Billie and the Russian Beast - 50 Loving States, South Carolina - Quarantales

Chapter One

A lot of people, including my brother and two best friends might argue with me about this (like, all the time), but I refuse to call my life boring.

The thing is I grew up poor in one of South Carolina’s roughest neighborhoods. And after my mother died of cancer when I was eighteen, I had to figure out how to take care of myself and my older brother. Trust, I got over the “excitement,” of not knowing how I would both eat and pay my brother’s college bills real quick.

My two best friends and fellow former beauty queens, Cynda and Gina, love to tease me about how I only entered the South Carolina beauty pageant for the scholarship money. And I know a lot of other state princesses are still coasting through life on their looks. But I figured out from early on that being pretty only got you so far in the world.

My prettier-than-average face and dance background had been enough to get me a position as an NFL cheerleader for my brother’s team, the Carolina Leopards. And I enjoyed cheering, but I can’t tell you how annoying it was to put up with the nasty catcalls from the stands. Even worse were the constant come-ons from football players who were not even allowed to date us cheerleaders.

They never believed me when I not only refused to break the rules to be with them, but also told them that I had no interest whatsoever in dating an athlete. I mean, why would I? From what I could see, guys who played sports for a living were all men children who partied too much and spent their too-large incomes on stupid things.

Believe me, cheerleading got real old after a few years, and I was more than happy to use my state pageant winnings to pivot into a career in accounting.

And I don’t care what my brother and his friends say about my career change. Oh how Cynda and Gina keep badgering me to let down my hair and have more fun. After the way I grew up, there is nothing more thrilling in my opinion than having a stable job at one of Charleston’s biggest accounting firms and owning a two bedroom/two and a half bath condo in West Ashley—with garage parking!

Not only that, but I’m set to take the CPA exam in June. And as for having more fun, check this out. I just signed up for a new dating platform called BizHarmony. Unlike those hookup apps, which I can’t stand, BizHarmony caters to practical and stable business professionals looking for practical and stable relationships. That means by the end of the summer, I might not only be a certified public accountant, but also dating someone who shares my exact same values.

How exciting is that? I mean, if someone had shown teenage me where I am now, she’d be jumping up and down with joy.

So no, I’d argue that my life isn’t boring at all.

But still, I do begin the first weekend of March yawning.

And I can’t stop yawning as I listen to Ultralearning by Scott Young on my kitchen’s smart speaker while scrubbing the dishes my brother left in the sink.

I’m not yawning because scrubbing caked on food off dinnerware is boring—although I can’t stress enough what a pain in the ass it is to wake up to find dirty dishes in my usually immaculate kitchen. Scott Young also isn’t responsible for my current state of tiredness. Believe me, I need all the help I can get if I want to pass my CPA exam. So I’m paying real close attention to his theories on how to optimize my study time.

It’s just that it’s four in the morning, and no matter what I tell my body about the early bird getting the worm—and passing the CPA exam in June—it’s still protesting and yawning.

“You seem tired. Did you have a late night too, Princess South Carolina?”

I freeze, the hair standing up on the back of my neck.

Because the person who asked me that question isn’t my brother, Clem.

Whoever it is has an accent, but it’s a lot less country than my North Charleston born and raised brother. And way more dangerous, because it belongs to a stranger.

My stomach becomes rock hard, and it feels like my heart is about to explode in my chest. There’s a stranger. In my house. Calling me Princess South Carolina.

I swallow. I’d heard about things like stalkers from other Queen America contestants, but I didn’t even make it to the big pageant’s quarter-finals. I’m not 100% sure they ran my full package in the live broadcast since I never bothered to watch it. And most people don’t recognize me here in Charleston like they do my friend Cynda all over St. Louis, and in Guadalajara, the small Missouri town she returned to after her father died. Maybe I was being naïve and stupid, but I never thought something like this would happen to me.