Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  Elliot

  I offer to pay the cab fare, but Paige insists on splitting it. Once upstairs in the flat, I put the kettle on and make us both a coffee. I’ve had maybe three drinks over the course of the night, so I could do with a little pick me up, even if it is midnight.

  Paige sits at the kitchen table, her shoes off by her chair and her feet tucked underneath. It’s very…domestic, comforting. I like seeing her there. She leans her elbows on the table, her eyes tracking me as I carry our mugs over.

  “Thanks,” she says, blowing on her coffee and taking a tentative sip before sitting back in her chair and looking at me. Looking, studying, searching. Like I’m a book and she’s reading the words on my skin. “Were you annoyed with me tonight?” The question feels out of the blue as she drops her eyes to focus on the warm mug she’s cradling in her hands.

  “Annoyed? What makes you think that?”

  “Just a few comments you made. I thought maybe you were pissed because I only want to be your friend.”

  I watch her until she lifts her eyes to meet mine before I answer. “I’m not that guy, Paige. I don’t play nice until I get in a girl’s pants, and I don’t retaliate when she says no.”

  “Then why—”

  “I was giving you space. You seem to want me to back off, so I backed off. But I wasn’t annoyed. I’m just letting you know that I see you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way you keep everyone at a distance. These people you’re moving in with are good people. They’re trying to get to know you, and you haven’t really given them a single thing. I’ve known you the longest, and I don’t know anything real either.” I hold up my hand and count on my fingers. “You’re from somewhere around Sydney, you’re a hairdresser, and you lost your family. That’s everything I know. But what I see is a beautiful woman trapped in her own pain. I don’t know what it is, but I’m guessing it’s got to do with whatever happened to your family, and you’re torturing yourself over it.” I sit back and lift my coffee part way to my mouth. “Am I close?”

  A burst of air escapes her nose, as she continues her study of me. “Looks like you’ve got me all figured out.”

  “Not even close.” I shrug and pull my lips up to the side before taking a gulp of my coffee, now wishing I’d tested it before I took such a big mouthful. It’s really hot. I can’t hide my cough as my eyes water slightly from the burn.

  Paige notices and stifles a giggle before she lets out a sigh. “I suppose what I really need from you is to understand that this can’t go any further than friendship. I need to be alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what I want. I’m saying no. And I need you to respect that,” she says bluntly.

  I hold my breath while I nod, our eyes locked as she refuses to elaborate any further. What has happened to make her want that? I’m more curious than ever. But I have to respect what she wants. Even though it’s the complete opposite of what I want.

  “Do you think you’re going to do any weekend trips at all while you’re here? Europe’s just over the pond, you know?” Paige says in an attempt to change the subject.

  Picking up my mug again, I stretch my legs in front of me and look at her pointedly. “Listen, I can handle being your friend. But if we’re going to call ourselves that, I’d like to have a conversation with a little give and take to it.”

  She shifts in her seat, looking into her mug instead of at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I ask a question, and you answer it with actual information. Then you ask a question, and I answer like I normally would, because compared to you, I’m a sharer.” I stare at her unblinking, eyebrows raised, watching as she thinks.

  She puts her mug down and sits more upright on her chair as she scratches at something real or imaginary on the table, refusing to meet my eyes again. “Fine, but I don’t have to answer fully or elaborate if I don’t want to.”

  “Deal,” I say, mentally preparing my first question as she adjusts herself in her chair, sitting even straighter than she was before. Her glare even has an edge to it, warning me not to push too hard.

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Miranda.”

  “A shire girl, huh? You don’t sound like one when you speak.”

  “No. I don’t. Where did you grow up?”

  “Bondi. Where did you go to school?”

  “Port Hacking.”

  “Did you like it there?”

  “It was a school. How about you?”

  “Sydney Grammar. First job?”

  Watching her, she’s clearly uncomfortable talking about herself, her arms folded protectively around her waist while she watches me as if she’s ready to shut down at any moment. Come on, Paige. Let me know you.

  “Sex toy.”

  I sit and stare back at her trying not to react to this one. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and I feel like she’s trying to shock me or test me to see how far she can push before I’ll stop. When I open my mouth, I force my voice to stay even as I speak. “Sex toy?”

  “Fine. I was a drug dealer.”

  “A drug dealer?”

  She shifts in her chair again and sighs but continues eye contact. “A salon hand.”

  “There we go. I knew we’d get to the truth, eventually. How old were you when you lost your family?”

  She presses her lips together and sniffs. “Fifteen.”

  “Who raised you after that?”

  Her eyes land on mine, and a cold shiver runs up my spine. There’s something in them she doesn’t want to let out, but I see it there. The pain. It’s there for maybe an eighth of a second. Then it disappears and I know she’s shut down.

  “I think it’s my turn to ask some questions.”

  Paige

  I feel like we’re playing a game of Battleship in this rapid-fire question-and-answer session. But he’s getting all the turns, and he’s moving towards an area of my life I don’t want to talk about, and he doesn’t want to hear. I knew we’d get to the truth, eventually. It’s time for me to focus on him.

  “Tell me about your family. Are they good to you?”

  He sits forward, taking a drink from his mug now that it’s had time to cool down. “Does it upset you to talk about other people’s families?”

  “No. I like hearing about happiness and love. Does it bother you that I don’t have one?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  He’s playing me at my own game. “Are you only going to ask questions?”

  “Are you finished answering questions?”

  “Are you trying to teach me a lesson?” Because I've had my fill of ‘lessons’. I won't be schooled by anyone.

  “Would you like a Tim Tam with your coffee?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Even though he’s sitting here trying to push my buttons and get me to open up, he knows just when to back off and insert a little levity before I crack. I’m impressed. “I can’t believe you played the chocolate biscuit card. I was getting ready to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  The shadow of a smile plays on his lips. “Did it work?”

  “It did. I’d love a Tim Tam.”

  Now his smile develops into something real, taking over half his mouth and touching his eyes. I want to like him. I watch as he rises gracefully from his chair, the muscles in his arms rippling as he reaches up and pulls a packet out of the cupboard. The plastic crinkles loudly in the quiet room as he slides the biscuits out of their packaging and places them on the tray between us.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

  “That I don’t have a family? What kind of question is that? Of course it does. I lost everything I knew at an impressionable age. I was left with no one in this world to defend me. It’s why I like hearing about other people’s lives. About their families, their friends, their interests. It’s part of what I love about my job. These people come in and share so much about themselves, and I get a tiny window into a
different life. One that isn’t ravaged by loss. So please, I’m now begging. Tell me about your family.”

  He remains silent for two beats of my heart and I quickly run through exactly what I said, deciding it was far too much. Ravaged by loss. He will pick up on that for sure.

  “I meant the question about who raised you. But I'm guessing from all that you went into foster care?”

  I close my eyes and drop my chin. “Can we please talk about you for a while, please?” There’s a note of begging in my voice, and I’m so grateful when the next thing out of his mouth makes my silent heart smile.

  “My mum is fantastic.” He wipes a hand across his jaw as he chuckles at some sort of memory. “She asked me yesterday to tell the Queen she said hi. Like I’m actually going to get close enough to do that.”

  “Sounds like you have a good relationship.”

  “We do. She’s nuts. But I love her. And my stepdad is pretty great too. Treats me like a son even though I was mostly grown when he came into my life. Mum and Dad divorced when I was sixteen and she remarried by the time I finished year twelve, so there wasn’t a lot for him to do besides be a decent guy. And since I saw how happy he made Mum, I couldn’t fault him.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been blessed with a lot of love.”

  He looks at the table and chuckles uncomfortably like he’s leaving something out. “It was OK. Mum did her best.”

  “You’re leaving out your dad. Is that on purpose?”

  He rubs at the back of his neck and grimaces. “Kind of. He’s…a hard man. He had high expectations I was incapable of meeting, and I’m afraid I’m a terrible terrible disappointment to him.”

  “What kind of expectations?” Seems Elliot hasn’t lived the ideal life I thought he had.

  “The Roberts men have a long history in the courts—barristers, QCs. I was expected to be the first judge. I studied law at uni, even got a job at a top-tier law firm. But I hated it. When I threw in the towel and altered my career path, he threw in the towel and stopped caring about me. We haven’t spoken in over a year.”

  “Do you miss having him in your life?”

  “I don’t know. He was very controlling. I hated being a solicitor, but he was so intent on having his son follow in his footsteps that he wouldn’t listen to what I wanted. He even had a say in who I dated... So, no. I don’t miss him.” He shrugs, letting his shoulders drop heavily. “Does that make me sound like a shitty person?”

  I take a deep breath, contemplating what I’m about to tell him for a moment. I don’t do a lot of sharing, but something about Elliot makes me feel a little less…guarded. He seems so genuine. I like that he’s an open book, and I want to offer him something in return; comfort. “I’d like what I’m about to tell you to remain between you and me,” I start.

  “Of course.” He doesn’t even miss a beat.

  “I don’t miss my family. They weren’t good to me. I mourned the family I wished I had. But I never mourned them.” My temples flash hot with my admission. “Does that make me awful?”

  All at once, he frowns and reaches across the table, placing his hand on my forearm. “No. Not for a second.” He withdraws his touch almost as fast as he offered it.

  I’m stuck looking at my arm like something’s now missing. “You shouldn’t feel bad because you’re happier without someone in your life,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “At the end of the day, the only person you can truly count on is yourself. No one cares like you do. No one.”

  Elliot sucks in a breath, his whole body reacting to the power in my words. But a squeal of laughter filters in from the stairwell, stealing the intensity out of the air, along with our attention.

  “There she is: The Cock Smasher!” Shane drunkenly announces as everyone pours through the door like tumbling laughter.

  “I can’t believe you dropped that guy,” Naomi says, as they all gather round the table. There’s a flurry of hands in front of me as the Tim Tams are snatched up and devoured in seconds.

  “God, I love these things,” Petra moans through the chocolaty goodness. “When I get home, I’ll send more packets.”

  “You’d better,” Brian tells her. “It’s an unwritten law for a returning Aussie, you know.”

  “What is?” I ask. “Sending Tim Tams?”

  “Hells yeah,” Naomi answers. “Every time one of us goes home, we have to send back a box of things we can’t buy here like Tim Tams, Vegemite, Minties, Milo—stuff like that. Our families send things too, but we kind of do it as a farewell gift for each other.”

  “They don’t have Milo here?” I ask, surprised.

  “No, they drink Ovaltine instead,” Petra puts in.

  “Speaking of Milo.” Brian gets up and flicks the kettle on. “Who wants one?”

  A round of hands go up, and he pulls mugs out while we continue talking about the differences between Australia and here, laughing and joking as we do. It feels unnatural to be in the midst of this jolly scene. It also feels unnatural to be genuinely enjoying the moment.

  “Sometimes,” Elliot murmurs near my ear as Brian and Petra place a hot cup of Milo in front of me. “Family starts as friendship.” I turn and catch myself in the ocean of his eyes. He offers me the last Tim Tam. “People care, Paige. But you have to let them.”

  Taking the biscuit, I bite into it as I look around the table, taking in all the smiling faces in this tight-knit and welcoming group. Each person is different and unique in their own way. But they all fit in, not because they have to, but because they want to. In this home away from home, they’re family. A sense of belonging skitters along the edges of my heart. I haven’t felt a part of something in such a long time. I think I’m really going to like living here.

  Nine

  Elliot

  A couple of years ago, I was dating a girl who worked in my office. We had a lot in common, and everything about being with her felt easy. I thought I’d found my lobster, but when my father intervened, I found it too easy to walk away from her. I've regretted my actions almost every day since. And for a long time I thought my regret stemmed from losing my chance at love because I was too chickenshit to stand up to my dad. After spending a month in London, I don’t think regret is the right way to categorise that relationship. The word I'm going for now is grateful. Because if I hadn’t messed up with Katrina, I never would have stood up for myself, and I never would have found myself on a plane to London, looking for a fresh start. I never would have met Paige.

  She’s an interesting one. They say that opposites attract, but I flip-flop between wanting to fuck her and wanting to shake her. I don’t know it that’s what opposites attract really means. She can be so closed off and cryptic that it's infuriating at times. Besides getting along, I don’t think we have a single common interest. She loves books, and I love sport. She loves art galleries and I like the outdoors. She loves staying home, and I like going out. But when we’re together, none of that matters. I’m drawn to her. More than I've ever been to anyone else. Just before she moved into the flat, she told me I wasn’t going to find myself in her. But, I’ve gotta call it. I think I have. I think she’s precisely why I’m here.

  Paige

  After a whole month living in London, I’m yet to see my father. He’s aware I’m here. But, I’ve been so wrapped up working and hanging out with my housemates—also known as, being a regular person—that I’ve let it slide. It sits in the back of my mind, niggling at me to do something, but I guess I’m just erring on the side of caution…no, I’m being chickenshit. I really am afraid to go and meet him, because I have no idea what to expect. I’m scared meeting him will turn my carefully created world upside down. Right now in this moment, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I have friends, I have a home, I have a job I love… I’m feeling great. Like the Paige from my past—the girl I used to hide inside a mirror—isn’t weighing me down anymore.

  I still live with the reality of what I’ve done. And I still stand by my decision to
maintain a state of celibacy. Even though that decision has been made harder of late with the introduction of Elliot in my life. I’ve experienced the kind of connection I have with him before. It’s the kind of connection that has no rhyme or reason to it. It’s just there, and it’s intense enough to make you forget how to think. Which is why I need to maintain my distance. It was a mistake to give into it the last time, and I think it would be a mistake in this instance too. Elliot has a full life back in Sydney, and I am never planning to return. Breaking my vow for the sake of a man I can only have a short-term relationship with feels dishonest and self-serving. It goes against every promise I ever made to myself. And my promises are more important than my feeling. Even when it does seem like Elliot is the first decent man to enter my life.

  “You’re pretty close to Elliot aren’t you?” Naomi asks me one night as we both sit in our room preparing for bed. It's been a long time since I shared a room with someone, and this experience with Naomi has been very different. There's no competition between us—even though she has an obvious crush on Elliot—and there’s never any arguing over space. It’s just easy. It’s how I imagine sisterhood should be like.

  “Um, not really.” I look at her via the mirror on my wardrobe as I rub leave-in conditioner into the ends of my hair. “I mean, we’re friends, but I wouldn’t call us close…Why?”

  “No reason. You just seem to be together a lot. You make eyes at each other across the room. We’re all wondering what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “Eyes at each other.” I scoff. “There’s nothing going on, Nomes. He goes home in two months. We’re friends,” I say, wiping my hands clean on a moist towelette before depositing it in the small bin by our door.

  “What if he wasn’t going home?”

  I shrug. “I’d still be his friend. Me and guys—relationships—we don’t mix well. I have massive trust issues. And Elliot, no matter how long he stays here, doesn’t need my baggage.” Not to mention the fact that if he found out what my baggage was, he’d run a mile.