Beautiful Lies (Breaking Belles #2) - Alta Hensley Page 0,5

would have no issue in teaching her a lesson of what would happen if she crossed me.

Tying the ribbon into a bow around her neck, I heard, “Sully VanDoren, have you chosen your belle for the Trials of Initiation?”

I took a step back from the belle in pink and nodded.

“I have chosen.”

3

Portia

When the invitation arrived two days ago at our run-down double-wide trailer, I thought it had been sent by God and the holy angels above.

I’d always been an optimist. As the oldest of four sisters with barely a dollar to squeeze between us some days, I had to be, or I’d lose my mind.

When one door closes, somewhere a window opens, right?

And now here I was, standing with nineteen other hopeful beauties behind a heavy mahogany door awaiting what I hoped would be a life-changing experience.

I glanced surreptitiously around me. All the other girls were gorgeous. Their make-up and hair were flawless, their gowns steamed to perfection. Glossy, plump lips. Long eyelashes they fluttered alluringly, like they’d practiced.

My nerves frayed even further. Was I the prettiest here? I had no clue. People had commented about my looks before. I wasn’t sure if it was just because I was blonde and blue-eyed or if it was because they thought I was actually pretty. A couple of my teachers had said I should do beauty pageants, but of course we never had the money for that, and Mama was always too sick anyway.

But what would this mysterious “Initiate” think of me? Would he look beyond our powdered facades to try to guess who we were inside?

Then I snorted internally. Who was I kidding? Every guy I’d ever known made snap judgments on looks alone. What was it they said? Men judged a woman and whether they were attracted to her or not within five seconds of meeting her. I believed it.

I’d arrived hours ago after being dressed to the nines in the gorgeous gown dropped off at our trailer, then made up by my three sisters.

I was met at the door by Mrs. Hawthorne. She took one look at me and then gave a nod of approval. Thank God for my sister Tanya and her impeccable skills borne of years fussing with her own hair and make-up and watching YouTube tutorials.

“Finally, one of you arrives looking acceptable.” She ushered me inside and quickly led me up a back staircase to a preparatory room.

While a doctor examined me in a small, spare room on the second floor of the manor, white walls with dark wood floors, empty except for a twin bed, Mrs. Hawthorne grilled me about why I was here and what I hoped to gain if I was chosen.

I was nervous, and when I was nervous, I chattered.

So, I told her all about my sisters. “I’m here for my family. Well, my sisters. I’m the oldest and then there’s Tanya, Reba, and LeAnn. My mama loved country music stars, so she insisted on naming her babies after them.”

Mrs. Hawthorne looked confused, and I figured maybe it was because she was Scottish, or so I assumed based on her accent, so I explained further. “You know, Tanya Tucker, Reba McIntyre, LeAnn Rimes? They were all big country stars in the eighties and nineties.”

“So is Portia a star’s name, too?” she asked in her lilting accent.

“No,” I looked down. “My daddy named me.” An uncomfortable reminder that I had more of my no-good father in me than any of my sweet sisters. His unsettled spirit, his wanderlust, always itching to be anywhere else but where he was—I inherited it all as a pig loves a mud-bath on a hot summer day.

Even the name he gave me—he meant for it to be Porsche, like the damn car, but at least Mama intervened and wrote it in a more dignified spelling on the birth certificate. Even when naming his own damn kid he’d already been dreaming about driving off into the sunset and leaving his family behind.

Unlike him, though, when the going got tough, I stayed.

I would always stay and fight for my family. No matter what. Because Portia? When I finally looked up what that spelling of the name meant? It stood for: An offering. And yes, I would offer my life for my family, happily. Every time.

“Anyway,” I continued on brightly. I’d decided a long time ago not to dwell on sad things I couldn’t change. “My sisters are the best. I’d do anything for them.”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyebrows narrowed as the doctor