Silence stretches.

“Well?” he says, just when I think the tension is going to become unbearable. “Don’t you have something to say to that, Lilly?”

I try to gather my thoughts. To replay the trajectory of our conversation in my mind.

There must have been something I missed. Some nuance I overlooked. A word I misheard. Something… that would explain the true meaning of what Jeremy just told me.

I come up empty. The words came clear. The meaning behind them was clear. It was all clear, dammit. I no idea what to do with it!

“You can’t mean that,” I whisper, and wince. Jeremy’s actions and words might have a double meaning. But, he’s not one to say things he doesn’t mean.

He makes a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. “I do,” he says, still looking away from me. “But enlighten me. Which part gives you incredulity? The part where I am conscious of the things I’ve done and my appearance to you, or…” he looks over his shoulder at me, “… the part where I said that I love you?”

“Both,” I breathe, and sink down to the floor. My knees are unwilling to hold me any longer. “Both parts, Jeremy. You can’t mean what you say.”

“I do.” He looks away again. His shoulders rise and fall in an enormous sigh. “I do, and the worst thing is, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“When did this … revelation . . . occur to you?” I ask softly.

“It’s been there, in the back of my mind, for weeks. That is why I did what I had to, Lilly. When you slipped . . . when you fell . . . I thought that if I punished you there, in that instant, it would stabilize the dynamic between us.”

“What dynamic? You mean the one outlined in the contract?”

“Yes, Lilly,” Jeremy emphasizes. “Yes, that exactly! You must know that is reason I chose you.” He snorts another laugh. “Of course you do. You’re no moron. I’ve insinuated as much to you, in our time together, anyway. The Yale Daily News that I left you. Stonehart Industries’ connection to Corfu Consulting. Hell, even the Barker Prize, Lilly. I orchestrated all that.”

“No,” I say. I shake my head, trying to deny his words. All it does is make my vision spin. “No, you couldn’t have. Not the Barker Prize. Not that.”

He turns to me slowly. Seeing me on the floor, he takes the few cautious but determined strides to close the distance between us. Cautious for my sake, I imagine.

He kneels down before me. His eyes are on my level. He reaches out as if to touch my face. I flinch away, it’s such a small movement I would think it imperceptible. But Jeremy notices. His eyes never miss a thing.

He leaves his hand in the air for a moment, and then drops it down to touch my knee. That’s okay. I’m fine with him holding me there.

“I had to give myself access to you”, he says. “The Barker Prize was one way to do it. It was the best way, for me. Everything that happened after led you right into my snare.”

I blink through the moisture in my eyes and turn my head away. I can’t bear to look at him. Not now.

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice hitches somewhere in the middle of the question. “Do you
enjoy
tormenting me, Jeremy? Does it give you some sick sense of pleasure to render all my accomplishments worthless?”

I’ve never told anybody this. The Barker Prize was actually something that I was extremely proud of. In the grand scheme of things, it was second only to my acceptance to Yale.

More than anything, that prize showed that I was worthy to be in Yale. I’m only human, after all. After seeing the brilliance of my classmates, especially my freshman year, doubts began to creep in about whether I belonged there at all. Doubt about whether someone in admissions could have made a mistake.

Those unsettling thoughts were part of the reason I was determined to work so hard. The overwhelming part was not to end up like my mother. Realistically, anybody who completed the four full years and graduated with a Yale diploma would have everything she needs to avoid that sort of life. I knew that. But the nagging feeling of unworthiness, the small shadow of self-doubt was what really drove me to commit so much to my academics.

Winning the Barker Prize was the second vindication of my capacities. It proved to me, in no uncertain terms, that I really was one of best. At least, when considered in the narrowly-defined lens of academics.

So yes, no matter where it led me, the prize was something I had always treasured. I’d considered the possibilities of Stonehart—when he was still Stonehart—manipulating things somehow, but always dismissed it as a foolish conspiracy theory.

But now . . . to hear him tell me, straight-out, that that conspiracy theory was actually the truth . . . it hurts. It hurts more than I would have imagined. It hurts because it strips away that precious sense of autonomy that I always held so dear.

His eyes widen. His hand tightens on my knee. It is a gesture of compassion, but so soon after that same hand was gripped around my throat, the effect is undeniably lessened.

“Not worthless, Lilly. No. Never worthless. You won that prize of your own merits. Don’t doubt that.”

“Didn’t you just imply the opposite?” I ask. I still hadn’t looked at him again. But, I could feel the strength building in my voice. It’s somehow easier to talk about such… pedestrian... subjects—especially compared to the alternative that we were discussing. Especially compared to . . . love.

“There were other companies who wanted you. Recruiting the winner of the Barker Prize is an enormous accomplishment in and of itself. Consulting and Investment Banking firms fight tooth and nail to try to get each year’s winner to select them. You think that the offers you received were the only ones on the table? No. But I pulled enough strings, called in enough favors, to make
mine
—to make Corfu’s—the only real choice for you.”

“How many other offers?” I ask. I look at him. “How much have you hidden from me?”

“There were five others offering comparable terms to what Corfu gave you.”

“Five,” I say. I worked my tongue around my teeth to help to get some moisture back in my mouth. “Five other offers that I never saw. Five other offers that would have led me away from you.”

“Yes,” Jeremy says. He leans forward, coming close enough that I can smell his delectable, primal male scent. I try to ignore it, but it has a natural influence over me. Exactly like his voice. “Yes, Lilly. There were five more offers that I convinced the firms to withdraw. It wasn’t easy. I had to pay a very large sum to get it done, but it was necessary … for me to get to you.”

“How much?” I ask.

This time it’s Jeremy’s turn to look confused. “How much what?”

“How much did you pay to make me yours?” I glare at him, my eyes sharp and hard. “How much am I worth to you, Jeremy? How far were you willing to go?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” he says. “Because whatever I paid pales in comparison to what you are worth to me now. You, Lilly, and nobody else. Only you. And not because of who you are, but because of what you’ve done to me. You’ve changed me. You’ve affected me in a way I was not prepared for. In a way I could not have expected."

“You ask me how much you’re worth? You’re priceless. And the possessions I’ve accumulated in my life, everything I’ve built, any accomplishment I’ve achieved … all of those pale into nothingness when compared to you.” He reaches up, and touches my cheek. His fingers are warm against my skin. “You are my Lilly-Flower. You are worth more than anything in this world to me.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. No matter how much time I spend with this man, I will never get used to the way he interweaves such apparent genuineness with such clashing hostility in the span of a single conversation. I will never be ready for his constant and sudden shifts in mood, no matter how much I might expect them.

“So you chose me,” I say, trying to move the subject away from the topic of feelings. “Why? Why me, Jeremy? What do you want with me?”

“What I wanted in the past, and what I want now, are two very different things,” he says.

“Another non-answer.”

“A deflection. Because I know that the meaning you’re searching for will not be found in the answer to ‘why?’ More important, to me, to you . . .” he tilts my chin up, “… is what comes next.”

He’s softened again. His eyes carry that same inherent intensity, but the tension has oozed out of his shoulders. His body no longer looks like a strung bow. He is no longer the predator ready to pounce.

“And what’s that?” I breathe.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But we will discover it together. I did not plan for this, Lilly. I did not plan to fall in love.”

He says the words with such unabashed honesty that I cannot doubt any longer that they are true. There is not even a sliver of hesitation behind his statement.

Again I stall, racking my brain for the proper response. If he wants to hear me say the words back, he’ll find himself waiting ten times the length of this contract before there’s even the remote possibility of it. How can I love a man who’s done so many horrible things to me? How can I reconcile the awareness of the latent violence that he has hidden deep inside of him with the gentle, more caring Jeremy that I have grown to know?

I cannot. And I cannot lie to him, either. He would see right through it, for one. And we promised each other honesty, for two.

Even if I do not love Jeremy Stonehart, I care for him enough not to deceive with empty words of affection.

Holy shit!
My heart freezes in my chest. For a frightening moment, it becomes difficult to breathe. Did I just admit… did I really just think… that I
care
for Jeremy Stonehart?

I take a deep breath, trying to relieve the tension and renewed anxiety that’s growing within me. It feels like a deeply palpable thing, swinging from Jeremy to me like a pendulum. The gravity and weight of our conversation makes it all the more powerful.

I lower my eyes. For some reason, memories of last night’s sex flash through my mind. Was that the tipping point for him? Was that when the pieces finally clicked in his head?

“You cannot love me,” I say, staring at a spot between us on the floor. “Otherwise, why would you do all those things to me?”

A hiss escapes Jeremy’s lips. He stands up violently and turns away.

I keep my eyes on that one, single spot. All I see of Jeremy are his legs, flashing in front of me. Back and forth he goes, his strides long and angry.

“I cannot love you,” he repeats. “I cannot love you. Is that what you truly think Lilly, or is that some defense mechanism kicking in? I cannot love you. Ha! Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? Who are you to try to deny the truth I’ve shared with you?”

“Jeremy. Please,” I say softly. “Don’t get angry again. You took it the wrong way. That’s not what I meant—“

“No?” his baritone voice smashes through my protest like a battering ram. “I think that’s exactly what you meant, Lilly. And I think that you are scared of the truth. You asked me why it was you at the start? That I can answer. But I still will not. You ask me why it’s
you
, really
you
, who has stolen my heart? That I will never know.”

“I cannot love you,” he rages on. “Do you even know what love is, Lilly-flower? Have you ever been in the clutches of its throes? You’re young, yes. That is only a small part of what draws me to you. You want to know the other parts? I’ll list them. It’s your courage. Your strength. Your resolve and resilience. Your brilliant mind.

“If those are not reasons enough to make you question your only disbelief, consider this: I know everything there is to know about you. I know that your mother’s maiden name is Barrs. I know that she was married once before she had you. Did you know that, Lilly? Did she ever tell you the truth?”

“You’re lying,” I say.

“No. No, my dear. This time, I’m not. The only lie I am guilty of presenting to you is a lie of omission. But I told you what it was earlier. That was the last secret. The final mistruth. It ate at me these past weeks. Now it’s there, out in the open, and you know as much as I do. You know how fucked up I am. You’ve seen it all, Lilly, every side of me. Sides that have long lain hidden, sides I did not know I still possessed. You made me feel worry. True, gut-wrenching worry when you nearly drowned a week ago.

“So yes. I broke my own rules. I broke them
once
, Lilly, and I shocked you even when you were still under the time limit. That is the type of man that I am.
That
is the type of man who loves you.

“Have you ever been loved, Lilly? Truly, deeply, impossibly loved? I know you now have poor relations with your mother. A pity, that. Before you, my mother was the most important woman in my life. That was the only true relationship that I have had with a woman without any underlying, secretive need.