Rich Kid in Disguise

Disguise 1: The Escape

Rich Kid in Disguise

The Escape

Disguise 1

-Penelope's POV-

(Note: Dedicated to tacenda- for the RKD trailer!)

I tossed my bag, plopping myself down my bed as silent rage bubbled up inside me. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down before I do something I'll regret. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a sigh before opening my eyes again.

A knock came from the door, breaking me from my little dilemma.

"Miss Hale?" One of the servants, whom I assume was Margo, spoke from the door.

"Yeah, Margo?" I responded, clearing my throat.

"Dinner is ready." She replied, her footsteps telling me that she was leaving. I picked up my phone and stuffed it in my pocket as I made my way for the extravagant hall. It glimmered in modern colors of brown and greenish blue, modern art displayed across it. I fixed my pink tank top as well as my thin peach jacket. Heading down the tiring long steps of the red carpeted stairs, I placed my long brown hair in order behind my back.

The butler—Ryan, was standing in the bottom of the grand stairs, patiently and curtly waiting for me. I ignored his waiting hand, hating the way my parents treat me like a precious fragile figurine. Ryan recovered his right hand, bowing and retreating to the door of the garage. I shook my head, not appreciating the princess-like manner my parents are giving me. Busy with my thoughts, I haven't realized that I have arrived in the dining room. I took my seat immediately, not bothering to look at my father.

"Good evening." I greeted, my voice higher on the last word than on the other. I noticed my father shake his head, my mother holding his hand.

"Where have you been this time, Penelope?" My father, Robbin Peter Hale of HGC Inc., asked- usually. I shrugged.

"Oh, just somewhere in California where again, the press you love, is on my tail." I told him nonchalantly, serving myself with steak. I looked up and smiled sarcastically. "And I always thank you for that." I added, cutting whatever my Dad was going to lecture me of. I continued my business with the food in front of me.

What? At least I knew food is a blessing.

"Penelope Victoria, you do not talk to your father like that!" My mother scolded. I dropped the utensils on my hand, looking up this time to her.

"Don't even dare start denying that mom, he even gives the press a genuine smile you don't even see everyday." I retorted. My father shook his head as I saw my mother close her eyes. I smiled timidly and added, "And you even know better than I do."

The table was filled in silence, the clinking of glasses the only noise. I continued eating my steak, my gaze focused on food rather than the two people whom I grew to dislike. Don't get me wrong, but hate is a strong word to begin with.

"Please turn on the television, Greta." My father ordered, referring to the giant screen planted on the wall on the end of the dining table.

If you're ever wondering who the heck would put a television in a dining room, just remember my father and then we'll be fine.

Once the television was on, my dad ordered Greta to move to any news channel. I closed my eyes in exasperation.

Dammit, another lecture before I can even finish my steak.

I ate silently, acting to be oblivious. Well, it didn't last the time I heard my name.

"Say, Marie, is this Penelope Hale the André Martinez intertwining hands with?"