Completing Beauty: Books 1-3

by Stella Andrews

  As we form a circle around the open pit that will be my father’s eternal home, I raise my eyes and stare straight into the ones I fear the most.

  He stands across the gaping hole directly in front of me and I know that was not by chance. He leaves nothing to chance and never has. He has placed himself in my direct line of sight for a reason. He is angry but I doubt not half as much as I am.

  Grateful for the dark shades that obscure my emotion, I stare at the man who caused me to run in the first place. Cold, hard eyes, stare back at me with the promise that this isn’t over until he says it is.

  I feel my heart beating as everything else fades out around me until it’s just us, as it always used to be.

  Time has been good to him as I always knew it would. The sharp suits he wears may as well be spun with gold because I can tell his tailor is a costly one. Dark hair as black as the shadows he wrapped me in, gleams in the sunlight and those eyes. They search my soul and rip the answers from inside me with no words spoken. They question and challenge and I swallow hard. Yes, Sebastian Stone grew into an impressive man and any desire I had for that man was replaced with a white-hot fury and a thirst for revenge.

  As the priest commits my father’s body to the ground, I commit my soul to revenge. I watch my sister stand beside the man that should have been mine and see her hand on his arm as she stares at me across the divide. The physical and emotional one as we are locked in combat over one man. Him. I wonder about their relationship because where she seeks reassurance from him; he offers none in return. She may as well be an irritating insect for all the attention he is showing her. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me and there is so much tension in the air I wonder if the oxygen can battle through it.

  Then the service ends and we are invited to say our goodbyes. My mother steps forward and places a single white rose on the coffin of her husband and wipes away a lone tear. Mirabelle Johnson. Even now she is keeping up the pretence of actually loving the man inside that coffin but I know inside, she is probably already planning his replacement. We are taught to love our parents but, in my book, love is earned not expected and any I had for that woman died years ago.

  She moves away, feigning grief, as my sister steps forward. Anastasia Johnson, bitch sibling from hell. She lies her own white rose on the casket and makes a show of sobbing and stumbling as if in grief. She half turns toward him but he either doesn’t notice or ignores her. Who am I kidding, of course he notices but that’s just him, a cold hard bastard with no feelings? I should be glad I had a lucky escape. I should pity my poor sister and I shouldn’t care—but I do. I always have done and now, seeing him again, all the work of the last five years counts for zero because as I look into the cold, hard, eyes of the man who broke my heart, I am destroyed all over again.

  One by one the mourners lay their roses on the coffin of the man who can’t hurt me anymore. As they file away only two people are left standing, Sebastian and me. I know we are providing a freak show for the mourners who are more interested in the power play between us than the fact they’ve come to pay their last respects to a man who demanded that respect in life but I will not play into their hands. Stepping forward, I ignore the rose with my name on it and grab a handful of dirt from the pile that sits next to the grave and, in full view of everyone, I spit on it and then toss it onto the flower festival covering the wooden box. The gasps echo around the churchyard as I turn and walk away.

  I almost make it back to the cab but feel a hand on my shoulder and a familiar voice say angrily, “Angelica, please, just stop!”

  Spinning around, I see my mother staring at me with white-hot fury in her eyes and something I’m not prepared for - love.

  “Please - don’t go.”

  She reaches up and removes my shades and stares into my eyes and her voice trembles as she pleads, “Please don’t leave again. We need to talk.”

  If she was hoping to see anything other than hatred in my eyes, she will be disappointed because I face her with twenty-three years of hurt and pain in mine, as I utter the first words I have spoken to her in five years. “Why should I?”

  She shrugs and I see a little of her old fire return as she shakes her head. “I know you’re angry but we can talk about that. I just want the conversation that should have happened five years ago.”

  “A conversation, are you kidding me?”

  “Yes, there’s a lot that needs to be said and you will hear me out before you head back to god only knows where you’ve been hiding since you turned your back on this family.”

  She wants words but they fail me now as she looks at me with the eyes of a woman who never really sees what’s staring her in the face. She never did and obviously that hasn’t changed.

  She smiles and says in a gentler voice, “I know you’re angry but we need to talk about it. Please, come back to the house, just to talk, nothing more. I’ve missed you so much and can’t bear the thought of you walking out on me again.”

  I half turn toward the cab and she says with some urgency, “Please, Angelica, I’m begging you, don’t walk away.”

  As I turn, I see out of the corner of my eye, my sister glaring at me as she watches us. She would like nothing more than to see me disappear again and for that reason alone I say in a harsh voice, “Fine. A conversation it is then.”

  Mom sighs with relief and I wonder why she’s bothering. She never did all the time I was growing up, so I wonder what’s changed? My curiosity wrestles my better judgement as I turn toward the cab. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  As I slam the door on my mother, I sink back on the seat, close my eyes and take a deep breath. I made it through.

  The cab driver turns and says softly, “Where to, darlin’?”

  I reel off the familiar address and he turns the engine on and as we pull away, I don’t look back. Maybe I never should because what will that solve? Is it worth my time looking back on a past that almost destroyed me? Maybe I should never have come because I am opening a wound that never really healed. Seeing then again reinforced that. Then there’s him - the boy I grew up with. My best friend and the person I confided in the most. The boy I told my secrets to and trusted more than anyone. The boy who stuck up for me at school and filled my days with laughter and happiness. The boy who turned into a man who slipped into my bed at night and made me into a woman when the rest of the house slept. The man who awakened feelings in me I never knew I had and the man who promised never to leave me. I gave him my innocence and his kisses brought new life to my soul. However, this sleeping beauty woke up to find her Prince was a monster in disguise because that bastard turned his back on her and chose her sister instead.

  The pain stabs me in the heart as it’s always done. I have an invisible knife that set up residency there and twists every so often reminding me of the pain I felt when I found out the truth.

  The tears burn behind my eyes as the past threatens to unravel me again but I take that pain and form it into an emotion worth hanging onto. Hatred. Seeing them today has revealed that nothing has changed. The last five years have just blurred the picture temporarily because now that picture is back in focus and sharper than ever and now - it’s payback time.

  Chapter 3

  The cab pulls into the drive of the house I grew up in. As I look at the impressive façade of a house designed to impress, I feel—nothing. It surprises me because I have come to associate this house with every bad memory in my life and thought it would scare me. It doesn’t.

  The driver whistles and says with envy, “Man, some people have all the luck. What I wouldn’t give for a house like this.”

  Leaning forward, I say dully, “I wouldn’t give you a quarter for it. I’m guessing your home is richer than this one in all the ways that count. Don’t be sucked in by appearances because this house is an empty shell. Only bad memories live here and I would trade your home for mine in a heartbeat.”

  He looks concerned and I smile wryly. “Take no notice of me, I’
m just a bitter shell of the woman I once was.”

  I see a genuine concern in his eyes as he says softly, “Then why don’t we just head back the way we came and save yourself the trouble?”

  “Because trouble is something I no longer fear. I’ve spent many hours dealing with trouble since I left and the woman I am now is very different to the one who walked out those doors five years ago. If you feel sorry for anyone, save your pity for the people who live here - not me. I’ve moved on and this…” I wave my hand dismissively around me. “Means nothing to me anymore.”

  He nods and turns to take a last look before starting the engine. “Well, darlin’, when you’re ready to leave just call. No charge.”

  I smile. “No charge, huh?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to mess with a woman like you, now that would be pretty foolish of me wouldn’t you say?”

  He winks and I laugh for the first time in what now seems like years. “You’re a wise man…”

  “Richie.”

  “A wise man, Richie. I doubt these people are so wise and it will be fun educating them.”

  As I step from the cab, he calls, “Hey!”

  I turn to face him and he says cheekily, “It was a pleasure darlin’ and if you need a place to stay….”

  “Thanks for the offer, honey but I think I’m fine and dandy.”

  Grinning, I turn away and refocus on the job in hand and as the car makes the steady progress back down the driveway, I head toward the past and all its bitter memories.

  Before I even raise a hand to ring the large bell, the door opens and I see a familiar face looking at me with pure emotion. Swallowing hard, I say brightly, “Martha, it’s good to see you.”

  Martha Edwards is our housekeeper and the only woman I love inside these walls. The tears splash onto her beaming face and she envelops me in a huge hug, reminding my senses what a good person smells like. Martha always smelled of cookies and lemon. Don’t ask me why but there was always that comfort in both the woman herself and the smell that surrounded her.

  Pulling back, she wipes her tears away and pulls me inside. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Angelica.”

  “I’ve lost nothing, Martha, nothing important, anyway.”

  She shakes her head and looks sad. “It’s not right. He was still your father.”

  “In name only, Martha, you know that.”

  I look around and see that nothing has changed and feel the walls closing in on me. All around are the memories crowding to the surface to weaken my resolve. I hear his loud angry voice booming through the walls and shiver a little. Martha takes my arm and says kindly, “Your old room is just how you left it, although I do make up the bed with fresh linen and clean every week. Nothing has changed there.”

  I take a look at the woman who appears to be the only one that cares and say in a kinder voice, “I’ve missed you, Martha.”

  She flushes and I can tell my words mean everything to her. “I’ve missed you too, dear. This house lost its sunshine the day you left.”

  Shrugging, I say sadly, “It was always a dark place to me, Martha.”

  The sound of cars pulling up outside concentrate our minds and Martha looks worried. “They’re back, I should get back to the kitchen.”

  She hurries away, leaving me to walk steadily up the large staircase toward the room that was both my sanctuary and prison combined—my bedroom.

  When I head inside, it strikes me that nothing has changed. Looking around the room I knew so well, I could close my eyes and remember every small detail. It surprises me that I feel nothing as I look at my past preserved so well in the present. The girl who lived here is nothing like me. She was scared, vulnerable and trusting. She believed adults when they spoke their lies and she never thought anything could hurt her.

  Walking across to the window, I run my fingers over the glass pane. It feels like yesterday that he first visited me here. Sebastian would throw stones at my window in the dead of night and then climb the trellis and I let him in. At first, we would talk and plot our next escapade. Then, as the years passed, we enjoyed a different kind of relationship.

  My heart starts beating as I remember the first time we took our relationship all the way. I had just turned eighteen and that night we both knew it was time.

  As I sit back on the bed, I remember how I felt that night. I wanted it so badly and I wanted it to be him. It was always him. Even then he was in control. Just two years older than me but so experienced.

  “Angelica, are you in here?”

  My mind is brought back to the present as my mother stares at me from the doorway, looking concerned. Nodding, I sit back against the pillows as she ventures in, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere than here.

  “It’s good to see you where you belong.”

  “Is it?” I shrug off her comment and face her with a frozen expression.

  Sighing, she sits beside me and, as the bed dips, it reminds me of the last time she sat here. That night - the night my world collapsed forever.

  Clearing her throat, she says tentatively, “I’m glad you came. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  I feel my chest constrict as she mentions my father. “I expect he would.”

  Either she doesn’t notice the coolness to my tone, or she chooses not to acknowledge it because she laughs softly. “You know, he never gave up wishing you would return. I know he hired many private investigators to find you but they never did. Why is that?”

  I shrug. “Because I didn’t want to be found.”

  “But why, Angelica? Surely we could have talked it through.”

  “You think?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Feeling the bitterness return, I snap, “Because nobody in this family ever listened to me, so why should that be an exception? What I wanted didn’t matter. It was always what he wanted for the good of the family. He was prepared to sacrifice his own daughter’s happiness for self-gain and I will never forgive him for that.”

  She takes a deep breath and says in a cold voice, “You’re emotional, there’s no talking to you when you’re like this.”

  I say nothing because what’s the point? We’ve been over this a million times before and she will never understand me.

  She takes my silence as her cue to carry on right where we left off and smiles brightly. “Anyway, none of that matters because you’re home now. I’m sure over the weeks we will learn what happened when you left but now, we must send your father off in style.”

  She stands and holds out her hand which I pointedly ignore. Looking slightly put out she hisses, “Don’t be difficult, Angelica, you owe it to your father to honor his memory. Now, join me downstairs and do your duty. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them you’ve been traveling around Europe to educate your mind.”

  She looks at me critically and shakes her head. “Maybe you should change. Your clothes are still in your closet and I don’t think the length of your skirt is strictly appropriate for a funeral. Shall we say downstairs in ten?”

  She doesn’t even wait for my answer before she heads off, the door clicking shut behind her.

  As I stare at the wall, I feel the frustration building as I realize I’m right back where I started. She will never change and it’s obvious she wants to brush off the last five years and shut it away in a box never to be opened. Maybe the old Angelica would do just that but Angel is a very different person, and I didn’t come here to pick up where I left off. No, they are about to see that their little girl grew up and when she did, she grew sharp teeth to bite them with.

  Chapter 4

  I don’t change. I don’t even fix my hair or make-up. Instead, I take one last look at my room and bid it a silent farewell. I won’t be back, not willingly, anyway.

  As I click the door shut on the past, I walk toward the present. I hear the hum of voices below me as I descend the large, impressive staircase. I pass the family portraits that sneer at me and I battle against the scent
of polish as I hold the wooden handrail.

  Feeling my heart thump with every step I take, I move toward the door to freedom.

  I recognize a few faces, mainly associates of my fathers and don’t acknowledge their curious looks and insincere smiles. Luckily, my mother and hated sister are nowhere to be seen, so I walk with purpose to the door and almost make it before a hand grasps my arm and a quivering voice says, “Miss. Angelica, may I have a private word?”

  Looking in the direction of the voice, I see a small, ancient looking man, wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His hair is combed to disguise the bald patch on his head and his eyes shine behind a small pair of spectacles. He clears his throat. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Featherstone, your father’s attorney, God rest his soul.”

  I say nothing and he says rather firmly, “May I have a word before you leave?”

  Feeling a little curious, I nod and follow him into my father’s den, which leads off from the entrance hall. As the door closes, I look around and feel the pain return as memories of my father surround me. Dark wood paneling clings to the walls and a large antique looking desk dominates the room. Bookcases stand proudly to attention, crowded with ancient looking books that I swear he never once read. You see, everything in this room was chosen for appearances. Maximum effect to make it look as if he was an educated man - he wasn’t. He was just lucky and spent the rest of his miserable life trying to appear more respectable than the crook he really was.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to hold it together a little longer and face Mr. Featherstone. “How may I help you?”