Beautiful Burn

by Jamie McGuire

  I curled into the fetal position, shedding tears no one would see. Crying, not because I was ashamed, but because I knew no matter how trashed the house would be, or how horribly I'd disrespected my parents' room, they wouldn't be angry. They would forgive me, and pity me. I would forever be their perfect little girl. The louder I screamed, the tighter they'd mash their hands over their ears.

  Someone knocked on the door, and I called for them to come in. Standing in the threshold was Paige, looking lonely and desperate.

  "Room for one more?" she squeaked.

  I pulled back the blanket and sheets. She smiled and then hurried to lie beside me. I wrapped my arms around her and relaxed as she kissed the inside of my wrist.

  "You're beautiful," she whispered. "What is it like? To live in a house like this? To live this life?"

  I didn't know how to respond, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "Close your eyes."

  Paige reached back, wedging her hand between my wet thighs.

  "I saw him come downstairs," she said.

  "So you decided to come up?"

  "I knew he wouldn't stay."

  "I didn't need him to."

  "I do," she said, "need people to stay. You can pretend I'm him ... if you want."

  "I'll pretend you're you," I said, kissing her temple.

  Paige relaxed in my arms, settling in while the bass throbbed through the floor. After a few minutes, the music abruptly turned off, and I knew Tyler and his friends were ending the party and kicking everyone out.

  Not long after, Paige's breathing evened. I closed my eyes, pulled her closer to me, and sunk into oblivion.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I was just making my way to my father's pristine black Audi when the first van arrived. Men and women filed out, their boots crunching against the snow as they carried buckets, vacuums, and boxes of cleaning supplies into the house. Felix, my father's assistant, had already expedited the new sofa.

  My parents wouldn't be in Estes Park from Rome for another week, providing plenty of time to get the house back in order. It wasn't the first time Felix had had to hire crews to clean up after a party, and he was very good at making sure nothing was out of place. Since I was seven, Felix had been the peacekeeper and protector of the family, and doubled as my father's bodyguard when necessary. Sometimes Felix had to protect Daddy from me.

  "Miss Edson," Felix said, nodding as I approached the drive.

  He towered over the Audi, his suit jacket tight around his thick arms. His metal-rimmed glasses were tinted, protecting his eyes from the same sun that reflected off his smooth head. He held a cellphone in his right hand and a clipboard against his chest with his left. No doubt there was a list several pages long of items to be checked off, repairs and orders to be made, all in an effort to provide Daddy with the life he paid Felix to create.

  "Thank you, Felix," I said.

  Once I passed, he swept the driver side door open, allowing me to slide inside. The car was warm, already running, making my fur vest and tall boots feel more like overkill than appropriate winter attire.

  "All set, miss?" Felix asked. I nodded, and he shut the door.

  I gripped the steering wheel and sighed. I hadn't started a car in seven years--since my driving test. I was sitting inside a vehicle I didn't own, in front of a house I didn't own, on land I didn't own ... wearing clothes my parents had bought. They owned me, and I let them because it was convenient. Not that I hadn't tried to buck the system in high school, but arguing meant I wasn't appreciative, whether or not I'd asked for the things I had.

  I grit my teeth and put the car into drive. My bitter inner monologue was constant because I couldn't say aloud what I was really thinking or feeling. Complaining was offensive to my father and everyone else. I had nothing to complain about. I was the girl with everything. The more money and material things my parents threw at me, the bigger the void became. But I couldn't tell them that; I couldn't tell anyone. To have everything and feel nothing was the worst kind of selfishness.

  I pulled into the driveway, motoring slowly for a full mile until I reached the entrance of my parents' chateau. At the press of a button, the copper gate obeyed, swinging toward me, slow and steady. My cell phone buzzed, and a picture of Finley appeared on my screen, her lips pursed in full duck face. She was looking up to fully display her turquoise eyes and thick, authentic mink lash extensions.

  I pressed the phone button on the steering wheel, pulling forward through the open gate. "Hey, Fin."

  Finley's voice surrounded me. "Tired, Elliebee?"

  "A little."

  "Good. I hope you feel like shit, you spoiled bitch. Why didn't you tell me you were having a party last night?"

  "Uh, because you're in Rio?"

  "So?"

  "I didn't figure you'd want to waste your Brazilian wax on a random keg party in the mountains with the locals."

  "Is it cold?"

  "Definitely not bikini weather."

  "Our hot tub has determined that is a lie. Did you get laid?" She had already forgotten about the mild offense and settled into sister mode.

  Finley Edson was the eldest daughter of Edson Tech, and on a direct path to rule with an iron fist that happened to have perfectly manicured nails. We were heiresses, but unlike me, Finley embraced it. Finley was two years older, but she was my best friend, the only one left from our childhood who I could still stomach. The rest had become vapid clones of their mothers.

  "I don't kiss and tell," I said, turning toward downtown.

  "Yes, you do. Was it the local you were telling me about?"

  "Paige? No. She's sweet. Too fucked up for me to use."

  "I'm not sure I believe that person exists."

  "She does, and her name is Paige."

  "You're getting soft in your old age, Ellie. If we were still at Berkeley, you'd have been all over that just to break her heart. So who was it?"

  I cringed at her description, but only because she was right. I'd been the source of pain for most of the people I'd come into contact with, mostly because I didn't care, but a small part of me enjoyed the temporary distraction from my own pain.

  "Do you always have to remind me of my dysfunction?"

  "Yes. Don't change the subject."

  "He's an Interagency Hotshot guy."

  "A firefighter? Ick."

  "No, not ick. He's the elite. They deploy them like soldiers to the frontline."

  "That's kind of hot," she conceded.

  "He was refreshing ... let me wipe him off and send him on his way without blinking an eye. And he was hot. So, so hot. Maybe a ten."

  "A ten? Like a solid ten, or barely a ten?"

  "Mid-ten. He missed the trashcan when he tossed the condom, but he can fight. Like really fight. He beat a guy's ass twice his size in the middle of the gallery last night. He's built like David Beckham. Maybe a little thicker. He's covered in tattoos, and he smells like Marlboro Reds and copper."

  "Copper?"

  "He had the other guy's blood splattered on his clothes."

  "You let them fight in the gallery last night? Was anything broken?"

  "The better question is what didn't get broken."

  "Ellie." Her tone turned serious. "Mother is going to flip."

  "Do not parent me from Brazil. I already have two absentee parents. I don't need you."

  "Fine, it's your funeral. Or rather, your trust fund's funeral. I'm intrigued about the boy. I might get on a plane and cover up my wax and pedi with leggings and boots. Oh." She paused. "Marco? I need flannel shirts!"

  "Don't bring Marco," I warned.

  "He comes with me everywhere. His speaking Portuguese has made the trip here a breeze."

  "He's not coming here. You're different when he's around."

  "What? Like helpless?" Finley was teasing, but we both knew she was whinier and needier when her ladysitter was around. Marco was hired to be more than an assistant. He didn't just carry bags and keep her schedule; he was also her bu
yer, stylist, barista, bartender, nurse, waiter, designer, and constant travel companion.

  "I hate Finley and Marco. I only like Finley."

  "Correction: you love Finley. I'm bringing Marco."

  "Then he can't stay here."

  I could hear her pouting through the speakers. "I'll get him a hotel room. If I need something, I can call."

  "Finley, Jesus Christ." I pulled a stale pack of cigarettes out of my father's console and dug around for a lighter. I flipped up the silver cap and pressed, promptly taking a drag.

  "Where are you going?" she asked, frustrated.

  "Just getting out of the way while the cleaning crew fixes Ground Zero."

  "It's really that bad? And you're lecturing me about Marco?" she asked.

  "Hold on." I focused long enough to parallel park, and then turned off the car, finishing my cigarette.

  "You there?" Finley asked.

  "Yeah," I said, blowing out a puff of smoke. The white cloud slipped out through the top of the window I'd cracked just enough that I could tell my father I'd tried.

  "You've got to stop this shit, Ellie. Everyone has a limit."

  "That's what I'm counting on," I said, taking one last drag before pushing the butt through the window. I stepped out, and then ground the cherry of the cigarette with the heel of my boot.

  I bent over to pick it up and then tossed it into the nearest trashcan.

  "You're lucky," a voice behind me said.

  I turned around to see Tyler leaning against the brick veneer of an automotive parts store with his arms crossed, a US Forestry truck parked not far away.

  "Excuse me?" I asked.

  "If you hadn't picked up that cigarette butt, I might have had to arrest you."

  "Someone should inform you that you're not a cop."

  "I'm friends with a few."

  "How very cool for you."

  "How's the house?"

  "Bashed the fuck in. Good to see you," I said, turning on my heels.

  I heard his footsteps chasing after me. "I was just ... kidding," he said, finally at my side. He held up a black pack of Marlboros.

  "What the hell is that?" I asked.

  "A peace offering?"

  "You're offering me cancer?"

  He chuckled and stuffed the pack into the side pocket of his standard issue blue coat. "Where are you headed?"

  I stopped and turned to him, sighing. "You're a douchebag."

  He blinked once, and then those beautiful creases in his forehead formed, and a smile spread across his face, revealing most of his perfectly white teeth. "What's your point?"

  "My point is you were supposed to fuck me and leave me alone."

  "Okay?"

  He watched me for a while with a disgusted look on his face. His boots were worn but shined, his blue cargo pants pressed but wrinkled from half a day's wear, his shirt faded. Tyler was a hard worker and took pride in his job. He had probably never missed a day of work, but that was where his ability for commitment ended. Tyler Maddox had no doubt broken as many hearts as I had. He was exactly what I deserved, even though I had no intention of going anywhere near him.

  "You're talking to me. You said you wouldn't."

  Tyler shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged, smiling at me like he'd never had a one-night stand. That kind of charm couldn't be learned. "I said I wouldn't call."

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes, looking up at him. Jesus, he was tall. "I have no interest in you."

  His dimple appeared, making my thighs tighten. "It didn't seem that way last night."

  "That was last night. I'm sober now."

  He made a face. "Ouch."

  "Run along," I said.

  He squared his shoulders. "Do I seem like the running type to you?"

  "Only when it comes to women, which is why I fucked you."

  He frowned. "Are you like ... off your meds or something?"

  "Yes. Yes, I am. Emotional trauma, past baggage, you name it. Keep talking to me and I might be your next overly attached girlfriend. Does that sound like a good time to you?"

  "Okay, Ellie," he said, holding up his hands. "I get it. I'll pretend it never happened."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "But it was pretty fucking amazing, and I wouldn't mind a repeat."

  "Can't we just be friends-with-benefits without being friends?"

  He mulled over my words. "You're kind of a mean bitch. It's strangely appealing."

  "Go away."

  "I'm going."

  "Don't come back."

  "It never happened," he said, opening the passenger door to his truck. He was the opposite of offended, which offended me. Most people were more sensitive to my abuse than that.

  Zeke came out, pausing when he saw me. He waved, and then jogged around the front to the driver side. They traded a short conversation, and then Zeke started up the engine.

  "Who's that?"

  I turned to see Sterling standing behind me. He looked like a banking executive, trying his best to emulate his father, the CEO of Aerostraus Corp. He was wearing a dark wool trench coat, a scarf, a three-thousand-dollar watch, and to offset his stuffy look, a blue button-down with no tie--top button undone. He had managed to walk down the snowy sidewalk without getting a single speck of moisture on his Italian boots.

  "Kiss me," I said.

  "Ew," he said, horrified. "No."

  "Kiss me, asshole. Right now. A good one. You owe me."

  Sterling grabbed each side of my face and planted his mouth on mine, slobbering all over me, but making the scene I'd wanted. The truck passed by, and once it sounded far enough away, I pushed Sterling back.

  He wiped his mouth, disgusted. "Why did I have to do that?"

  "To get rid of a guy."

  "Stalker or mooch?" Sterling asked, smoothing his dark hair to the side.

  "Neither. Just making sure."

  "Are we still doing brunch?" he asked. He wiped his mouth again, looking mildly disgusted.

  "Yes," I said, pulling him toward Winona's Cafe.

  We chose a table by the window, and Sterling immediately checked the menu. He ran his fingers over each line, paying attention to every ingredient. He wasn't allergic; he was a snob.

  I rolled my eyes. "Why? We eat here all the time."

  "I haven't been here in three months. They might have something new on the menu."

  "You know they never do."

  "Shut up. I'm reading."

  I smiled, checking my phone while he searched the decade-old menu. Sterling's family had a home down the road from ours, one of many around the country, left empty most of the year. I knew Sterling was my people when I saw him getting drunk, fourteen and alone, next to a tree beside our property line. He was just another trust fund baby--lamenting how hard life was with millions at his disposal but without an attentive family to anchor him to the real world.

  Sterling had invested his entire worth in his father's opinion of his success on any given day, and that made my friend somewhat moody. Sterling's father, Jameson Wellington, changed his mind about his son's significance regularly, depending on the stocks, the attitude of the board of directors, and if his wife was pissing him off that day.

  "How did the party go?" Sterling asked without looking up.

  "Oh. I meant to invite you. It was sort of impromptu."

  "I heard it was a bunch of locals."

  "Who else would I invite?"

  "Me?"

  "Finley isn't home."

  Sterling glanced up at me for just a few seconds, and then returned his gaze to the menu. He wasn't reading it anymore. "Don't tell her about the kiss. I just did it because I owed you one."

  "I won't. She'd hate me because whether she admits it or not ... she loves you."

  "She does?"

  I leaned in, annoyed. "You know she does."

  He seemed to relax.

  "I invite you to parties all the time. I needed to ... I needed something..."

  "Uncom
plicated?"

  I pointed at him. "Exactly."

  "Ellison?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You're a terrible kisser. You're probably doing that guy a favor."

  I glared at him. "Order your eggs-fucking-Benedict and shut your hole. I'm an excellent kisser. That is precisely why I had to scare that guy off with your slobber box."

  "Who are you fooling? You didn't just kiss that guy."

  The waitress approached, wearing an olive and cream striped apron and a smile. "Hi, Ellie."

  "Chelsea, if you had to guess what Sterling was going to order--"

  "Eggs Benedict," Chelsea said without hesitation.

  "Really?" Sterling asked, genuinely forlorn. "Am I that predictable?"

  "Sorry," Chelsea said, sheepish.

  I sat back, handing Chelsea my menu. "I'm not judging you. Those are some damn good eggs."

  "Same?" she asked.

  "No, I'll have the Southwest omelet and some OJ. Do you have vodka? A screwdriver sounds great right about now."

  Chelsea wrinkled her nose. "It's ten thirty in the morning."

  I stared at her, expectant.

  "No," Chelsea said. "We don't sell liquor here."

  Sterling held up two fingers, ordering orange juice for himself.

  Chelsea walked away, and I pressed my lips together, trying to keep from looking too concerned. "You look tired, Sterling."

  "It's been a long week."

  I smiled. "But you're here now."

  "Finley's not."

  "Sterling," I warned. "She's not changing her mind. She loves you more than she loves anyone else."

  "Except you."

  "Of course except me. But she loves you. She just can't be with you until she takes over Edson."

  His face fell, and his eyes lost focus.

  "I'm sorry," I said, reaching across the table to touch his arm. "We should have picked a place that has vodka."

  My mouth suddenly felt dry. Wanting a drink and realizing it wasn't immediately available created a subtle pang of panic.

  Sterling pulled away. "Careful, Ellie. You're beginning to sound like me."

  The door chimed, and a family of four walked in, already arguing about where to sit. It was tourist season, and although Sterling and I could be considered tourists, we'd both had homes there for more than eight years. Long enough to be annoyed by the non-resident tourists. We were what the locals called part-time families, and most of the time, if we shared the name of our neighborhood, they didn't even have to ask. Only one of our neighbors was a full-time family, and that was only because they were from Arkansas and moving to Estes Park was a dream not a vacation.