Beautiful Lies (Dark Secret Society 2)

But no, not thinking about that right now.

Mrs. Hawthorne got up looking as if she was about to leave. “The doctor will be back with the birth control shot any moment. All that’s left is to tell me what you want out of this. What is your greatest wish?”

I paused, not wanting to mess it up. What if it was like a genie wish in the old stories and if you worded it wrong, they’d screw you out of everything you were entitled to because of some unforeseen loophole?

“What did the last girl ask for?” I hedged.

“At first? Money.”

“How much?”

“Ten million.”

Then I frowned. “Wait, what do you mean at first?”

Mrs. Hawthorne paused and then leaned in like it was a secret. “It’s never happened before, so don’t get your hopes up. But by the end of the trial, she and the Initiate fell in love. She gave up the money and her only wish was to simply be with him.”

That sounded romantic… and impractical.

“But you’re making me feel as if it doesn’t just have to be money. That the Order has power to give me anything I want. Anything?”

“Within means.”

I made my request. Which saying out loud, even in a whisper to a woman I felt I could trust, scared me I would jinx everything. Saying it out loud made it real. I was taught as a child you never told someone your wish when you blew out your candles on your cake because it wouldn’t come true, so from this moment on, my wish out of all wishes would remain locked away in the impenetrable safe of my soul.

“Can they do that?” I asked.

She nodded. “They’ve done it before.”

I closed my eyes and breathed out in relief, sinking back against the wall. It would be over, hopefully once and for all.

I looked back up at Mrs. Hawthorne. “Let’s do this.”

And now here I was, standing and waiting for the choosing ceremony. Waiting behind this mahogany door, praying to be picked by the Initiate. I wanted it so badly. Needed it.

But guys hated needy chicks. I had to be calm, cool, and collected. They were looking for “belles”, right? I could be the epitome of a Southern belle.

Refined. Regal. Expensive. Elusive.

Everything I wasn’t in real life.

But this was all fiction. A performance, a lie. Wasn’t that what rich people were? They sinned just as much as the rest of us, they just didn’t have to pay for it. They got to pretend they were above it all.

They got to skip to the front of the line—their greatest sin.

Tonight I’d be one of them. For 109 days I’d play the part.

But only if I got chosen.

Then, before I was ready, the door swung open. Some of the girls scuffled briefly to be at the front of the single file line, but I grabbed a spot in the middle. Getting into a girl-fight right out of the gates would not be regal or elusive.

We paraded in, single file. My mouth dropped open a tiny bit as we entered.

It was an intimidating, spotless white ballroom. I’d never seen anything like it. The whole manor was over a hundred years old, probably significantly more. And looking around was like we’d stepped out of time and slipped into a side pocket where it was still a century ago.

Men in pristine white tuxes mingled, cocktails in hand until they positioned themselves in an orderly line. And then there were the men in luxurious but ominous silver cloaks. The sheen of the rich fabric shimmered under the light of the huge gas chandelier. Each of the cloaked men held a silver-topped cane.

One of the men in a cloak demanded for us to be displayed and we arranged ourselves in a brightly colored line, our gowns vivid splashes of color in the otherwise monochrome room.

As we walked in a circle, I searched the room furiously, trying to get my bearings and figure out which of the men in white tuxes was the Initiate of the night.

The men in tuxedos stood at attention, reminding me of soldiers preparing for war. Some watched our procession curiously, but one was just downing his glass of dark amber liquid. He seemed completely uninterested in the proceedings. Jeez, if he was here to support his friend, he was doing a crap job at it.

I hoped it was either the studious looking one or the guy smiling kindly at us like he was trying to encourage us all that we were doing well.

Instead…

It was the drunken lout whom the Elders approached with a small black ribbon and a scowl on their faces as the drunk’s empty glass was taken away.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Him?

My heart sank. He didn’t even look like he wanted to be here. He walked unevenly towards the belles and brushed his hand roughly over the pearls at their necks.