I'm a supermodel lookalike, so what happens when I'm forced to marry her boyfriend?

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I'm a supermodel lookalike, so what happens when I'm forced to marry her boyfriend?

Chapter 1.

The sun glared overhead, and I glared back. Pfft, this was so not what I needed, I thought, and stuffed my headphones into my iPhone, humming along quietly.

Let me give you a short introduction of myself. I'm Charissa Taylor, currently 17 years old, and I live in Manhattan. I have a younger brother, Keith, and my parents are divorced. Keith and I stay with our mum; Dad took off and never came back.

Sometimes on the street I get spotted and people will start calling out, "Are you Abelline Evans?" It's already become so often that this happens, that I don't actually care anymore.

Abelline Evans does, admittably, look like me. But obviously, there is a difference. My eyes are topaz, hers are green. Not that most people seem to care, frankly speaking. Most people take one look at me and shove at pen and paper at my face.

Abelline is one of the most successful supermodels of all time. She's gorgeous, and I really admire her, though my friends think that it's silly, because we look almost like twins.

She's also the object of many men's fantasies, considering that she IS drop-dead gorgeous. My mother envies her not because of her looks, but because she has the hottest guy on earth round around her little finger. I'm not even kidding.

His name is Joel Brown, and he is of course, a movie star as well. My heart beats faster every time I see posters of him around, or even hear his name.

I'm in love with him.

And I'm sure the rest of the world would agree with my opinion.

The music blasted in my ears, and I continued to hum quietly to myself.

The phone started beeping all of a sudden and I picked it up, annoyed.

"Hello?"

"Charissa! Where are you?" Mum's voice rang in my ears, and in the background I could hear her telling Keith to go and tend to Kunama, my horse.

"I'm on my way, Mum. I just stopped by Starbucks to get some coffee."

"Well, hurry, dear," she sounded irritated, "I need to go out and Keith cannot be left alone!"

I rolled my eyes, wishing that she could see my expression. For Christ's sake, he was 16! Only a year younger than me. And he was a guy.

"May I point out that he's 16? He can very well take care of himself."

"Do as I say, young lady. I don't want our house to be turned into some party zone, do you hear me? And for the last time, hurry home." She snapped and hung up on me.

Bitch, I whispered to myself silently. Could I not get an afternoon off for once? Keith wasn't a baby, he was 16!

I quickened my pace though. My mum was not someone you wanted to be near to when she was mad. She threw random objects at you, so long as they were near to her.

I shuddered at the memory of her lifting up a roller chair and throwing it at me surfaced in my mind. The bruises didn't go away for a while; but fortunately she did lay off. After a few weeks though, it started again.

As irritating as Keith was, I really didn't want him to get hurt by our bipolar mother. I plugged the headphones out of my ears as some people approached me, waving their pens in the air.