How to get out of an arranged marriage in a month...

The Reveal Part 1.

I throw on a plain black romper just to wear until Stacey, our family maid, makes me change for my 'date.' And I walk downstairs to eat my cereal.

"Morning, Stacey."
Stacey is supposed to be our family maid but over the years she's become one of my best friends.

"Good morning Miss Janet. What would you like for breakfast this afternoon?" she chirps brightly as I rub my eyes wearily.

Yeah, that's right. I eat breakfast at noon sometimes. Whatever. There is always time for breakfast.

"Same as every day? Also my parents aren't down here right now so shut up with the whole 'Miss Janet' crap, okay?" Every morning... or afternoon, I have the same breakfast of Turkey bacon and Cheerios. It isn't healthy but somehow I manage to maintain my fit-tastic form. Okay, so maybe I'm not that fit, but I am thin.

"Yeah, yeah. I just thought I'd ask anyways. Maybe someday you'll want a change." she hands me my cereal. She apparently had it ready even before she asked what I wanted.

"Thanks, Stace." I mumble as I take a gargantuan bite of cereal so that I won't have to immediately answer the questions sure to come.

"So, I heard you're getting married. Who, when, where, why? Spare me no details, child!" Yup. There they are. If there is one thing I can't stand about sweet little Stacey, it's her need to know every bit of gossip.
I sigh but her being one of my very few friends, I love her and must tell her everything I know. "Stacey. Calm down. I haven't even met him yet, but mom and dad want me to marry Dylan Keaze. He's that famous multi-millionaire hottie in that huge fancy car business. I'm getting married to him in exactly a month from today at the Botanic Gardens which has been cleared of all tourists. Then two weeks after being married we go to Fiji alone on our honeymoon, where he has cleared the 'perfect spot' for us to get to know each other even better in peace and quiet. And I'm meeting him tonight for dinner. We're going to some fancy Italian restaurant. But he's 21. Honestly I think the only reason my parents are making me do this is because they want the money and the fame. Ugh." I roll my eyes before adding, "And I'm going to try as hard as I can to make sure we don't get married. He has the last word on this marriage and I'm going to make him hate me."

"Ooh! The Botanic Gardens? That's wonderful! And dear, you must get ready!" I roll my eyes again. She's only 26 but still calls me child and dear anyways. And it's almost like she didn't hear a thing I said. I don't want to meet him. Ever. Much less dress to impress him.

But nonetheless, I scamper after her as she hurries back up to my room where she flings open my closet. I have three sections of closet. One filled with fancy clothes my parents love, one side filled with the clothes I love, and one more very small section filled with clothes that neither me or my parents hate. In it are maybe ten items as where in the other two are all at least 30 each.

In my side are leather jackets, tank tops, short shorts, ripped skinny jeans, grunge skirts, and combat boots mostly. As where in my parents side are lacy pink things, too-tight dresses, pencil skirts, high heels, blouses, and other kinds of clothes you'd expect business women and princesses to wear. The kind of clothes that just don't suit me well. And then, in our compromise side is leather jackets with lace, skinny jeans with no rips, high heel Steve Madden boots, and slightly short shorts with real diamonds.

I usually wear silver and black rich punk looking clothes to school since there's no dress code.
Example? The leather jackets with see-through lace on the back, black combat boots with silver toes and a small heel, black crop top shirts, non torn actual diamond studded skinny jeans, eyeliner, mascara, and a light blush, along with diamond earrings and, every once in a while, a silver bow tying my wavy dark brown hair into a tight ponytail after straightening it. And then this look is completed with my silver eyes and perfectly full red lips.

Anyways, Stacey searches through our compromise section, picking out a few skirts of varying shades of pink and a cammo crop top. And although it isn't my favorite style, I have to admit, some of the cheetah print and zebra print patterns she pulled out suit me pretty well.

I finally decide (with a little help from Stacey) to go with a short sleeved dark green dress that ends about mid-thigh with a black skull and crossbones belt and some short black leather boots. I wear my hair up in a neat ponytail after straightening it and put on only a little mascara and eyeliner. Then Stacey coats my lips (much to my complaint) with a little (her version of a little which is actually quite a lot) of lip gloss. It tastes like mint.

Even though I love hardcore rock music and wear alternative clothes, I'm actually very nice and like to do volunteer work. Yeah, surprise surprise. And I am a tad girly, though I hate to admit it.

Sooner then I would have wanted, it's 6:30 and who I assume to be Dylan, rings the doorbell. I sigh but prance down the stairs to answer it. Okay, okay. You caught my bluff. I more stumbled down the stairs than pranced but whatever.

I open the door. Time for the reveal...

To be continued...