Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  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?”

  I choke on the piece of food in my mouth. It’s Christmas?

  I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I cough. I take a sip of water to regain my voice and look at Rose. “You really did that?”

  She makes a shooing motion with one hand. A touch of color enters her cheeks. “It was nothing.”

  “Oh no,” Stonehart says. “It was quite something. Rose stormed into my office, while I was on a conference call, no less, and put her foot down. She said that either she sees you at Christmas dinner, or it’s the last I see of her.”

  He picks up his wine glass, swirls it around, and brings it to his lips. “She is a ruthless negotiator. I didn’t stand a chance.”

  I look from Stonehart to Rose without understanding. What is the basis of their relationship? Stonehart cannot be merely an employer. There has to be something more.

  Charles smiles at our exchange and takes Rose’s hand again. Where does he fit in, for that matter?

  After we have finished the appetizers, Charles gets up and brings out the single largest turkey I’ve ever seen. It’s golden brown outside, with red cranberry stuffing falling out of the inside.

  Charles looks at it with pride as he sets it down. He makes a series of rapid hand motions that Stonehart translates for me.

  “He says that he made it especially for you.”

  I blink, startled. A tiny sliver of hope comes to life inside me.

  Charles made the turkey for me. Rose threatened to resign because of me.

  Maybe things aren’t quite as bleak as they seem.

  ***

  Dinner continues with flowing drinks and delicious turkey. Rose and Stonehart chat like old friends, while Charles signs his comments to both of them. Stonehart has the presence of mind to translate for me.

  Other than that, though, I try to stay unnoticed. I have nothing to say to Stonehart—not in front of company.

  And yet, halfway through dinner, I find myself caught in the currents of conversation. The wine is exerting its effect on me. My reservation is slowly being replaced by a curious excitement that comes from nothing more than being around people again.

  I wonder how or why Stonehart learned sign language. Was it just for Charles’s benefit?

  I decide to ask him.

  He blinks when he hears my question. The joy seeps out of his face.

  “My mother lost her hearing when I was ten,” he says. For half a second, he looks surprised to have told me. Then his eyes darken. He looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time.

  Or—a tingle of fear creeps up my spine—as if just remembering who I really am.

  Rose catches the exchange, and rescues me in time. “So, Lilly,” she asks breezily, “have you given any thought to what you’re going to do on your trip?”

  “Trip?” I ask. “What trip?”

  “Oops.” Rose brings a hand over her mouth. But her eyes are dancing, and she doesn’t sound the least bit guilty.

  Stonehart clears his throat. “The trip,” he emphasizes, “that Lilly was not supposed to know about until tomorrow morning.”

  “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Rose smiles at him, taking a
sip of wine.

  “So it does,” Stonehart agrees. I don’t hear displeasure or annoyance in his voice. Maybe a slight hint of irritation—maybe—but that is probably better attributed to my own nerves after the near-miss.

  “What trip?” I ask again, turning toward Stonehart.

  “It was supposed to be your Christmas surprise,” he says.

  “Oh, don’t pout, Jeremy,” Rose chastises. “It’s not a good look for you.”

  My eyes fly to her, wide in shock. Did she just reprimand Stonehart? Not only that, but she also called him by his first name?

  Unbelievable.

  Stonehart seems just as surprised by what he heard as I am. But he covers it up quickly, and gives a rich laugh.

  “You’re right, Rose,” he says. “As always, you’re right. What I would do without you, I don’t know.”

  She sidles up taller in her chair, proud as a mother hen.

  Stonehart takes my hand. My breath catches in my throat—it’s the first time he’s touched me since saying grace. I guess part of my reaction is the ingrained apprehension that grew from all those nights spent in the dark.

  “Tomorrow,” he says softly, looking me deep in the eyes, “I have a business trip planned to Portland. I will be busy most of the day, but I’ve made arrangements for you to join me. Rose helped me prepare certain activities that she tells me you will find most satisfying.” He glances at her, and she smiles back at him.

  “That is,” he continues after a moment, “if you’re willing to go with me.”

  My mind reels in disbelief and wonder. A trip? Off the estate? To Portland?

  And—most impressive of all—he’s asking me? Not telling, but actually asking?

  What’s the catch? I wonder.

  I lick my lips before answering. Rose is watching me with a hopeful expression on her face. Charles is smiling broadly. And Stonehart?

  Well, Stonehart is looking at me in a way that reminds me of a boy asking a girl out on a date for the first time. Expectation mingles with uncertainty over his features. It’s such a soft, endearing look—and so far away from what I’ve come to expect from him—that it has me saying, before I can think, “Jeremy, of course I’ll go with you. I’d love to.”

  A great smile splits his face. He claps his hands together. The noise startles us back into the present moment.

  “Wonderful,” he says. “Simply wonderful.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Rose, you devil, you knew how nervous I was about asking her, and you forced my hand anyway.”

  Rose gives a slight, self-satisfied smile, half-hidden by her wineglass. “It’s what I do best.”

  Chapter Five

  With the safety afforded by Charles’ and Rose’s company, the rest of the night goes by in a cocktail of joviality and drinking and mirth.

  I don’t remember the last time I felt so carefree. A large part of it is the wine warming my belly.

  After dinner, the four of us move from room to room in the enormous mansion. There’s music playing from hidden speakers in the walls. Stonehart shows me the massive Christmas tree he had erected on the main floor. It reaches all the way to the ceiling and sparkles with hundreds of little lights. I’ve never seen one so large before.

  At some indeterminate point, Rose and Charles sneak off. I only realize they’re gone when it’s just me and Stonehart in the room.

  My gut tightens in immediate apprehension. This is the moment I’ve been dreading all night.

  Stonehart, who was about to sit beside me, senses my stiffness and backs off. He strides to the opposite wall and looks at his reflection in the dark glass.

  “So,” he finally exhales, turning to me, “I trust you had a good time tonight?”

  I nod, maintaining appearances. I need to be polite.

  “I enjoyed myself, too,” he tells me. He seems to be struggling with something. His jaw works as his eyes look me over.

  I sit stiff as a statue.

  “Listen, Lilly, I—” he cuts off, clamps his mouth shut. A moment later, he tries again.

  “I—I don’t want you to despise me. I know it’s a stretch. But I still hold out hope that it’s not too late.”

  Alarm bells go off in my head. My nails dig deep into the armrest.

  He sighs again. “It’s not often I admit that I’m wrong,” he says. “It’s not often that I am wrong. But I’m starting to think that I was, with you.”

  I try to remain passive, but his words spark a sudden attentiveness in me.

  “It’s your strength that astounds me,” he continues when I don’t speak. His back is still toward me, but I can see his expression against the window. It looks pained, conflicted. Torn. “When I first brought you here, not once did I think that you would hold out for so long. I did not intend for you to suffer for so long.”

  He gives a mirthless chuckle and glances back at me. Our eyes meet for a split second. His dart away first.

  “I know you’ve suffered, Lilly. I watched you in that room. I saw you through the cameras. When I presented you with the contract, I thought that you would sign it in a matter of days. 'A week, tops,’ I told myself. ‘There is no way she will hold out for more.’

  “But you surprised both of us. You remained there, firm in your resolve, for six weeks. Six weeks. That’s nearly two months, Lilly. That was… unbelievable.”

  He trails off. I don’t dare move. This is the closest we’ve ever come to discussing my… imprisonment.

  I can’t interrupt. Not now.

  “Your continuous act of defiance made me realize how strong you really were. And then, when you told Rose my name, before I made it known I was holding you here—well, that was also something that left a great impression on me.”

  He turns to a liquor cabinet. He takes a tumbler out and pours himself a splash of scotch. He offers the bottle to me.

  I shake my head, afraid that a single word on my part will break the confession.

  He shrugs, tips the scotch back, and downs it in one swallow. Then he drops in two fresh ice cubes. He pours some more liquor in, this time swirling the glass until the ice clinks against the sides.

  He walks toward me, but does not sit at my side. Instead, he takes the seat across the coffee table

  He drops his head back to look up at the tall ceiling.

  “I knew you would be tough to break,” he continues finally. “That is why I treated you so harshly. The TGBs, my expectations, the rules, the way I presented myself to you—all of it was to teach you that I was in control. I had to make you ready for the things I had planned for you.”

  “What sort of things?” I ask softly, not knowing if I even want to hear the answer.

  “Great things.” He looks at me and smiles. “Great things, Lilly. Opportunities that you cannot even imagine. The Dextran offer was just a start.”

  “You mean—that’s actually real?” I ask. I know I expressed my incredulity before, many times, but Stonehart is in a mood I’ve never seen before. An indulgent mood.

  “Yes,” he says. He stands up. I’ve never seen it this difficult for him to keep still.

  “When you met Esteban—you remember that day, don’t you? I thought we were making progress, you and I. I thought—and forgive me for being so blunt—that there was a trust developing between us. It was what I hoped for.”

  I stare at him struck dumb. He hoped for trust? He wanted trust, when, no matter what happened, my whole life was under his control?

  How much more “trust” does the man need?

  “Much more,” Stonehart says. My hands fly over my mouth when I realize that I had actually spoken that last thought out loud.

  “I wanted the trust that a young woman gives to the love of her life. The trust that husband and wife share after fifty years together. The trust that comforts you and keeps you safe, even when you are in the darkest places of this world.”

  I don’t need to do anything to express my immense disbelief. Stonehart tells me exactly what he thinks wit
h a loud scoff.

  “Of course, I knew that we were not there. I knew that we might never get there. But that did not stop me from holding out hope, Lilly, that one day, we might. I saw that things were changing.

  “And then, a few nights later, you caught me with… Angelica.” He whispers her name. “I became furious. Not at you—at myself. I was livid for being so careless, for being so tactless, for being so fucking weak. I did not need her when I had you.”

  He chuckles again, though this time it sounds forced. “But old habits die hard, I guess. What’s that saying about an old dog? No new tricks? And I’m no stranger to the passage of time.

  “I knew it was you as soon as I heard the noise outside the window. Who else could it be? And when I came to your room and found you tucked in your bed, I knew that you were trying to deceive me. Trying to trick me.”

  A growl comes from his throat. I shift uncomfortably under his suddenly-hard stare. “That did not make me happy. I tried to contain my rage, but I knew that if I pretended not to know what you did, it would make both of us look like fools. Still—still!—I almost walked away. I was halfway out of the room when I noticed your footprints on the floor. At that point, I had no choice but to punish you. I could not ignore them.

  “But you remember what I said next, don’t you? That, from that moment on, every time I see you, I wanted you on your hands and knees? I regretted those words. The next morning, when I left, I spent the whole day wishing I could take them back. That’s why, when I returned, I did not raise qualms about your non-compliance.”

  “You ignored me,” I say.

  “I was trying to save face,” he sighs. “I could not have you see me waver in my demands. That would make me seem weak. And I hate weakness above all.”

  “It would make you seem human,” I whisper.

  He grunts. “Perhaps. But I was not ready to show you that side of me then.” He turns, faces me, and walks straight forward. His eyes bore into me as he advances. I don’t shy away, no matter how much I want to.

  What he does next takes me completely by surprise. He drops to his knees, and picks up my hand. “But I am now,” he whispers.