Gust Portia Novels & Stories

Gary said, moving a ball with his golf club on a green mat of fake grass. “I was surprised you called. Is Portia still out of town?” I asked, already knowing the answer from my mother. Gary hadn’t been himself lately. He and Portia had an odd relationship. They seemed perfect and loving, which they were, when everything was going the way it was supposed to. Unfortunately when it was bad, it was horrible.

They're speaking in Italian so it's probably the women doing her hair and makeup. “Where's the cousin?" "End of the hall in one of the guest rooms." The house is coming together slowly, one room at a time. "Good." Pushing the door open, I stop to take in the scene. Portia's wearing a robe standing with her arms folded across her chest obviously refusing something. She doesn't have a stitch of makeup on and her hair hangs in loose waves down her back. She looks pissed. Again. "What's the problem ?" I ask.

I’ve got the resources to bury you so deep you’ll be polishing nails in bloody Grimsby. Portia’s grin faltered for a second before she found her nerve again. ‘Don’t threaten me. She doesn’t want you. She’s gone halfway round the world to evade you. She’s changed her number. If you think pestering her will fix anything, then you clearly don’t know her at all.’ ‘I know her better than you think.’ ‘Oh yeah? What’s her favourite colour?’ ‘Blue.’ ‘Favourite ice cream flavour?’ ‘Elderflower and lime.’

Grasping the gemstone tightly, I placed myself in front of the door and knocked, loud enough for the storm to not overpower the sound. “Who’s there?” a voice, which I would assume, belonged to Weston said in an aggressive tone. “It’s me, Portia,” I introduced myself. “Portia. Are you really her?” His tone was laced with hesitation. “It is me. I’m here to bring back something you all are looking for.”

the shop assistant said, handing her a small slip. ​ “Um, could I have a moment to check some information first?” she asked shyly, as she wasn’t entirely sure about the exact lettering she wanted to use. ​ “Of course. You can take a seat over there while you wait.” ​ “Thank you.” ​ Portia sat down and opened her phone to search the internet. It took her quite a while to understand the details and choose the right characters. Finally, she wrote them down and handed the paper back. ​

she scoffed at Joseph and the mystery girl she'd never seen before. Joseph had lost all energy the moment he heard Portia insulting his wife and exposing all of her terrible actions. He didn't know what he would have done if it hadn't been for the girl by his side. "Tsk, tsk, it's exactly the same," Portia said as her glance passed by Joseph and settled on the girl dressed poorly, “before I got here, I used to dress like this. We seem to be following the same plot. You have to be the true new daughter. I am Portia, the mistress of the home."

- I have a package for you," she joked. Portia appeared from behind, wearing a nice smile and a red dress. Her hair was halfway down her back and she was much bigger. She was already 6 years old, her birthday had been last month. She had celebrated twice, once in New York and once in Seattle. She looked beautiful. He greeted her with a hug. - How are you? - Good, and you? I missed you! - Portia said. - I missed you too! Go put your backpack inside. - He said smiling. Portia hurried into the house.

she said, as she looked Laura up and down. Taking note, Laura thought to herself, of her not-stick thin figure. Compared to Portia, she felt like a different species all together. “Portia also works at our company,” Angelo interjected. “She’s a finance and economics whiz.” “Oh?” said Laura. She also took note of the woman’s intensely green eyes, framed by dramatic black false eyelashes. “So, how do you two know each other?” Portia asked, boldly steering the conversation where she wanted it to go.

A knock came on my door, and the knob turned as Portia came in. "Dios! I told you to always knock!" She closed the door behind her and smiled. She always looked different when she smiled, like the mother she was when I was little. It always brought back memories, and I found myself wondering why she changed. That was then. Now, I knew her not as the mother she was but as the greedy woman she'd become. Not "madre" again, but as Portia. She stepped into the room. "Lorenzo, you know I'm in full support of you taking control of the Mafia."

Portia's arrogance and disdain for Agrippina's command radiated from her, while Kazia was driven by a sense of duty to complete the work and show her willingness to comply. As they began their laborious task of cleaning the curtains, the room grew quieter, the only sound being the soft swish of fabric against the sponge. Despite the circumstances, Kazia's dedication to her work shone through. She silently noted that her ability to work efficiently and with precision was a skill she had honed during her time as a servant in the Silver Crest Pack, and she was determined to demonstrate her worth. Portia, however, took a different approach. She worked more slowly and half-heartedly, her arroganc