Beautiful Series Boxset, books 1-4

by Lilliana Anderson

  I’ve always been a firm believer that people come into your life for a reason then leave when that reason is fulfilled. I have a feeling my friendship with Marcus is the universe’s way of getting Marcus to look at his life and make some changes so he can reconnect with his family. It also might be teaching me to stop being so judgemental of people. I mean, I immediately decided Marcus wasn’t worth my time because of who he is. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind that there could actually be a real person underneath that façade who is starved for some sort of meaningful human interaction. That was cruel of me.

  My only problem with this whole ‘friendship’ thing is that I don’t really know what I should tell Sandra. I know there’s nothing going on between the two of them, and I know Marcus is unlikely to even remember her. But I also know she remembers him very well. And to my eyes, she seems hung up on him a little. If I let her know he’s been visiting me, it could really damage our friendship. I don’t want that. I’ve only known her for a year, but she’s become my best friend in that time. I don’t want a fleeting acquaintance to get in the way of that. I don’t think she can handle knowing Marcus is spending time with me, and since I don’t think I can get rid of Marcus until he’s reconciled with his brother, I think it’s best to keep our involvement a secret—unless she asks me a direct question. I don’t see the point in upsetting her, especially when Marcus will go on tour before long and be nothing but a faded memory.

  Perry stops at yet another tree and cocks his leg. I stand there patiently, lost in my thoughts, and wonder what I'm even worried about. I’ll hardly see Marcus. The last visits were two weeks apart, I can pretty much guarantee he’ll treat me like a therapist, visiting only when he’s feeling down in the dumps. He’ll spill his guts and leave then I won’t see him until the fucking and partying get boring and he wants to feel normal again. Each time, my advice will be the same: call your family. It’s what he needs.

  Perry pulls at his lead, snapping me from my thoughts. I start walking, and he settles in beside me at a happy trot, panting and sniffing at everything. As we near our house, he lets out an excited yelp then surges forward, almost reefing his lead from my hand in his bid to reach home faster. Instantly I see why. Marcus’s car is parked out the front of my house again.

  Seriously?

  My heart beats a little faster, and I ignore it. “Looks like your man crush is here to see you,” I say to Perry as soon as we’re within Marcus’s earshot. He’s looking very casual sitting on my front step in a pair of well-worn jeans, a faded red retro looking T-shirt, and a baseball cap for some team I don't even know. In his hands, he holds a pair of Ray ban Aviators that he swings side-to-side by the arm.

  “Hey.” He smiles.

  “Didn’t I just see you last night?” Perry pulls forward, so I release the lead and let him run to Marcus.

  “Yeah. But I missed my buddy.” He scratches Perry everywhere, and Perry makes tiny joyful whining sounds.

  “I feel like we’ll end up fighting for custody over him one day,” I joke.

  Marcus takes a hold of Perry’s lead and stands when I pull out my key. “I thought maybe we could do something today? Go for coffee or something?”

  “Um.”

  “I would have called first—to check if you have plans—but I forgot to get your number.”

  I scrunch my face up a little. “I don’t know. I’m a private person for a reason. I don’t want to be spotted out with you and draw attention to myself.”

  “I’ll wear the hat and glasses. No one even notices me when I wear a hat. I promise. Let me take you out for breakfast. It’s the least I can do after gatecrashing your movie and drinking half your wine.”

  “You could have just sent me a new bottle of wine.”

  He crouches then retrieves a bottle from inside a green bag stashed next to my steps, holding it up triumphantly. “There’s some other stuff in here too, but I have no clue what it is.”

  “Let me guess, your assistant packed it for you?”

  He slides the bottle back into the back. “Sure did.”

  “How thoughtful,” I say, accepting the bag as I slide my key in the door to let us in.

  He unclips the lead from Perry’s collar then follows me into the kitchen where I make quick work of unpacking the green grocery bag. “What did your assistant think you needed the wine for?” I ask, pulling out sliced meat, olives and cheese with crackers and quince paste.

  He shrugs. “I told her I owed someone a bottle of wine. She asked what the wine had to go with. I said a movie. This is what she gave me.”

  “Well, I hope you pay her well. You left here at midnight, and you’re back again at eight the next morning. She’s gone above and beyond here.”

  “She always does. And I pay her well. She puts up with me and manages my life. She’s worth three times her weight in gold.”

  “Well, tell her I said thank you.” Returning from the fridge, I grab the remaining items and stash them in my pantry.

  “I will. She’ll appreciate that.”

  “And, um, how old is she?” Shit. “I mean, what’s your assistant’s name?”

  He grins. “Karen. She’s a gorgeous shade of grey. Old enough to retire.”

  “And she chooses to follow you around the globe?”

  “She’s a young sixty.”

  “OK.” I wipe my hands on my sides and look around the kitchen for something else to do. “I suppose we should get moving.”

  “You’re letting me take you to breakfast?”

  I bite my lip. “Sure. But if you take that hat off, I’m running the other way. I don’t want even one photo of us to end up online somewhere. If we’re caught, you’re going to have to break up with Perry and leave me alone forever.”

  “Wow. You really hate this fame game don’t you?”

  “More than you know.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “I’ll just put Perry in the backyard,” I say, not wanting to elaborate at all. Talking about my dislike for famous people would mean explaining why I dislike them, which would lead to discussing my family’s connections to them. And I hate talking about my family—particularly my dad. So that’s a no from me.

  Herding Perry through the laundry, I check to make sure he has fresh water in his bowl before I grab my purse and head towards the living area. Just before I get there, I see a flash of myself in the hall mirror and freeze, taking in my appearance.

  Shit. I should probably change. I’m currently in a pair of leggings, an oversized t-shirt that has ‘Wicked 66’ printed on it and, a pair of running shoes. My hair is in a high ponytail, and once again, I have no makeup on. I hardly look decent enough to go out to breakfast.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I call out, taking a take a step towards my room to change. Marcus tells me to take my time, but I stop myself. This isn’t a date. I readjust my course for the bathroom, splash some water on my face, spray some deodorant on, then head for the front door. “Let’s go.”

  “That was fast,” Marcus says with a smile, sliding from my kitchen stool to follow me outside. As I lock up, he hits the button on his key chain to beep his Porsche open.

  “Were you expecting me to change?” I ask, wondering if going out in public with me looking like a sloth is a problem for him.

  “No.” He laughs. “I was just expecting you to take longer. Girls normally say they’ll be a minute and you’re waiting a half hour.”

  “I did say I was the exception.”

  “That you are,” he says, pulling the passenger door open for me. “And your outfit is perfect. Inconspicuous and arse hugging. I love it.”

  The burn hits my cheeks before the snark hits my mouth. “Friends don’t check out each other’s arses, Marcus.”

  He drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he makes a show of letting his eyes move down my body while he slides his aviators over his eyes. Fuck. I hate that I’m feeling nervous right now.

  “Just get in the car, skip
py.”

  I do as he asks. I’ve never been in a Porsche before, and I immediately regret getting in this one. “Um, do you think we could take my car?” I ask when he gets in. I’m trying to adjust in my seat so my head isn’t pressed up against the roof at an odd angle. This is ridiculous.

  He looks over at me and starts laughing. “What the hell? I’m taller than you. Why is your head pressed up against the roof?”

  “It’s not my fault that all my height is in my body,” I retort, feeling indignant. Seriously, who makes cars with such small interiors anyway? “I don’t even know how the hell you’re fitting in here. What are you doing? Driving from the back seat?”

  He laughs again. “Almost.”

  I open the door and get out. “I’m sorry. I can’t sit in there. I feel like I’m on that episode of the Simpsons when that really tall man has a tiny car because that’s all he can afford, and Nelson laughs at him. Every time we’re at a set of lights someone is going to look over and go ‘Har Har!’ and then I’ll have to embarrass each and every one of them for it. It’ll make for a very long day, and we’d never get the chance to eat because I’ll be too busy wreaking vengeance upon all those who had the audacity to find my abnormally long body, squished into a tiny Porsche hilarious.”

  “All right. We’ll take your car,” he says, his eyes bugging after my ridiculous rant. “I’m driving though.”

  “Whatever, dude.” I dig into my handbag and press the button on my key fob to open my garage before tossing him the keys. “I hate driving anyway. You can drive all you want.”

  “You have a LandCruiser?” he asks as the door lifts to reveal my car.

  “Yeah? So? I like to sit up high. You’ll find that even at your height, you’ll be able to sit in the front seat of this car.”

  “It’s more a truck than a car.”

  “Yeah, well… one day I might decide to go four wheel driving on a beach somewhere. And then I’ll be high-fiving myself for being awesome enough to buy a LandCruiser beforehand.”

  “Have you ever taken it four wheel driving?”

  “Nope,” I reply.

  “Then why would you buy a top of the line four wheel drive.”

  “Because it looks badarse.”

  “Fair enough.” He opens the car door and climbs into the cabin. When he starts the engine, The Doors, Break on Through blares out the speakers. I make a move to turn it down but he stops me.

  “Leave it,” he yells over the sound. “It’s much better than that modern shit people are playing these days.”

  I can’t help but laugh as I relax in my seat and he reverses us out of the driveway. I’m surprised he isn’t singing along, actually. He’s just tapping out the beat on the steering wheel with his fingers instead. When the track ends and 20th Century Fox starts playing, I’m the one who sings along. It’s actually been hurting me not to because I freaking love singing in the car.

  “She’s a…” Tipping my head back, I yell out the chorus line. I can sing just fine. I’m actually capable of playing an instrument or two as well, but there’s something about yelling to really loud music that feels so good.

  Marcus is grinning, alternating between watching me and the road, so I yell the song at him until it gets to the point where we’re both laughing so hard I can’t even sing anymore.

  “What’s so funny? Don’t you like being yelled/sung at?” I ask, forcing my words through my laughter.

  He responds with more laughter, and I find myself just watching him and admiring this moment of happiness with a person I never thought I’d want any moments with. He’s everything I promised to steer clear of, and here I am, breaking my own rules and creating secrets no one will ever learn. Slowly, my laughter fades and my expression grows serious as the song comes to an end. I force myself to look away from him. He’s just… too bright to look at sometimes.

  Shifting my attention to the passing scenery, I realise we’re on the highway near Springwood. Since leaving Blaxland, we’ve passed a stack of cafes already.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I lower the volume of the music so I can be heard.

  “For breakfast.”

  “Where?”

  “Katoomba.”

  “Katoomba? Are you serious? That’s half an hour away. I’ll die of starvation by the time we get there.”

  “If we were in my car, I could offer you a protein bar. But your freakishly long body cancelled out that option.”

  “It’s not freakishly long. It’s elegantly long. Get your adjectives right, dude. And protein bars aren’t food. They’re soap mixed with dirt and plasticine.”

  “What?” He laughs out the word.

  “You heard me. Whoever came up with those things has no taste buds. I prefer to keep this tex-mex mix in my car for snacking,” I say, opening the centre console and pulling out the bag of nuts and corn and pretzels and whatever those other crunchy things are, and dig in.

  “What the hell are you eating?” he asks with a frown.

  “Tex-mex. It’s like cheesy barbecue flavoured nuts and crunchy stuff. I think they deep fry these corn kernels. They’re great.” I pull one out and crunch down.

  “Do you know how many carbs are in that?”

  “Nope.” I throw another handful in my mouth. “And I don’t care.” He eyes me while I continue eating. “Want some?”

  “Maybe just a couple of nuts.”

  “Dude, you have to eat the lot of it together. It’s a cornucopia of texture.” I tip some in my hand and hold it out to him. “It must be experienced as a whole.” He glances at my cupped hand and grimaces. “You’ll still have abs after it. I promise.”

  With a roll of his eyes, he holds out his hand and takes the snack mix, shotting it into his mouth before crunching down. “It’s good,” he says when he swallows.

  “It’s great,” I correct, refilling his waiting hand.

  “It’s delicious.”

  “Better than a protein bar.” I seal the bag and tuck it away before we end up eating the whole lot and ruin our appetites. “What’s in Katoomba that’s worth driving all that way just for breakfast?”

  “Lots of cafés and lots of quiet. I find if I go where no one expects me to be, no one bothers me at all. People think celebrities hang out at trendy restaurants in the city. They don’t think you’d drive into the mountains for a quiet cup of coffee.”

  “Good point. I’ll go with your judgement then. I’m sure you’ve got this down pat by now.”

  “I do. If you look at the photos of me online, they’re all photos I knew about. Each one is posed for. There isn’t a single image of me walking down the street or sitting in a restaurant. I know how to Clark Kent my Superman.”

  I think back and realise he’s right. Every photo I looked at was at an event or concert, and he was obviously aware of the cameras. He’s obviously careful and cautious about how he spends his time.

  “You know, Marcus. I’m starting to think there’s more to you than a pretty face.”

  “You’re just figuring that out now?”

  “Previous to this I’ve been trying to get rid of you. This is the first time I’ve paid attention.”

  He chuckles. “You weren’t paying attention when I showed up at your house the first time?”

  “No way.” I wave my hand about. “That kind of thing happens to me all the time.”

  “Men on your front step?”

  “Celebrities on my front step. I’m very well connected, you know.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He laughs, continuing to focus on the road.

  I look over at him, studying his profile, wondering if he had any idea how well connected I am. I feel like he’d be one of the few people who’d understand why I keep the information to myself. But then, I can’t be sure he’d keep the information to himself. He obviously has impulse control problems. And you can’t trust people like that not to slip up and—

  “What?” he asks with a grin and a quick glance in my direction. Oh
, my god. What if he does know exactly who I am, and he’s targeting me to get close to my parents? “Lisa?”

  “Huh?” I blink, clearing my head. What if…

  “You’re staring.”

  “I was?”

  “You sure were.”

  “Oh. I guess I was just thinking.”

  “About me, I hope.”

  “Kinda. Did you ever…” I bite my lip, trying to work out how to ask this without giving out unnecessary information.

  “Did I…” He glances at me, brows raised.

  “When was the first time you saw me?”

  “What?” Now he’s frowning.

  “I know it’s a weird question.”

  “Have we met before?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice.

  “No. Never. I…shit. I’m not making any sense.”

  “No, you aren’t. Did you lie about not knowing who I was?” OK. Based on that reaction. Maybe this is just a coincidence.

  “What? No. I’m just asking why. Out of all the people in this world, why did you chase a friendship with me?”

  He shrugs. “I like that you don’t like me.”

  “’Cause that’s the perfect basis for a friendship.”

  “Of course it is. If someone doesn’t like me, I can win them over. If someone likes me instantly, I’m wary of their motivation.” I know what you mean.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll leak everything you tell me to the press?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t exist online.”

  “You Googled Lisa Russell?”

  “Fair’s fair.”

  “I suppose. But not having an online presence doesn’t mean much.”

  “Sure it does. Especially these days. It means you have zero interest in attention. And that summation is backed up by the fact you’ve repeatedly told me to leave you alone.”

  “And yet you keep coming back.”

  “I can tell I’m already wearing you down.” He flashes me a grin, and I can’t help but smile back. Maybe he’s genuine…

  “It’s possible I don’t hate you as much as I thought I would,” I say, pulling out my phone when it vibrates with a call in my bag. I swipe at the screen to reject the call as soon as I see who it is.