Free Uncovering You 6: Deliverance by Scarlett Edwards Page B

today.”
    “Dammit, Lilly! Don’t go there,” Jeremy warns.
    “Or what? Or you’ll leave me in the dark again? Let’s see how far your sentiment of affection really goes, Jeremy. You say you love me? You say you trust me? I say, ‘Prove it.’” I turn my head and stare out the window. I catch my own reflection in the mirror. I can’t believe how angry I look.
    I’ve never had a temper. I’ve never been overly emotional. I’ve never succumbed to tears on the spot, or exploded after seeing red, or had anything trigger me past the level, collected woman I once was.
    Somewhere along the way, with Jeremy, that’s changed . And I hate how susceptible I’ve become to my emotions. These types of mood swings are starting to mirror Jeremy’s personality shifts. That, in itself, is enough to piss me off. The fact that I am helpless to stop it, that I don’t even know why it’s happening, makes it worse.
    What happened to the college undergrad who prided herself on understanding people? What happened to the girl who knew how to tackle all the bad shit that inherently came with the territory of having an alcoholic mother? What happened to the determined, ambitious, fresh-eyed, young woman ready to tackle the world?
    Jeremy Stonehart happened. That’s what. Around him, I’m unable to control my emotions. I’m unable to control my body. I should feel nothing but repulsion and hatred and disgust for the man. That would make things simple. That would help me act the part I need to take him down.
    But I don’t possess any of that indifference. In fact, even angry as I am right now, I don’t feel any of that rage directed towards him . It is channeled more toward the situation in which I find myself. A situation that I’m helpless to change
    “Lilly …” Jeremy says. His voice has turned soft. Mellow. It kindles unwanted feelings of warmth in my stomach.
    I try to shut them off. But, I can’t. They mix with all the other emotions I’m feeling to create a scrambled cacophony that I’m too weary to dissect.
    “Just drive,” I say. My voice hitches. I do not look at him. “Please, Jeremy. Just get out of here.”
     
    ***
     
    We arrive at the hotel after getting stuck in traffic for nearly an hour. Apparently, a single accident is enough to stall movement on the roads when there isn’t a viable emergency-response system in place. We spend the entire wait in silence.
    If being delayed like this annoys Jeremy, he doesn’t let it show. I guess, technically, he is still on vacation. He has dedicated the time to spend with me.
    For that, I should be thankful. I know who he is. I know how important and busy he is. In spite of all that’s happened, in spite of the circumstances of our lives crashing together, I am aware of how valuable his time is.
    Am I taking it all—the money, the clothes, the lavish hotel suites and private jets and expensive cars—for granted? Would somebody be justified in saying that I’ve been spoiled?
    No. Not if they knew of the circumstances that brought me here.
    Jeremy parks the Bentley underground and escorts me up. We use the normal elevator, just like normal people. In fact, at one point, a couple much like us—an older man with a younger woman—enters the elevator and shares the enclosed space for a few stories. I notice the man shamelessly eyeballing me, his wife or girlfriend in total oblivion. Jeremy sees it, too, and tightens his grip on my waist. Then he steps between us, breaking my line of sight. He doesn’t say anything. But the expression on his face must be enough to scare the man off because he—too casually—hits the button for the next floor and pulls his woman off in advance of their original destination.
    “Escort,” Jeremy says under his breath when the doors close. “And he probably thought you were one, too.”
    You’ve paid $180,000 to fuck me, I think to myself. Clearly, my sour mood has yet to dissipate. Is there really that much of a difference?
    We