UNSHAKABLE (Able Series Book 4)
Unshakable
Copyright ©2015 by Gigi Aceves
All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in whole or in part by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or are either fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Editor:
Angie Davis
Cover Design:
Stix2ITGraphix, LLC
Interior Design and Formatting:
Love
—
That intense emotion I feel for my husband and kids. I’m thankful they’re mine and I’m theirs. I love that my husband answers all my weird questions. I love that my daughters suggest songs for my books. But more than anything, I love that they understand my relationship with my computer.
Love & Marriage
—The relationship between an author and her editor is exactly this. It’s a commitment of seeing the story through until the end, which can be likened to marriage. Every book is ‘our baby’, except I don’t know who does the actual pushing and the “hoo-hoo-ha-ha” breathing technique before someone says “it’s a girl or a boy”—wait . . . it’s supposed to be “it’s the end”. There’s no divorce in our near future. . . . I hope.
Free & Falling
—This is what I feel once I hand my baby over to my betas. I thank you ladies from the bottom of my heart for taking a few days out of your busy lives to read the craziness that my weird brain comes up with. Please know that until I hear from you guys, I’m falling with no parachute to save my big buns. Let me tell you that feeling is not freeing at all! Not by a long shot! It’s crazy scary and I can’t take meds for it! That’s the worst part.
Yours & Mine
—To the millions of readers out there, once you one click my baby it’s as much mine as it is yours. Thank you for allowing my words into your minds, understanding the underlying message in each of my stories, and feeling the emotions I envision you guys to feel. More importantly, I want to thank you for the one-clicks, the reviews, the suggestion of my books to your family and friends. It means the world to me.
Give & Take
—Lastly, a big thank you goes out with all of my heart to everyone behind the scenes in the making of my babies. From Angie (My Editor), my betas, Heather (Cover Designer), Perfectly Publishable, SBB Promotions, and to my very loyal Gigi’s Aces. While I give my babies to each and every one of you, I also take immensely. I think I take more than I give. I’m sorry if I don’t say thank you enough. I appreciate the give and take relationships you guys gift me.
I have loved you with an everlasting love.
~Jeremiah 31:3~
SOPHIA
“ARE YOU READY, SOPHIA?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Ms. Viv,” I sigh. “Sometimes, I wish I had a time machine.” We walk toward the Yellow Oval Room on the residence floor.
Laughing, she asks, “Why? Where would you want to go?”
“Somewhere I could be me.” My voice is weak as my heart yearns for a time when
I’m
in control of me, and not the people that surround me.
“I know lavish occasions such as this aren’t your favorite things to do. Trust me, your mom and I don’t either, but getting all dolled up and meeting influential people should excite you, missy, especially at twenty-three. You know, single and ready to mingle!”
I shake my head as I look at Vivian whom I fondly call Ms. Viv. She’s the adoptive mother of my best friend, Darcee, five years older than my dad’s fifty five years, and treats him like a brother behind closed doors. She’s been with my dad since the start of his political career. She’s also my mom’s partner in crime, her BFF, and they’re as tight as Darcee and me.
Why should this life excite me? Who wants to live in a fish bowl—an international fish bowl at that? I’m constantly under a microscope. My every move watched, every outfit criticized, every facial expression misconstrued, and every word dissected.
My internal complaints or lack of appreciation, as some might point out, goes to the wayside when my eyes fall on my parents walking my way. I deal with this life as much as possible for them. They both sacrifice, not only for our family, but also for this country.
My dad, Steven Andrews, a Naval Aviator, has dedicated his life to public service. Only God knows when it will end. My mother, Amanda Andrews, a teacher turned housewife after I was born, has always been supportive of my father’s political career. Not once has she shown any signs of regret or even anger toward the office that always has my father’s attention. She comes second, sometimes third. And me . . . well, I know my dad loves me. He loves us both, but at times, I just want to be number one in someone’s life. Not number two or three or a mere after thought, but the priority.
“Hi, sweetheart.” My mom envelopes me in a warm embrace as she gives me a knowing look.
“Hi, mom,” I mumble.
My father turns, looking so handsome in his tux and wearing his signature grin that makes every single woman fifty and over squirm in their panties. Probably, even some younger ones too. Yuck! If only they knew he farts just like every other guy out there.
“You look so excited, princess.” He jokes. “How about giving your old man a kiss?”
I fall into his arms and my heart calms a bit, even my sour attitude improves. “Hi, Daddy.”
He whispers, “Thank you for doing this for me. Much is expected of us. Though I know this life style isn’t something you’ve dreamed about, I’m proud that you’re here with me.”
I pull back to look proudly at my father. “I’m proud of you, too, Daddy.”
He smiles. He knows while I’m proud of him this life is taking a toll on me—his only daughter. “Just a couple of months left, princess. A couple of months.”
It’s my turn to shake my head sadly. “Dad, I know you’re running again. So, your couple of months will be another four years.”
“How can you be so sure I’ll win again?”
“Because the polls tell me, Dad.” I roll my eyes in exasperation. “Just look at Joe . . .” We both turn to look at his Chief of Staff who’s excitedly talking to his Press Secretary, Nicole Runoe—the Press Secretary from hell. “I’m sure those two will celebrate tonight.”
When he releases me, I straighten my gown. Tonight I’m wearing a floor length, black beaded, deep V, illusion lace gown with eyelash fringe, and an open back. I nervously wiggle my toes in my four inch heel Jimmy Choo, Lang Pewter Glittered Strappy sandal with buckled ankle strap. I prepare myself to rub elbows in the Yellow Oval Room with the President of France, his wife and son, diplomats, members of Congress, Washington elites, and other prominent people (typically Hollywood’s A-listers).
After the hors d’oeuvres, cocktails, and wine; my parents and the President of France with his wife march down the Grand Staircase to the Entrance Hall where the United States Marine Band awaits. As my dad and mom take their first step, Hail to The Chief plays in the background. Then, my parents and the head of state with his wife march over to the receiving line to greet the guests.
I descend the stairs escorted by a Marine in full dress blues on our way to the State Dining Room when I see him. He’s wearing a black tux, standing regal. The perfect male that embodies strength, courage, integrity combined with his own style of rugged hotness. From his chiseled jaw, buzz cut hair, kissable lips, sparkling bluish emerald eyes, impeccable form, and formidable stance every woman in this room will have their panties wet and . . . oh so twisted. Except mine since he hates my guts. Perhaps, everything about me, from the way I walk to the way I talk.
