Uncovering You 5: Confessions Read Free Page B

word. I think I’ve given up on that possibility, anyway—at least in the short-term. For now, I’m happy enough not to be restricted to that damned chair.
    I walk back to the sunroom, wrapped in a fluffy navy robe. It might be exactly the same as the one I wore most days during my confinement, but it feels different. Instead of the fabric being heavy and constricting, it’s soft and consoling.
    It’s a wonder what a change of perspective can do to your psyche.
    I walk toward the bed. With a hysterical giggle, I launch myself onto the sheets. I roll around for a bit, then stretch wide and yawn deeply.
    I’ve missed this bed. I never thought I would say that, not after those three days spent trapped on it—but three days are nothing compared to the length of time I was stuck in that chair.
    I roll onto my front and prop my chin up. I stare at that chair.
    I hate you , I think. I hate you, you fucking goddamned chair.
    It’s not just the reminder it gives that makes me loathe it. It’s everything else it represents, too. That is the chair on which I fell asleep waiting for Stonehart . That is the chair I left the dove on before Stonehart found her. That is the chair that earned me that painful slap when Stonehart thought I’d asked Rose for it.
    That chair has been nothing but bad news. I want it gone.
    I stand up and push it toward the glass door. I turn the handle and prop the door open with my hip. I pause for a second, just to make sure there’s no warning zap beneath my ear. When none comes, I haul the chair outside.
    I stand back and admire my work. It’s out of the sunroom.
    But if I just leave it here, it’ll never be out of my mind. I need to get it out my sight.
    Tugging the sash of my robe to make sure it doesn’t come undone, I set about pulling the heavy chair out of the way.
    The feet make horrible scraping sounds against the cement, enough to wake the dead. I grit my teeth and endure it.
    As I’m struggling with the chair, heaving and grunting while pulling it with no regard to where I’m going, I collide with somebody I did not even know was there.
    I spin back, startled—and my heart sinks when I find Stonehart looking at me, his lips pursed in amusement.
    “Jeremy,” I say, flustered. I am suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look. And of how easily finding me like this might set him off. “I didn’t expect you.”
    “No,” he says, his voice light and his eyes glittering with mirth, “clearly, you did not.” He looks over my shoulder, at the chair. “What are you doing?”
    I strain my ears to find a trace of malice in his voice, but there is none. I think I’ve become so accustomed to him being displeased with every little thing I do that it’s a shock when he’s not.
    “Um,” I blow out my cheeks and brush a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. I glance down at the stain on the seat and blanch despite myself. “I wanted to, er, clean it. Outside,” I lie.
    Stonehart laughs. “By yourself?” he asks. “You know, we have hired help for that.”
    “I didn’t want to trouble Rose,” I mumble.
    “Not her.” He clicks his tongue. “The woman would kill me if I suggested anything of the sort.”
    “She would… what ?” I say, thrown off guard by the comment.
    “It means, she wouldn’t do it,” he confides. “She would tell me off for even suggesting it. Have you seen her angry?” He mock-shudders. “I couldn’t imagine a more formidable foe.”
    I stare at him. Here he is, talking to me as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened. Talking to me like I am… a regular human being.
    I will never be able to understand what makes the man tick.
    “I noticed your struggle from upstairs.” He motions to his bedroom windows overlooking the backyard. “I thought I would come down and offer my help.”
    “You? Help me ?” I ask, somewhat aghast.
    He laughs again. “It’s an attempt at chivalry, Lilly.”
    I narrow my eyes in suspicion.
    “So, what do you say?”