Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “Oh… I wasn’t,” I splutter, completely taken off guard by his abruptness. I expected a grunt, a nod at best, before he stalked off. “I was just—”

  “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea here.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “I didn’t want you in the band. Even after the reaction out there, I’d still prefer it if you weren’t in the band. But I always do what’s best for the band and the fans. So regardless of what I want, you get to stay. Just don’t mistake my acceptance for want. I’d still prefer it if we found another cute girl to play the fiddle and sing for us,” he explains, his eyes dark and unfriendly. “Someone who has no interest in sleeping with my brother.”

  “What? No… that’s not what I…” I struggle to find my words as my eyes prick for the second time tonight. I stop trying to speak and instead search his face for some sort of reason as to why he’s behaving like this towards me. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “Look at my face.” He holds his position, uncomfortably close with such angry eyes. I can barely breathe let alone think. “Look at me very carefully. Tell me who I am.”

  “I…” I frown, shaking my head slightly. I should be telling him to fuck off, but instead I’m forcing myself to focus, looking over his features while searching my memory. His eyes are dark, almost black. It’s really hard to see where the pupil ends and the iris begins. His hair is also dark—like eighty percent chocolate—and slightly long on top, the bottom half clipped close to his scalp. He has definite features. Compared to Marcus, Theo is all hard lines and angles. But he’s still beautiful, despite the anger he loves to direct towards me.

  My heart sighs. Why must hate exist in a person’s heart? In my life, I don’t think I’ve ever hated a single person. Even when I was treated poorly, or dumped unceremoniously, I still couldn’t hate. That emotion simply isn’t in me. It hurts to see it glaring back at me.

  Seemingly of its own accord, my hand reaches up, and I lightly touch my fingertips to his dark stubbled jaw. It’s a gesture born of sorrow, but the moment my fingers connect with his skin, a shock flies up my arm. He flinches his head back, confusion flashing in his eyes, briefly dissipating the hard set of his features before he regains his composure and scowls.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking and wide-eyed. That was dumb.

  Theo grunts, pushing his way past me and into the room with everyone else.

  Slightly rattled from the interaction, I stay just outside the door and peer inside. There are plenty of faces in there I don’t know, and in true Marcus fashion, he has a random girl hanging off his arm already. The Bailey brothers are a juxtaposition of emotion. Marcus shares love to a new woman every night, like he’s on a timer and needs to amass as many hookups as he can or his dick will fall off. Theo breathes contempt, sucking the light out of the room with his scowl of indifference. Most people leave him alone, too afraid of his aura to get too close. It must be awful to be so alone in a room full of people. Why is he like that? Does everyone forget who he is? or is that a special kind of beef he has with me? Is it because we went to the same school? Thousands of kids went there. I can’t be expected to remember every single one of them. I’m going to drive myself crazy trying to figure this out.

  “Naomi,” a voice calls from inside the room. I turn my attention towards it and see Stephanie and Gary smiling and waving at me like proud parents. They’re so out of place in the sea of denim and leather.

  I can’t help but grin back as I head over to them, dropping my worries and wrapping my arms around them both as they congratulate me on my performance. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “It was so wonderful, Nomes. We loved it,” Stephanie gushes.

  “Yeah, you were great, kiddo,” Gary adds, his balding head showing small beads of sweat from the heat of the room. Gary is a few years older than Stephanie and I. She met him almost as soon as we finished school. He must have a thing for curvaceous redheads, because they haven’t been separate since then. But his thinning hair makes him look much older than his twenty-eight years, as well as the fact he has a habit of calling anyone younger than him ‘kiddo’.

  “Naomi! Well done tonight.” Both Amy and Erica talk as one as they bounce over to me.

  Amy places a hand on my arm and squeezes. “Hashtag consensus is a resounding yes. You killed it.”

  “We’re so glad you decided to play with them. How great is it that you’re all together again?” Erica rambles. “It’s just like high school.”

  “Except Lachlan wasn’t there,” Amy points out. “That kid with the weird hair was. Oh, hey!” Amy’s eyes go wide at someone over my shoulder then she and Erica bounce away as fast as they arrived.

  My brow creases slightly. “What just happened?” Gary asks looking almost as confused as I am. What does she mean ‘all together again’?

  “I think they’re excited Naomi's in the band,” Stephanie explains just as Lachlan and Jack grab me by the hand.

  “There are people you need to meet,” Jack explains as Lachlan tells Stephanie and Gary to help themselves to the bar.

  Over the next hour I’m dragged around the room, introduced to every person who’s ever shown an interest in the band. I meet the venue manager, the guys who run the merch desk, some girl with a music blog, a couple of guys in a band who have a line on a festival hookup, and then some. I don’t remember a single name, but they are all lovely in my books because they talk about how much depth my playing brings to the band. I feel a bit like a celebrity.

  When Jack gets caught up with a tiny brunette with a low neckline, I take that as my cue to get out of there. I’m dead on my feet—these high heels are a killer—and I’m struggling to stay bubbly and social while Marcus is having his ear cleaned by the tongue of some random girl, and Theo keeps looking at me like he wishes I’d just go somewhere and die. How am I supposed to work like this?

  “Do you mind if we go?” I ask Stephanie and Gary, who are standing quietly in the corner talking to a man with spiky black hair.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Gary tells me, leaning close to my ear before he speaks again. “To be honest with you, this scene is making me feel really old. I don’t think I have it in me to party anymore.” he laughs. “Not when we have a one-year-old to wake up to in the morning.”

  I mention to Lachlan that I’m going home, and he gives me a big hug and once again tells me how great the show was tonight. Lacking the energy and enthusiasm to do more, I nod and smile, then I collect my things and follow Gary and Stephanie outside.

  “What’s wrong?” Stephanie asks once we’ve stepped into the quiet of the street. “You seem really down for someone who put on such a fantastic show.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know if I can watch Marcus with a new girl every night. And then there’s Theo...”

  “What about him?”

  “I just...I don’t know if I can handle working with someone who hates me as much as he seems to. I don’t know if it’s worth it,” I admit.

  “I don’t hate you,” a deep voice says from behind us.

  Gasping, I spin around to find Theo only a few steps back from us. Holy fuck. “Are you following me?”

  “I’m not following you. I’m heading home myself, and I overheard you,” he states calmly, moving so he stands directly in front of me.

  I feel tiny having him this close, needing to crane my neck so I can maintain eye contact—not to mention I don’t trust my hand not to try to touch him again. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.” I take a small step away, just to gain some distance.

  “I’m not going to apologise for overhearing you bag me out,” he states with a slight pull at the corner of his mouth. He’s finding this amusing?

  “I wasn’t bagging you out,” I object, placing my hands on my hips as I stand my ground.

  “Listen, if you can’t handle being aro
und me, that’s fine. Leave the band. It’s no skin off my nose. But don’t do it because you think I hate you. I don’t.”

  “What am I to think, Theo? You’re always glaring at me and telling me you don’t want me around. Is that how you like someone?”

  “If I hated you, I wouldn’t bother speaking to you. I wouldn’t bother wasting my energy on you.”

  “You barely speak to me as it is.”

  He shrugs. “It is what it is.”

  “Jesus Christ. Just tell me what I did to you so we can deal with it and move on.”

  He opens his mouth, and I think he’s actually about to tell me. But he looks over my shoulder to where Stephanie and Gary are standing, pretending they aren’t listening, and clamps his lips shut.

  “Well?” I prompt, holding my hands out at my sides. This mystery of how we’re supposed to know each other is driving me nuts.

  “Listen, it’s not important. It’s my shit to deal with. Just…” He blows out a breath and rakes his hand through his hair. “Just be at my place to rehearse Tuesday. We need to work up a new set for next weekend.” He steps to the side and strides ahead of us. “Unless you’re too scared of big bad Theo, of course,” he teases over his shoulder, before nodding once at Stephanie and Gary as he walks past. I think that’s the happiest I’ve seen him off stage.

  “What the hell was that about?” Stephanie asks, as we stand there watching him walk away.

  “I don’t have a fucking clue,” I say, more confused than ever.

  “Are you still going to quit the band?” She links her arm in mine as we walk with Gary to the car.

  “No. I’m not going to quit the band.” I’m going to figure out who the hell Theo Bailey is and why I’m such a problem for him.

  Twelve

  Naomi

  “Eighty-six to fourteen,” Marcus says a week later. He’s standing in my doorway with two takeaway coffees in his hands and a huge smile on his face. He’s dressed in jeans and a fitted white t-shirt with a button-up tied around his waist, Vans on his feet. When I look at him it’s like I’m looking at the embodiment of a good time.

  “What are you talking about?” I step aside as he walks into my apartment, pressing one of the coffee cups into my hand. “Thanks.”

  “The public vote. It finished today. The results are eight-six to fourteen percent.”

  “Eighty-six percent I stay?”

  He winks then taps his coffee cup against mine. “Congratulations.”

  A smile creeps over my face as I let out a relieved sigh then take a sip of the coffee. It’s a little sweet—I think there’s hazelnut in here or something—but the gesture is nice. “Does that mean fourteen percent of your fans don’t like me?”

  “Our follower count has increased, and we’re getting constant messages asking for more of you. I don’t think fourteen percent is going to affect us too much.” He shrugs as he looks around my apartment, primarily decorated with rescued furniture, repainted sky blue before I sanded it back to give it a distressed look. Then I’ve tied everything in with some vases with dried flowers and cute cross-stitches that I found at garage sales. It has a farmhouse vibe about it.

  “As long as my joining is more of a help than a hindrance.”

  “I like your place,” he says, ignoring my comment. “It’s cute. Suits you.”

  I laugh a little. “Because I’m cute?”

  He meets my eyes and grins. “You’re adorable. You always have been.”

  A light blush creeps over my cheeks. He’s got this natural ability to add deeper meaning to his words. I cover my reaction by drinking more coffee and walking around my couch to where my violin is sitting on the rug where I was cleaning it.

  “What’s all this?” he asks, his eyes following me as I set the coffee on the floor and sit down cross-legged.

  “Just a little maintenance work. I have to make sure there’s enough of this stuff on the bow to create friction.” I lift the block of rosin to show him the pine sap derivative that helps the magic happen. “But it comes off in a sticky powder while I play. Everything needs to be regularly cleaned or the varnish will get messed up.”

  He folds his long legs up to sit next to me, taking the rosin from my hand and holding it to his nose. “So, it’s not tune, plug and play like the guitar is?”

  “You don’t wipe off your guitar?” I ask, holding up my cleaning cloth as an example.

  He shrugs as he places the rosin block back on the rug. “Sometimes.”

  “Ew.” I laugh as I run the cloth over the bow, clearing away as much rosin dust as possible. That stuff gets everywhere. But it’s a necessary evil.

  “Theo wants to record an EP to officially launch our new sound ASAP. You up for that?”

  “As long as I have time to work as well. I still have to pay my rent.”

  “That reminds me.” Shifting his weight, he pulls an envelope from his back pocket. “Your cut of our last gig.”

  “I get paid?”

  He chuckles. “Of course.”

  I glance from the envelope to him. “How much is in there?”

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  Wrapping my hand around the envelope, my fingers brush with his and he holds on a second longer than he should. “There’s four hundred dollars in here.”

  He smiles. “Should at least cover your rent.”

  I laugh. “Almost. But this on top of my bar earnings means I’ll be able to eat well this week. Thanks.”

  “You did the work. And once we’ve got you recorded, you’ll start making royalties too. Then there’s merch sales…it all adds up. You won’t have to stay working at the bar for long.”

  Dragging my teeth along my bottom lip, I can’t contain my smile. “This is pretty cool. I haven’t made money from my music before.”

  “You didn’t even busk as a kid?”

  I shake my head. “Never.” I lift my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear and he catches it on the way back down.

  “What’s this?” he asks, pulling my hand so it’s resting open palmed on his thigh. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s from playing too much without a break,” I say of the torn-up fingers on my left hand. “They’ll heal and I’ll have callouses before you know it.”

  “Is it hard to play?” he asks, running the pad of his thumb across my palm. It makes me want to close my eyes.

  “A little. But I’ve been through it before. I’ll be OK in a week or two.”

  Lifting my hand, he presses a light kiss on each effected fingertip. My rate of breathing increases then deepens when his lips move to the inside of my wrists where he runs his tongue over my pulse point.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “When I was young, my mother always said a kiss could make the pain go away.”

  “I don’t think this is what she meant.”

  “No?” He leans in to press a kiss to my bare shoulder, the curve of my neck. I let out a tiny gasp. “Are your fingers still hurting?”

  “No,” I whisper, just at his lips connect with mine, my whole body sighing like this is the first time it’s ever happened, even though there’s photo evidence to the contrary. “Stop.” I place my hand on his chest and pull back before the kiss can get any deeper. “We’re not doing this.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  “No. I mean, I do. I just… We made a rule as a band. I don’t want my first, newly voted in act to be breaking it.” I push myself back from him. “Now isn’t the time to re-visit whatever this is, Marcus,” I say, pointing between us.

  He sits back and blows out his breath. “For the record, it’s a stupid rule designed to torture me.”

  Picking up my coffee, I touch the tip of my finger to the lip. “I don’t know, Marcus. Maybe it’s a smart rule designed to protect the band. I mean, you’re not the most monogamous guy out there.”

  He pulls at his lip with his teeth. “I could be. Given the right incentive.”

  I actually laugh
at that one. “I would like to see that someday. But for now, I think there’s too much temptation out there and for the sake of the band, and for my precious feelings, I think this is best kept as friends only. Can we do that?”

  Blowing out his breath, he nods his head. “It’s a hard ask, because, well, you’re you. But, OK. I’ll cool it for the sake of the band.”

  “Thank you, Marcus.” I smile. “And thank you for the coffee and the good news too. You made my day.”

  He gets to his feet, taking that as his cue to leave. “I could have made it better,” he teases, before giving me a wink and heading out the door.

  Thirteen

  Naomi

  The next couple of months move by in a blur of rehearsals, gigs, gatherings and shifts at the bar. I’m exhausted. I barely get a moment's rest but I’m loving the fact that I get to put all my energy into creativity. On the flip side, I’m still negotiating my relationships with the guys in the band, especially the Bailey brothers.

  Jack and Lachlan are easy. They show up to rehearsals and recording sessions, play the music and do whatever work is needed. I can talk to them, and they treat me like a member of the band, like a friend.

  Marcus however, treats me like a girl. More pointedly, like a girl he’s interested in. Admittedly, I like the attention. It’s nice to have a man like Marcus flirt with me, and it’s fun to flirt back. But I’m smart enough to realise it means nothing. I don’t think Marcus is actually capable of any real feelings towards a girl. The man can only think about his dick—as he proved at my apartment all those weeks ago.

  Theo, well… he’s still difficult, but he’s toned it down. I have searched through every picture my parents and I have of me at high school, Googled the crap out of him, and still I don’t know how the hell I'm supposed to know him. We never performed together, we didn’t have mutual friends—I don’t even know who his friends were—and I don’t even remember being aware that Marcus had a brother until Theo joined the band not long after I left for Canberra. I’m at a complete loss. But thankfully we’ve been too busy for it to be any more of a problem, working on recording songs to capitalise on our increasing popularity.