Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “I don’t want you there.”

  He releases my wrist. “No. But you need me. We belong, Lisa. Whether you like it or not.”

  Belong. I close my eyes against his words; they hurt and they heal, and they’re everything I’ve ever wanted while at the same time they’re the last thing I want to hear.

  I hold the clean pair of panties out to him. “Because Marcus Bailey always gets what he wants, right?” As he reaches for them, I toss them at his chest and storm out of the room. “Fuck you.”

  “Call me when you’re finished,” he calls after me. “You’re staying at my place tonight.”

  I answer by slamming the front door.

  Twelve

  Lisa

  “Lookin’ hot there, mama,” Sandra says when I get in her car, feeling close to tears while hoping I don’t stink of sex. “I like your hair out.”

  “Thanks.” I tuck it behind my ear while I search through my bag to pull my glasses out. I don’t wear them often but I need a shield between me and the rest of the world tonight. “You look great too. Very hip.”

  “This old thing.” Sandra smiles and flips her shiny blonde hair. “I actually bought it at lunch today.”

  “The colour looks good on you. Brings out your eyes.” She’s wearing a fitted royal blue dress that hugs her curves and shows off her shapely legs. The neckline is a see-through lace that stops just above her breasts.

  “Why thank you,” she says, throwing the car into reverse then backing out of the driveway. “It was actually on sale at Portmans. I wasn’t going to get it, but the price was too good to pass up.”

  I do my best to listen while she rattles on, but as we drive away, I stare longingly at my house. I think my heart is on the floor in there somewhere. Goddamn rock stars.

  “Are you OK?” Sandra asks suddenly, and it takes me a minute to realise she’s talking to me.

  “Yeah. Absolutely fine.” I turn to her and smile.

  “OK. It’s just that your glasses are on upside down and you’re staring out the window like a soldier going off to war.”

  “Oh my god.” I grab my glasses from my face and spin them around. “How the hell did I manage that?”

  She giggles. “You really did have a long week.”

  I sit back in the seat and sigh. “The longest.” And one of the greatest. “I’m just drained. Tell me what’s happening in your world. I want to know if the sexy chef has called you.”

  “He has. But he’s travelling at the moment. He’s great to talk to though.”

  “Still not sure if you’re into him?”

  She shrugs. “I’ll tell you something interesting he told me,” she says, launching into a story about squid and how we shouldn’t be eating them because they’re incredibly intelligent animals.

  I half listen while my mind wanders back to Marcus. It’s always heading for him, but when I can feel him clinging to my body, the pull is too hard to ignore. He loves me. Marcus Bailey loves me. But how is he going to react when he finds out I’m not the regular girl he thinks I am? What happens when he learns my real name and the scandal I ran away from? Will he feel betrayed?

  God. This is too complicated.

  I thought he’d be like all the others. But he’s not. He’s different…

  “Do you think two famous people can have a successful relationship?” I ask when we make it to the city and Sandra finds a vacant parking spot. She’s been chatting constantly the whole ride, and since her job is to interview celebrities, this question doesn’t seem out of the blue.

  “Well, Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell made it.”

  “Out of how many who didn’t? Remember how perfect Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston seemed for each other?” We get out of the car and continue talking as we walk towards the venue.

  “I reckon they should ban celebrities from marrying until they’ve made it ten years as a couple. Then they’re allowed tie the knot. Oh, did you hear our very own Jonathan Masters’ latest engagement is on the rocks again? How many is that now? Two? Three?” Two.

  “I really wouldn’t know,” I say, stomach knotting as I instantly regret my question. Of course celebrity couples never make it. Fame messes people up.

  “He’s a man who should never be allowed to marry. Too busy dipping his pen in other ink pots.”

  “Ink pots?” I laugh as we walk along the crowded street bumping shoulders.

  She smiles. “You like that one? That’s one of my dad’s sayings.”

  “I like the sound of your dad.”

  “Oh, he’s a riot. You’d love him. He could teach these celebrities a thing or two about how to treat a woman.”

  “Set a high standard, huh?”

  “He sure did. If you ever need an example of devotion, it’s my dad. He would break out of Heaven to get back to my mum if he left this world before her.”

  “That sounds kinda beautiful.”

  “What about your folks? Are they still together?”

  “Ah…yes and no. They’re still married but they have a complicated relationship.”

  “Is that why you don’t talk about them much?”

  “Well, my dad disowned me a while back, and my mum, well… it’s also complicated.” I flash her a smile, not sure why I’m bringing this up now. Guilty conscience, perhaps? I’ve been lying to her too.

  “That’s a shame. My mum and dad are two of my favourite people.”

  “I envy you that.”

  She flashes me a smile as she gestures ahead of us to a neon-lit entrance. “Here we are.”

  My eyes go wide. “Mary’s Underground? Didn’t this used to be the Basement?” I can’t be here.

  She beams. “Mary’s rescued and reopened it awhile back. It’s so much cooler now.” She slips her arm in mine, tugging me towards the entry.

  “This isn’t low-key,” I say. “This place is a Sydney icon. Everyone comes here. Hell, my dad even pl—” I stop myself before I go any further. “Came here when he was young.”

  “Well, it’s low key tonight. Belle Adams was the winner of Triple J’s Unearthed competition last year. She’s headlining a few acts who are on the radar in the local scene, nothing huge.”

  “The amount of people streaming in there says it’s big.”

  “Not noisy then.” She laughs, having no clue why I’m so uneasy walking into a music venue like this. I thought she was taking me to a little blues lounge or something. Not Mary’s fucking Underground. Thank god I put my glasses on. Marcus isn’t the only one who can Clark Kent his Superman.

  Sandra approaches the front of the line and gives her name, nominating me as her plus one so we’re allowed inside.

  “Why are we on the door?” I ask, my nerves getting worse by the second.

  “Because I know people. I’m interviewing Belle. So I’ll have to slip away a bit after the show.”

  I stop walking. “This is.” I look around wildly, clocking a sign that says ‘Private Function’. “It’s a work thing?”

  She nods and rubs her fingers together. “Free dinner, baby.”

  “Ah…” Shit. “This is an industry night?”

  She’s still grinning and nodding. “Isn’t it great? No general public to deal with.”

  Oh god, oh god, oh god. I look around the dimly lit room once we’ve made it to our table. I recognise more than a few faces. Fuck.

  “I can’t be here,” I whisper, a little panicked my cover will be blown in a room full of music industry professionals and reporters. I’ll be headline news before morning.

  “Nonsense. No one knows you’re not a reporter. And I’m sure others brought friends as their plus one. Just relax and enjoy a free night out. Here, I’ll order you a wine.” She waves a waiter over who places linen napkins over our laps as I pull my hair forward, keeping my face as hidden as possible. You look different now. No one would recognise you. My mother’s words enter my mind, reminding me that it’s been two years, fifteen kilos and a hair colour change that separates me from these
people. In the world of entertainment, I’m irrelevant. I don’t know what I’m worried about… As long as I keep my head down and don’t make conversation with anyone, I’ll be fine.

  When she finishes ordering, she looks at me and gasps. “Oh my god. I just twigged what’s got you so worried. You’re worried Marcus will be here, aren’t you?” I wasn’t ten seconds ago, but now I am! “Well, even if he is still in the country, I doubt he’d stoop so low. Look, his brother is here. Those two don’t talk.”

  My eyes flick to where she indicates, and I spot Naomi Prendergast and Theo Bailey sitting together looking just as attractive as their photos make them. No. No. Marcus has been wanting to play his song for Theo to help mend their relationship. What if this is where he was going tonight? What if he sees me? What if he can’t control his need to prove I’m his? Fuck. I’ll lose my freedom, my best friend and my lover all in one night. Will Perry even want me after this?

  “I think maybe I’m not feeling so great. I think I should get an Uber or a cab. Or…” My eyes catch someone watching me from across the room and I think I might have a heart attack.

  “Jesus. You do look a little pale.” Sandra turns to see what has me spooked. “How about you see how you feel after the first course? Maybe your blood sugar is a bit funny from the long drive?”

  “Maybe.”

  Looking down, I frown and shake my head a little, trying to signal across the room. I don’t want to be approached. When I glance back up, he lifts his glass and nods, message received. I breathe out slowly, grateful when the waiter brings our wine.

  “Looks like you’ve caught the eye of Kurt Marx,” Sandra says from behind her glass. “He keeps looking over here.”

  “Ah, which one is he?” I ask, deliberately looking elsewhere.

  She grins. “The one you were making eyes at, obviously. He’s cute. My age, I think; twenty-six? Although, I’ve heard he has a thing for older women.” I offer her a ghost of a smile. Of course he does. My little brother was screwing his tutors before he was old enough to drive a car.

  “Is that a compliment or an insult?” I tease.

  “Neither. Just giving you the rundown.”

  “Well, I don’t know who Kurt Marx is,” I lie, taking a large mouthful of wine as my phone buzzes in my bag. When I glance at Kurt, he lifts his phone to show it was him.

  “I, um, need to use the bathroom,” I say, grabbing my bag as I stand with my head bowed.

  “Ah, sure. They’re over there,” she says, pointing them out. I thank her and pull my phone from my bag so I can stay hunched without drawing attention, and so I can read my text.

  K: r u mental?

  Me: I didn’t know we were coming here. Save me.

  K: how?

  Me: run interference? If anyone recognises me tell them they’re wrong…. And above all, don’t approach me.

  “The rest I can do, but it’s too late for that last one.” I stop just outside the toilets, turning towards the sound of my brother’s voice. “I never see you anymore, big sis.” He grins his big white celebrity grin and holds out his arms.

  “That’s because Jimmy is a cunt and I can’t stand him,” I hiss, pushing his arms down and moving us so we’re as far out of sight as possible. “And don’t call me big sis here. Someone might hear.”

  He leans close and speaks near my ear. “Well, I can’t call you Leisel, and I don’t remember your fake name. So I went with what I knew.” His honey eyes, the same as mine, crinkle with a cocky squint and I want to pull his messy blond hair like I used to when he annoyed me as a kid. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “My friend is a reporter—”

  “Jesus.” He laughs. “You’re friends with a reporter?”

  “She doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Well, you did always like living on the edge, L.”

  I fold my arms. “Not always. I was reformed until…well, you know.”

  He grins. “Everyone knows about that. Classic Leisel.”

  “Oh my god. Don’t call me that.”

  “Relax, you lost your heroin-chic looks once you gave up the cigarette and Diet Coke diet. No one’s gonna know it’s you outside the family. Unless they’re obsessed with you or something. Did you know your fans have a find Liesel website and social media? People can post photos of random chicks they think might be you and everyone dissects it. It’s like you’re big foot or Elvis.”

  “That’s insane. Why would anyone even care? I was no Jimmy.”

  “You were better.”

  I fold my arms and look away, not enjoying the reminder of my old career. Do I miss music and performing? Yeah, actually, I do. But the competition, the backstabbing and the false friendships I can do without. No one stood up for me back then. They can all go and eat a dick.

  “How is the family?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “If you’re asking after dear old dad, Jimmy is, as you say it, still a cunt. We’re not allowed to say your name without him ranting about how ungrateful you are.”

  “Well, we can’t all follow in his footsteps forever.”

  “Well, his disappointment in my lack of international success is a common conversation topic. But, you know, I only do it for the pussy.” He grins and tugs on the lapel of his jacket.

  “Ew.”

  He chuckles. “You know that Bailey guy you were asking about a few weeks back?”

  “I do.”

  “Dad tried to get him on the show.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Primarily because I already know.

  “He’s followed his entire career, shoved it in my face because I’m a year older, and with the opportunities I’ve had, I should be bigger than some immigrant kid.”

  “That’s what he called him? He’s so awful,” I say, screwing my face up. As far as I’m concerned, Marcus is far more talented than my father ever was or will be. “How’s mum?”

  “Taking Xanax like Pez. She’s great.”

  “And Phil?” My youngest brother is only nineteen. Out of the three of us, he’s seen the worst of my father. And he wasn’t good to any of us unless it was in front of cameras.

  He shrugs. “I think being on a reality show is getting to him. You should call him. He’s nineteen, but he’s still a kid.”

  I release a breath and nod. “OK. I’ll call him tomorrow. But I should go before someone recognises you then sees the family resemblance.”

  “Behind those stunning wire frames?” he says of my glasses, teasing. “Never.”

  “Stop. I’ll call you too, OK?”

  “OK, big sis,” he whispers, giving me a wink before he squeezes my arm and we part ways, my heart aching more than it was before.

  I miss my family. Not my dad. But my mum and my brothers are the same collateral damage to Jimmy Marx’s fame that I am. The difference between us is I got out. It was the hardest but most necessary decision I’ve ever had to make.

  When I head back to the table, I hug the wall where the room is darkest, pausing to look at a few signed black and white photos of artists that have played the venue over the years. My heart quickens when I spot one of Marcus with his old band, Matiari. Even though it’s dated only a couple of years ago, he seems so much younger than he is now. Endless touring has obviously hardened him.

  “I was so nervous that night,” a female voice says from beside me, pulling me from my thoughts and giving me a whole new reason to have a racing heart.

  “Th-that’s you?” I ask, pointing to where she stands with her violin on her shoulder, the movement of her playing captured in her stance.

  “Yes. I’m Naomi.” She gives me a friendly smile and holds her hand out to shake mine in greeting.

  “Nice to meet you.” I try to smile back, but it doesn’t come out as easily as hers.

  “Ah, the night I told you not to fuck it up or you were out.” Theo Bailey comes up behind Naomi, slipping his arms around her middle and planting a kiss on the side of her face. Oh fuck. I need to call tha
t Uber.

  “Oh shoosh. You wanted me then, don’t even lie about it.” She looks at me, pointing to the drummer in the picture. “That’s my husband-to-be right there. He pretended to hate me in the beginning.” Naomi pulls a face at Theo which only makes her look more adorable. She’s petite and blonde with lovely brown eyes and a tan so golden she looks like she should be running along a beach somewhere. Theo is the exact opposite of Marcus. He’s just as good looking, but where Marcus has light brown hair and eyes, Theo is darker and a little more angular.

  “Are you still playing together?” I ask, acting clueless even though I know everything about them.

  “We are,” Theo says. “We had to reshuffle a little when my brother left the band. But the rest of us are all still together.”

  “Theo fronts now,” Naomi adds with pride.

  “Oh, you’re like Dave Grohl? Came out from behind the drum kit to be the main guy. Cool. What happened to your brother?”

  They exchange confused glances. “He’s Marcus Bailey,” Theo says.

  I give them a blank look. “I’m sorry, my music knowledge begins with the sixties and ends in the nineties. I’m here with a friend.”

  “Oh,” Naomi says, laughing. “Well, that’s really cool. Maybe you’ll discover something new tonight.”

  “Hopefully,” I say. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck with your band.”

  “Yeah,” Theo says with an amused grin as he and Naomi head off arm in arm.

  I breathe a sigh of relief while hating myself for lying yet again, denying Marcus yet again, denying myself yet again.

  I can’t stay here.

  Pulling my phone out again, I type out a text to Sandra and continue along the back wall.

  Me: Sorry to ditch. I’m too sick. Heading home xx

  Just as I hit send, I glance up and find myself face to face with my father. Well, a black and white version of him. He played here back when The Basement first opened in the seventies before I was born—and before Jimmy Marx was a full-blown legend who helped define the term ‘sex, drugs and rock’n’roll’. Now he’s a brain dead reality star and I’m his greatest disappointment, ditching my music career the moment a massive label signed me. All because of a boy…