by Gina Azzi
"You ready for this?"
"Yeah." I glance over at her before swinging my eyes back to the road. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, my Maywood."
"Me too."
The day is bright and beautiful as I pull onto the freeway and Evie and I literally drive off into our own type of sunset.
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Recovering Beauty
Stay tuned for Recovering Beauty (The Kane Brothers Series Book 2) coming August 30, 2018. To stay informed about Recovering Beauty updates, please subscribe to my newsletter. Thank you for reading!
Recovering Beauty
She saves him from himself. But he ruins her for anyone else.
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He shouldn’t smile at me. He shouldn’t even look at me. He’s cost me more than he’ll ever know yet he’s saved me in ways he’ll never realize. Carter Kane is different. He sees past me and through me and into me all at the same time. He makes the damaged parts of me beautiful and the beautiful parts inconsequential.
She's the last person I expect to meet here. Wide blue eyes, full lips, and flowers in her hair, she looks like she could grace the cover of a magazine. Or dance at Coachella. But when Taylor Clarke unexpectedly catapults into my life, she flips it upside down, forcing me to see things differently. Forcing me to admit things I’d rather forget.
Sometimes life hands us a second chance. A fresh start. Sometimes life deals us a tragedy that we just manage to recover from. Sometimes, it’s even beautiful.
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Recovering Beauty
Chapter One - Taylor
“Lavender or lilac?” My friend, and I use the term loosely, Isabella asks, holding up two silk gowns that are very similar shades of purple.
“Lavender.” I point to the dress on the right.
She sighs, dropping her arms, the silky material of the gowns sliding across the marble floor of her massive closet. “Taylor! This one,” she raises the dress on the right, pushing it toward me, “is lilac!”
“Oh. Well, that one then. It’s beautiful.” I say seriously. The gown is gorgeous, but so is every dress in Isabella’s closet. I run my fingers over the beading on the bodice, keeping my attention trained on the gown. I consider it thoughtfully as if this is the most important question I will ever answer.
Perhaps it is.
Isabella spins, catching her reflection in the trifold mirrors at the end of her closet. Dropping the lavender dress, she holds the lilac gown against her slender frame. “I think so, too. This shade just does more for my complexion, you know?”
“Absolutely.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“So, what’re you wearing?”
I look down at my tent summer dress. It’s oversized and comfortable and doesn’t show a hint of my outline. I love the bold colors of it though. Pairing it with some vintage boots and tassel earrings, it’s cute enough to wear out but comfy enough to want to wear out.
Isabella sighs again and I look up, noting how she narrows her eyes at me in a flash of annoyance. “I don’t mean right now, Tay. I mean to the gala.”
Oh, that. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and prepare myself to pretend like the gala is the most exciting thing in the world. Because it should be; it’s supposed to be. “Right. I have a new gown by a local designer. It’s blue.”
Isabella wrinkles her nose.
“Sapphire.” I correct.
She considers this, tilting her head to the left, her eyes perusing my body. I know she’s pretending to envision me in said blue dress but the way her eyes spend a beat too long on my thighs speaks to other motives. “Sapphire is a good choice. Especially with your hair.”
I tug on the end of the fishtail braid that hangs over my left shoulder. My hair is sun-kissed and golden honey, with every shade of blonde running throughout. Reaching to the center of my back in wild waves, my hair is the one thing I won’t negotiate on in my contracts. “Thanks.”
“Is Barrington collecting you tonight?” Isabella turns away to the shoes that line one wall of her closet. She runs her fingers over them casually but her posture is too straight, too rigid and I know she’s hanging onto every word I say.
“Yes, he’s picking me up at seven.” Collecting me is more accurate. Barrington Wade, and men like him, choose me, and women that look like me, to lightly clutch their arms, giggle appropriately at their jokes, and ultimately serve as props to attract attention to them. It doesn’t matter that we’ve run in the same circles since birth. At some point, the boys in the group turned into men who were primed to conquer the world and the girls blossomed into women who were meant to shadow them.
Isabella nods, her fingers catching on the straps of soft cream heels.
“Anyway, I better head out now.” I say, suddenly desperate to escape the closet that I can literally get lost in. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Of course.” She turns toward me and presses two air kisses to the space on either side of my cheeks. “I know it can take a while to get all dolled up. Especially when your date is Barrington.”
I offer a small wave and walk out of her closet, across her enormous bedroom, and through the maze of the Kent family mansion before collapsing behind the wheel of my red Mini Cooper.
Releasing a deep breath, I spend several seconds staring at my hands against the steering wheel. My French manicure is perfect, my skin smooth and unblemished. The rose gold diamond band on the middle finger of my right hand scatters the sunlight. I have the hands of a woman whose never had to properly work a day in her life. Privileged hands that many yearn for and I would give anything to roughen up.
Starting the engine, I pull out of the horseshoe driveway and down the private road before turning onto the street, and breathing easy once more.
“You look stunning.” Barrington greets me from the foyer of my parent’s home. His eyes burn with satisfaction, his hair is perfectly styled, his tuxedo sharp. “As always.”
My dad clasps him on the shoulder at his little afterthought. “Ah, Taylor knows how to light up a room.”
Mom presses her hands together and smiles. Too bad it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you, Barrington.”
He nods before turning toward my father to exchange a few words as I stand as still as a statue, blending into the decor of the room like a piece of art. Something to be quietly admired but still, part of the backdrop. Just like my mom.
Turning my mind inwards, I let myself drift into other thoughts and memories. I hate galas and balls and all the high profile events that I frequently attend. Smiling for cameras and posing on red carpets. Sipping champagne out of delicate flutes and pressing a folded napkin to my lips. Never eating as consuming food would be viewed negatively. What would my peers think? Would the other ladies of high society zero in on my waistline and comment to my mom that I’m gaining? The entire charade is exhausting.
The only good thing about tonight is that it’s one night closer to tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, I’m having dinner - pizza and Coke and fries - with Ria. I know she’ll make me crack up until I snort soda from my nose and talk me into ice cream sundaes afterwards. She’ll make me feel normal and grounded and like me once more.
“You ready to go, darling?” Barrington’s hand is at the small of my back, an intense pressure that digs downward into my skin.
“Of course.” I smile politely, leaning forward to gently kiss my mom and Daddy good-bye.
Barrington escorts me out of my family home to his waiting black Lamborghini. Not caring much for cars, I know that this sleek bad boy is expensive, exclusive, and an attention grabber. I fight the ur
ge to roll my eyes as I place my hand gently in Barrington’s to lower myself into his car.
He crosses around the back of the car, momentarily disappearing from view before settling behind the wheel. “Sorry about the car, doll,” he offers me a wry grin, “my Bentley is in for routine maintenance.”
“This is perfect.” I say because I know it’s what he wants to hear.
Barrington revs the engine and turns on some classical music. The space between us is tense and awkward, the way it always is. We ride to the gala in silence.
Just the way I prefer it.
The gala is beautiful. The decor, the flowers, the place settings, every single detail decided with careful attention and consideration. Ascending the stairs to the entrance, Paparazzi snap photos of Barrington and I. He angles our bodies to meet the cameras for a few moments, his grasp tight on my hip. Once we’re inside, he places a hand on my shoulder, his fingers caressing my bare skin and causing a shiver to skate up my spine. “Remember, darling, we need to make a certain impression tonight. Don’t forget your place.” He whispers in my ear, his posture casual. To a passerby, it would look like a sweet moment between a couple in love. In reality, his tone holds a warning, his words hard and cold.
Turning, I place my open palm on his cheek and look into his eyes. “Of course.”
He nods once before his eyes leave me, sweeping across the great ballroom and making a quick inventory of who’s present. A calculated assessment of who needs to be approached and who should approach him, and the formation of a strategy for how the night will unfold.
“Champagne?” A waiter holding a small tray filled with champagne flutes stops next to us.
“Thank you.” Barrington says to him, never making eye contact, as he takes two flutes and places one between my fingers. “Don’t drink too much.” He growls at me under his breath.
I keep my features still, my smile in place, my face never slipping.
These interactions have become so predictable, they don’t even surprise me anymore. Not enough to muster a reaction anyway.
“Dr. Hanover.” Barrington’s voice grows louder as Dr. and Mrs. Hanover turn toward us. We walk the few paces to form a circle with them and Dr. Hanover says hello to us, throwing a quick wink in my direction.
He’s probably one of the only men in the room who I genuinely like. He’s funny and thoughtful and so successful that he draws the jealousy of everyone present. Except he couldn’t care less. Mrs. Hanover is a petite woman with sharp, observant eyes, a wide smile, and a contagious laugh. One that inspires you to laugh along with her. Even though it’s not considered polite, it’s always genuine, and that’s something I admire about her.
“Taylor, dear, you look beautiful as always.” She kisses my cheek. A real kiss she presses against my skin. “But you’re too thin. Shall we stand closer to the kitchen so we can sample all the hor d’oeuvres on their way out?”
I fight the urge to giggle, instead glancing over my shoulder at Barrington. He dismisses me with the flick of his wrist and I wrap my hand around the crook of Mrs. Hanover’s arm as we escape to a quiet corner of the room.
“Thank you.” I tell her sincerely, once we are out of earshot of Barrington.
“No, dear, thank you. Poor Edward though.” She references her husband, her eyes taking on a shimmer of glee, “he’s going to be so bored talking to that stiff you walked in with. Really, dear, why Barrington?”
I laugh lightly, her words hitting their mark. Why Barrington? Because I don’t have a choice. Suddenly embarrassed to admit aloud that my parents keep setting me up with him, I fib, “It’s stated in my new contract that I make a certain amount of public appearances with high profile men.”
“Oh,” she nods, considering this, “well good. As long as you’re getting something out of it too.”
I make a noncommittal sound in my throat, feeling guilty for lying and also desperately wishing that my words rang true. That I was somehow in control over my own future, even tasked with something as simple as choosing my own date for a gala.
Mrs. Hanover snatches several crab puffs from a passing tray.
“These are divine.” She pops one into her mouth and holds one out to me.
Doing a quick scan to make sure no one is watching, I eat the puff, a small moan escaping my throat.
“You really do need to eat more.” Mrs. Hanover scolds. “I know models need to be thin to stay relevant but really the gaunt look went out in the nineties.”
“Mrs. Hanover! I don’t look gaunt, do I?”
Her eyes wash over me slowly before she shakes her head. “No. You don’t. You look bored and uninspired. It has nothing to do with your physical appearance, which as you know, is absolutely stunning. But there’s more to you than meets the eye, Taylor. I just wish you would let more people see you.”
I lean forward to press a kiss against her smooth cheek. “I’m so grateful that you’re here tonight, Mrs. Hanover.”
She waves a hand at a waiter with the coconut shrimp. “You and me both dear. And please, call me Helen.”
“Okay, Helen. Tell me when the coast is clear; I’m going to eat a shrimp.”
Her eyes gleam again with that same mischievous sparkle. Several tables over, Barrington drones on as Dr. Hanover throws us SOS looks. Helen waves to him cheekily and then snags some coconut shrimp which we pop quickly into our mouths, washing them down with large gulps of expensive champagne.
After Helen is whisked away by Dr. Hanover, all the way to other side of the great room, the night drags. We take our seats for dinner and I spot Isabella at another table. I wave to her and she nods back, her eyes scanning my dress before she sinks into her seat.
The guests seated at our table greet each other, running through a quick round of introductions. When it’s my turn, I open my mouth to say hello when Barrington cuts me off, “This is my date, Taylor Clarke. You probably know her father, Joseph, of Clarke Enterprises.”
A few knowing looks and nods take place and I feel my cheeks redden at Barrington’s obvious dismissal of me. I’m only of use to him because of my father and his company. I’m only of use to anyone because of the attention I can bring them through my father’s name and my own good fortune of having a face that designers deem beautiful enough to market. Hence my career choice.
“You look very familiar.” An older man to my right comments, peering at me.
“Oh, I volunteer a lot with the Little Sisters of Georgia. Perhaps you’ve come to one of our fundraisers?” I ask, using every opportunity I can to plug the organization responsible for keeping me sane.
The group titters and Barrington laughs boisterously, his large hand coming down to squeeze my thigh under the table.
“She recently landed the cover of Vanity Fair. She’s the exclusive model for Adriana Rose’s new campaign.” Barrington explains, pride coloring his eyes as he watches the group for their reactions.
“Ohh, I love Adriana Rose! Do you get to keep the gowns?” The wife of the man to my right asks.
“No, but that would be nice.” I grin at her, about to tell her about Adriana’s new line when the comments start.
“No wonder you’re so thin.”
“That’s it! I knew I knew you from somewhere.”
“How exciting! The life of a model.”
“Oh Barrington, you must be so proud.”
“Do you have a strict diet and personal trainer?”
“How’d you land that job?”
The questions surge forth like an uncontrollable wave. I keep my expression neutral, my fingers digging into the satiny material of my gown. Answering each of their questions, I try to infuse excitement and enthusiasm into my voice. The entire time, I smile pleasantly, nod accordingly, and laugh when expected. Slowly, Barrington’s hand releases me. We eat dinner. And I remember that no matter my passions or interests or skills, nothing will ever outshine my looks and the perception that accompanies them.
* * *
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rder Now
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Acknowledgments
Thank you so much for taking the time to read Rescuing Broken! I hope you enjoyed meeting the Kane and Maywood families and will stay tuned for Carter’s and Denver’s books (and maybe Daisy’s and Graham’s…).
I loved getting to know and understanding Evie and Jax. Although their circumstances were often difficult to write about, I think the issues they struggled to overcome are important to discuss - particularly in society today.
To my husband and Littles - thank you for your never-ending support, encouragement, and love. You guys are my world.
To my family and friends who continue to support me on my writing journey - I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you!
To Regina Wamba at Mae I Design - I LOVE this cover *all the heart eyes*. Thank you for capturing the Evie and Jax I imagined.
To Rebecca Jaycox - THANK YOU for editing this project and for making me answer the tough questions. Your comments really took Rescuing Broken to the next level.
To all the Bloggers, members of my ARC Team, and author friends (shoutout to YAAR and the OP) - thank you x a million for all of the energy and time you poured into Rescuing Broken along with me. Your advice and support is invaluable and I think you all are awesome!
To you, the reader, thanks for giving me the opportunity to do something I love - write and create! I’m so grateful to you.
Happy Reading!
Gina
More Books by Gina Azzi
Coming to Google Play in July 2018
