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At some point, on his terms, he was going to decide it was done. I’d lose his attention. I wouldn’t exist to him anymore.
“That’s what’s eating at you,” Jay said, eying me in a way that made me feel like I needed to up my weights at the gym. Even though no physical strength would make a difference in me being able to carry his stare.
“Physically eating at you,” he murmured, his eyes running down my body and back up. “Your birthday. The age she had you. The age her symptoms presented themselves.”
I blinked. “How do you know the age my mother was when she had me?” I demanded. Of course, I’d told him about her pregnancy being the catalyst for her symptoms presenting themselves, but I hadn’t told him her age. At least, I didn’t think I had.
“I know everything about you, Stella,” Jay replied.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He raised a brow ever so slightly. “You’re smarter than that. I’ve made no secret of the kind of man I am when I laid out the terms of this arrangement. You know, carnally, how much I need control.”
Another stomach dip. My hands were fists at my sides, and my fingernails dug into my palms as I tried to control my need to pounce on him. As much as I would like to end this conversation, I knew that wouldn’t work.
“You know that I had a full background check done on you. And your parents.”
On some level, I had known that. That he’d checked up on me. On my life. My life, though.
“You checked out my parents?” I repeated.
“I did.”
My blood chilled. “So you’ve known about my mother from the beginning?”
“I have.”
I scowled at him. “So, when I was telling you things about her only the closest people in my life are privy to, and even more than they know, you already knew it all?” I hissed.
Jay knew I was pissed off. I wasn’t hiding it, and he had become somewhat of an expert in my emotions. He continued to watch me with that icy look of his. With that unwavering interest.
“Yes, I knew it all,” he affirmed, not making an effort to apologize or try to calm me down in any way. Jay didn’t do that.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?” I demanded. “Or, I don’t know, stop me halfway through my sob story, saving me from taking a trip to the past and reliving the bruises I sustained on the journey? In addition to that, why in the fuck did you need to know about my parents in the first place?”
Jay drained his glass then put it on the island. “You need to be able to speak of those things, need to get those bruises. It makes you a stronger person,” he said. “Furthermore, I wanted to hear it from you. For me, it was just words on paper. I liked listening to your pain. Witnessing it.”
His gaze pinned me in place, and I felt the need to clutch the counter behind me in order to make sure I stayed grounded.
“And I looked in to your parents because I needed to know where you came from. Needed to know everything about you. It’s standard for me. Knowledge is power. As much of a cliché as it is, it’s a cliché for a reason. And you know how much I value power.”
He let me digest that, as was his way. Jay was comfortable in silence. I got the impression he liked to watch me during those quiet moments. Watch me try to figure out this place I’d found myself, decide whether I could continue to handle this. Handle him. Once again, I felt like he was testing me, pushing me, daring me to run away. He was never going to sugarcoat things, never tell white lies in order to protect my feelings. If I asked something from him, I’d better be prepared for the answer, because if he did gift me with an answer, he was going to give me the brutal truth.
It was jarring, realizing that all the men I’d dated relied on lies. Mostly harmless ones, to keep the peace. No, you don’t look fat. Yes, I really do love Real Housewives. It doesn’t bother me that you hate giving head. Men, as a general rule, did not like confrontation. They would do anything, say anything to avoid it.
Jay was not a man to avoid a fight. Avoid the brutality and ugliness of life. I knew this, even though I had little knowledge of who he was or what he did on a daily basis to afford him the luxurious life he lived.
I didn’t like that he’d looked in to my parents. That he’d dissected my past the way some jaded scientist might examine the entrails of a rat. I hated that I’d opened up to him when he’d already torn my life apart.
