by Aceves, Gigi
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:
Perfectly Publishable
UNSHAKABLE
Acknowledgements
Shock & Awe
Hot & Cold
Evade & Invade
Denial & Acceptance
Beginnings & Endings
Mine & Yours
Acceptance & Condemnation
Truth & Lies
Silence & Answers
Cause & Effect
Hellos & Goodbyes
Safe & Sound
Free & Falling
Simple & Complex
Love & Marriage
Fuck Me Hard & Love Me Slowly
Request & Reply
Give & Take
Fight or Flight
Aches & Pains
Dead & Alive
Love & War
Loss, Failure & Gain
Pomp & Circumstance
Epilogue: Alpha & Beta
Playlist
About The Author
Books by Gigi Aceves
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 prominen
t 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.
He has haunted my dreams and occupied my entire brain space since the moment we first met, not because I’m attracted to him. Oh, hell to the no! It’s because of the things he said to me after the accident. Granted, they were all true, I acted on impulse yada, yada, yada, but couldn’t he have done it in a less embarrassing way? I think if Luke or the rest of my detail hadn’t been there, he would’ve wrung my neck. His fierceness, the deathly tone of his voice, his all too consuming presence, and the way his veins were about ready to pop are just a few things about him that have been stuck in my brain. Nothing else.
How pathetic! He’s old. His penis is probably small and wrinkled. I tell myself that. His Adonis body is enough proof that nothing is wrinkled or small with regards to that man. Everything is hard! Hard? It’s hard walking in these damn shoes, that’s what’s hard.
We walk past him without him glancing my way while my eyes are glued on him. I’m surprised I haven’t tripped and drool hasn’t slipped past my mouth. I’m officially the most pathetic first daughter in the history of our country. Why do I have to be attracted to a bulldog like him when I can get anyone I want? I shudder at the thought since my stature doesn’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of things. I’m lucky if I have a guy courting me because he absolutely loves me, and not my name or the office attached to it.
When my escort walks out, my fidgeting intensifies. Of course, because Mr. Bulldog walks in and stands guard behind my table. Ugh! My stomach now spins.
The ushers guide people to their designated seats. My discomfort gets the best of me when the son of President Jacques Boutillier, Luc, walks toward me.
“Hello, Sophia, nice to see you again,” he greets as he reaches for my hand and kisses it.
I nod, tilting my head shyly with a smile on my face. “Likewise, Luc.”
He pulls my chair like a perfect gentleman as we engage in a comfortable conversation. The five course meal is excellent as always, but my favorite is dessert, Crème Brûllè au Chocolat, is to die for. It’s an all-time favorite of my dad and me. While enjoying every morsel of my dessert, Art Garfunkel’s ‘Lasso The Moon’, my dad’s song for me starts playing.
He stands and walks my way while a smile slowly spreads on my face. I’m in my element—dancing is my comfort zone. As my dad and I glide along the dance floor with everyone’s eyes on us, my eyes wander away from his and lock with Damien’s. He’s watching without blinking. The heat of his gaze is so intense; I can feel it across the room encompassing every inch of me. He releases his hold on me and turns his attention elsewhere, but his eyes always, always come back to me.
As soon as the song ends another one starts. I’m passed on to Luc as we dance for what seems like hours while Damien’s eyes never veer anywhere. It seems he’s not enjoying Luc’s hands on me because the narrowing of his eyes gives him away. Once my feet starts throbbing, expressing their hatred for my shoes, I look sheepishly at Luc and bid my farewell. Damien follows me quietly and discreetly as I say goodnight to my parents.
Silence surrounds us as we take the elevator, Jared on my left and Damien on my right. Jared hangs back as soon as the elevator door opens, leaving me with Damien as my traitorous heart enjoys the closeness.
“Tonight went well.”
His dig infuriates me and kills whatever buzz his closeness creates.
“I’m glad you approve. Wouldn’t want you to be disappointed now, would I? Just ease up on the nagging, okay? It makes you look bitchy. Goodnight, Mr. Williams,” I mumble without looking at him.
As I push open my bedroom door with my back facing him, a feeling of complete and utter contradiction invades me. A feeling I always get when he’s near; it’s the wanting to be near him, but needing space kind of thing. Whoever thought of transferring him into my detail had the most asinine idea of the century, but the ping-pong erratic state of my emotions makes me the stupidest of all.
We’re the most incompatible individuals on the face of the earth. He’s the fire that ignites a firestorm in me, and not in a good way. It’s a wildfire at best . . . at its worst; we’re like a raging inferno.
“Sophia.” His voice low, commanding and every cell in my body stupidly answers to his voice. “I’m just stating a fact. It doesn’t mean anything, trust me. I’m actually showing appreciation without being condescending.” His voice coats my heart, and it forgets the anger that resided there a minute ago. “Face me, please.” Another command that makes me want to comply.
Comply? I think this man I lust over is half vampire! He can make me comply on demand!
With a huff he says, “This constant fighting is getting old, Sophia. I’ve been on your detail for over six months, now. If we’re ever going to have a good working relationship, you need to be open-minded. If you want me to respect you, you need to give it back.”
That one liner pisses me off. I finally turn to face the man I love to hate and hate to love. Love? I’ll deal with that in a second and veto the shit out of it!
“Respect? I don’t think I’ve disrespected you, Damien.”
His eyes never leave mine as bluish green eyes once again meet my green ones. I can feel the warmth of his stare that starts from the tips of my hair down to my toes, encapsulating every fiber of my being.
Stop Sophia!
“You’ve never disrespected me, but you have the others before me. While you view it as a crime or an inconvenience, it’s a job for me. A job I will do at all times . . . whatever the cost. I don’t make the rules, Sophia; they’re put in place for your safety and adhered to for your benefit. See them as such, and we’ll function together without fighting. Disobey them and we’ll have a major problem. Let me tell you, I have carte blanche as far as your security and safety are concerned. Get used to it.”
He keeps his distance while everything in me wants him to move as close as possible, but at the same time I want him farther away from me, too.
Ugh! See? This push and pull is driving me insane!
“Carte blanche, huh? Not a surprise there since that’s the story of my life, someone ruling over me and someone telling me what to do. So, get in line, Williams, I’m sure you’re not the only one.”
“I may not be the only one behind that imaginary line you’re talking about, but my intentions are good. Your needs come first each and every time. Your safety occupies my brain at all times. My every move is to ensure that every inch of you remains unscathed. My goal, until I’m told to do otherwise, is to be your shield . . . in anything.” His answer excites me as the roots of hope take hold in my heart, but he opens his mouth and destroys my illusion that hope still exists in my world. “Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like driving a car without following proper protocol. Never, ever repeat what you did in California again.”
I slam the door in his face instead of answering.
In shock—that he thinks about my safety twenty four/seven? No, I’m not. Why? Because it’s his job.
In awe—that he can be an asshole in a matter of seconds? No, since he’s only that way with me. Why does he a
lways remind me of the mistake I made over a year ago?
DAMIEN
I keep my eyes closed as the door says hello to my damn face. Sarah’s snickering behind me catches my attention while I try to find the answer as to how Sophia has gotten under my skin—every inch of me.
“Get used to it, Damien. You’re lucky she didn’t kick you in the balls.”
I give her a disbelieving look. “You gotta be shitting me. She actually did that once? Please tell me Luke still has two balls.”
She shakes her head as she covers her mouth, controlling her laughter. “I heard she did it three years ago. That put her at what, twenty years old? She was at that crazy stage of rebellion. But, I’m happy to report that Luke still has two balls. Why do you think her codename is Wildflower?”
“Well, whoever named her ‘Wildflower’ is being nice. If it were me, I’d have called her. . . . .”
Suddenly, the words I never wanted to hear come in loud and clear through our earpiece . . .
“Breach! North lawn breach! We have a jumper!”
Muscle memory kicks in as we assume our positions. Sarah and Travis are hot on my heels, guns drawn, standing guard while I step into her room locking the door.
“What?”
She’s wiping her wet face when I barge in. As soon as she sees the gun in my hand, she freezes instantly. Her eyes grow as big as saucers while her mouth opens, but no sound comes out of those kissable lips. I purposely walk toward her, pivot, grab her by the waist, and back her toward the bathroom with my body shielding hers. I feel her cheek rest on my back as her arms snake around my waist.
I don’t want to let her go. . . .
I can feel her body shaking like a leaf, and I instantly switch gears. I forget what I’m feeling and focus on how I can help her function. Not like this where she’s falling apart at the seams, though I can’t blame her entirely.
“Breathe for me, Sophia.”
My voice becomes disjointed; she calms, just not completely. My instinct is to go out there toward the threat; however, each agent has a specific job. Mine is to stay here, protecting her.