Fake It

"Please. It's one ball."
One ball too many.

Being slightly famous with an even more famous family is kind of a hard ship when you don't want anything to do with them. For Layne Avery, this ball was the very last thing she ever wanted to go to, but when a very unexpected visitor comes and asks her for a favor, she says yes. Layne isn't fit for the royal life, or maybe she is. You tell me, but you first you have to read Fake It.


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1. One

Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock.

 

"What do you want?!" I yelled from my bedroom. Having someone knock you awake is not the way I wanted to be woken up that morning. I lifted my head off my very soft pillow, praying that it was just a bad dream.

 

Wait, wait, wait. Before you go and make conclusions and predictions about this story, let me just say one thing: I, Layne Delilah Avery, am 22 and yes, I do still take naps. Be that as it may, don't  expect me to be the adult, I'm a child despite what I'll say. 

 

"Layne, it's me! Open up!"

 

"Go home, Isabel. I'm trying to sleep." I yelled, well, again.

 

"Layne, for serious, open the door."

 

I groaned loudly, falling out of my bed dramatically. Trudging my feet against my hard wood floors, I made my way to my front door. I opened it quickly and come face to face to a sight I see quite often.

 

"What do you want, Isabel? It's a fucking Saturday and I don't like having guests over." I said.

 

Isabel, in her usual floral dress and flats, stood in front of my apartment with her annoying smile. I just knew she wanted something from me. Hell, it's the same face I get when I want something, or so it may seem when I'm being way too desperate.

 

"I came to ask a favor of you." She said, pushing my arm that was holding the door open and walked in.

  

"And what is it?" I asked, closing the door behind me. My irating dopelganger pranced around on my clean green carpet with her I-don't-know-where-they've-been shoes, while mumbling something about how the decor just hasn't seem have to changed since the last time she's been here.

 

"Honestly, Is. What the hell do you want?" I questioned a bit louder so she'd stop effing stalling. After all, she's my twin so I knew she's had to be up to something.

 

She spun around to look at me with doe-like eyes. She of all people should know that I don't fall for that. I mean, we've literally been side by side since birth until I had it with our reckless family. So, let's stop right here. Remember this: my family are fucking narcissistic assholes with nothing better to do then cater themselves to your precious media.

 

My mom, Olivia Avery-Stewart, is married to the duke of Mirilano and she prides herself on making me and my siblings fit for royalty. The only thing my stepdad is good for is his last name, which I gladly accepted when they got married. Let me inform you, this was years back. I think I was like 12 at the time. They've been married for some time, surprisingly.

 

My twin, Isabel, is the most irritating person I've ever met. Despite the bond we share from being in the same womb, I want to strangle her. I know she knows it, too. I won't though, because I do love her, but God! Why do I have to look exactly like her? Yeah, we're polar opposites. She's preppy and I couldn't give any less of a fuck.

 

"Honestly... You couldn't be at least a little subtle. Give me a break why don't 'cha." She said in her natural northern accent.

 

"Well, you being annoying on my nap day. If you want something spit it out. It better not be money, because you know you have much more than I do-"

 

"It's not about money, so just shut up," She interrupted, "I need you to do one small favor so just listen for a sec. There's this ball coming up and I need you to go in my place."

 

"Me? At a ball? Ha! Isabel, you should have came up with a better way to convince me!" I laughed at my dimwit of a sister. You'd think she would have had better sales pitch before she just come ask me such a ridiculous favor.

 

"Please, Layne. It's one ball."

 

"Why can't you go? You're more fit for things like that anyway."

 

"I more or less slept with Prince Louis. Talk about awkward!" She's said with a shrug. A fucking shrug!

 

"Jesus Christ, Belle. You're such a slut." I groaned. My idiotic doppelganger had done it again. She never seized to amaze me.

 

"So... Is that a yes?"

 

"I guess, but I'm still gonna call you a slut when I see you around mom."

 

"Wouldn't have it any other way." She replied back, not hesitating in the least.

 

It's just a stupid ball. Nothing to worry about. Oh boy, I was so fucking WRONG.

 

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