Undeniably You
UNDENIABLY YOU
by Jewel E. Ann
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Jewel E. Ann
ISBN: 978-0-99-131062-3
Digital Edition
All rights reserved.
Dedication
For my sister Kambra
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
To my family, your support is my lifeline—my existence.
To my readers, thank you for justifying my addiction. I LOVE YOU!
To the amazing blogging community, you are THE BEST! You read, review, share, spotlight, recommend, and, in general, promote the hell out of books! Indie authors like myself would not see our dreams come to fruition without you.
PROLOGUE
June 22, 2013
THE WEDDING
A gazillion layers of tulle engulf my five foot five, one hundred and fifteen pound body. I wonder how many grooms go MIA on their wedding night searching for their new bride in her Cinderella ball gown. My breasts and ribs protest as the weight of this strapless beast demands their full support for the next five or more hours. Long, dark ringlets pinned to one side cascade down my shoulder. Sweet floral aromas mingle in the air from my light pink rose bouquet and the lavender body spray still fresh on my skin.
A knock at the door startles me from my despondent appraisal of the reflection in the mirror.
“Come in,” I call.
“Oh, Sam, you look amazing.” My sister’s hand rests against her chest as her gaping-mouth envy seeps into my conscience reprimanding it with a firm slap of guilt.
This is every girl’s dream: the dress, the handsome groom, the center of attention. There are those few unique females who are genetically missing the fairytale-dream gene. That’s the rare and exclusive group to which I belong.
“Thanks, Avery,” I murmur, meeting her watery blue gaze in the mirror.
“I wish Mom were here to see you.” Her mouth sags in a frown.
Avery’s words take me back thirteen years. It’s not that those same words haven’t drifted through my mind today, but Avery says it all the time. “I wish Mom were watching this movie with us. I wish Mom could taste this amazing soup. I wish Mom could hear this song.”
I get it. I really do. Avery is two years younger than I am, but it feels like ten. Even today, she still reminds me of the broken eight-year-old lost without her mom—our mom. The fragile memories of feeling dependent on my mom are specks of sand fading from an hourglass in my mind. Taking the emotional leap from ten to fourteen in a matter of weeks to fill that “mother” gap does that.
Grabbing two fists full of tulle, I lift my dress and turn toward her.
“She is here. I’m looking at her now.” Avery’s long blonde Barbie locks and faded blue eyes hold such a ghostly resemblance to our mom it warms my heart and pulls my lips into a smile.
“Oh, Sydney!” As tears swell in her eyes, she comes at me with open arms and child-like fragility.
Crap! Avery only calls me by my given name when she wants to be coddled.
“Uh, uh, uh…” I hold my palms up blocking her approach “…white dress, white veil … back away from the bride.”
Avery comes to an abrupt stop. Her bereaved face melts into a soft smile as she dabs the corners of her eyes with the pads of her fingers.
“Sorry. You just always know how to say the right thing at the right time,” she says while fiddling with her diamond tear-drop earrings.
Offering my hand, she looks at it for a moment before taking it. Squeezing, I look at those blue eyes, full lips, and blonde hair pinned up with a few stray spiral curls elegantly framing her face. I won’t say it aloud, but I’m thinking it, too. God, I miss you Mom.
“You look beautiful, baby sister,” I whisper.
Her exuberant full-teeth smile captures her eyes. “Thanks, I love my dress.” Releasing my hand, she twirls around in her pale purple taffeta mermaid-style dress.
“You should, since you picked it out,” I murmur with no response from her.
“Flower girl?” I ask with raised brows.
“Chasing the ring bearer behind the church … or maybe it’s the other way around,” Avery dismisses with a shrug.
Shifting myself back toward the mirror, I take a deep breath and exhale a slow release.
“I’m going to check on your groom.” Avery opens the door but pauses and turns with a reassuring smile. “He’s the one, Sam. Handsome, kind … and God, he loves you so much. It’s fate.”
The door clicks shut. Fate. The word echoes in the air. Is there such a thing as fate?
CHAPTER ONE
June 3rd, 2010
PALO ALTO
Shit! It’s everywhere and I’ve only been here for three hours. Thank God it’s contained to the hardwood floors. I scramble to find a trash bag in the pantry as my phone chimes. Sliding it out from the back pocket of my short denim shorts, I swipe my finger across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Sydney?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice sounds.
“Yes,” I confirm with the phone pinched between my ear and shoulder as I peel open the trash bag.
“It’s Kimberly from Dr. Abbott’s office returning your phone call.”
As I walk past the glass French doors to the patio, I’m met with two blue-grey eyes on the other side following my every move. Squinting and seething with contempt, I continue to the first steaming pile of shit.
“Oh, yes, thank you for calling me back. I’m house and dog sitting for my uncle and aunt, Trevor and Elizabeth Worthington. Their dog … uh—”
“Swarley.”
“Yes, Swarley has been shi—I mean pooping everywhere since they left early this morning.”
“He might be nervous or apprehensive about them leaving. Dogs sense more than we realize. They’re much smarter than we give them credit for being.”
Yeah, this dog is real freaking smart!
“Anyway, Dr. Abbott has an opening at one o’clock if you’d like to bring Swarley in just to make sure it’s nothing serious.”
The ripe sewer stench wafting near my nose forces me to hold my breath as I rush to glove my hand in paper towels and wipe up the mess.
“One, thanks. See you then.” The mordacious smell steals my voice.
*
House sitting is a great interim job, especially for someone with a bachelor’s degree in art history. Pet sitting … not so glamorous, but it comes with the territory. My dream of becoming a museum curator is going to be a long journey. It’s virtually impossible to get an offer without a master’s degree, and really, a PhD is preferred—especially among the larger, more prestigious museums. Feeling broke and drowning in debt since graduation, I’ve decided to work a few years before completing my schooling. However, if I continue to get into this sort of “shit,” I may decide to sell my body instead of my time.
The first few jobs I took were in the Midwest, within driving distance from where I grew up in Rock Island, Illinois. After I banked some cash, I got my passport and applied for house sitting positions abroad. Over the past year I’ve traveled to Rio De Janeiro, Qatar, Ireland, Australia, and the UK. I visit every museum I can and dream of someday being the lucky person in charge of overseeing everything. It’s a long shot at best, but a girl can hope.
When Avery took a job in L.A. as a massage therapist, I decided to look for something on the West Coast so we could see each other during the summer. As fate would have it, our dad’s sister and her husband, who live in Palo Alto, decided to travel Europe in June. They were thrilled to hear that I was available to house-sit for them and watch their new dog. It’s a five and a half hour drive from L.A., but at least Avery and I are in the same time zone.
“Get in, Swarley!” I hold open the back door to Elizabeth and Trevor’s white Escalade.
Their two-year-old Weimaraner is infuriating, and we’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours. It’s going to be a long month.
I look at the time on my phone: 12:45 p.m.
“Ugh! You stubborn mutt, get in.” I reach down and bear-hug his body, praying nothing squirts out of his backside as I thrust him into the backseat. After another five minutes of wrestling around trying to thread the seat belt through his harness loop, we’re off to the vet.
I notice two other cars in the parking lot, so hopefully we won’t have to wait long. The instant I unfasten Swarley, he bolts out of the backseat attempting to rip my arm off as the leash tourniquets around my wrist.
“Swarley! Dammit, stop!” He drags me through the grass along the side of the building. I think he’s chasing a squirrel, or a bird. Hell, he could be chasing his tail for all I know. I’m too busy trying to avoid all the steamy land mines. What happened to dog shit pick up etiquette?
Swarley stops to lift his leg to a tree, giving me a reprieve. Digging the embedded leash out of my skin, I choke up on it about an inch from strangling his neck.
“Let’s go!” I yank his leash.
Approaching the door, my face wrinkles. I’m not sure if I’m smelling something new or if the pungent odor from earlier this morning is still lingering in my nose. Grabbing the door handle to steady myself, I lift my right foot to inspect the bottom of my shoe. Clean. I lift the left.
“Shit!”
Literally, all over the bottom of my sandal. Swarley pulls on the leash, going spastic, so I wriggle my sandal off and take him inside.
“Swarley!” The woman behind the desk cheers as she jumps up and greets us, well … him.
“You must be Sydney. I’m Kimberly, we talked on the phone.”
“Yes, hi.” I smile.
“Come on back. Dr. Abbott is just finishing up. He shouldn’t be too long.” Kimberly escorts us to an exam room. “Have a seat. I’ll get Swarley weighed and bring him back in.”
She leads him away while I sit in a small armchair by the window overlooking the dump yard. Glancing down at my feet, I realize how ridiculous I look with only one sandal. Will I look better without shoes? No shoes says I’m one of those weird dirty people who never wears shoes. One shoe says I either lost my other shoe or stepped in dog crap. Either explanation is feasible. After all, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve driven down the street and seen just one shoe in the middle of the road. It’s solid evidence that there is an entire population of people running around with only one shoe. I assume these are bikers or motorcyclists losing their shoes. It’s too implausible that I brought Swarley to the vet on a Harley or Schwinn, so I think I’ll stick with Option B: shit happens.
“Here we go,” Kimberly announces while guiding Swarley back into the room.
Following her through the door is Dr. Hottie Vet. A thick head of dark hair brushes past his brows just above rich, light brown eyes that crinkle at the corners matching his bright friendly smile. Perfect-fitting black pants hang from his tall, lean frame. The light gray button-down shirt under his white lab coat exposes a teasing of dark chest hair where the top buttons are left casually open. Swarley gives a kind greeting to his crotch while the vet offers his hand to me.
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Abbott … or … Dane.” His long fingers are warm and his grip is nervously firm.
“Sydney, and I think you already know—” I try to hide my grin, gesturing to Swarley who continues to give a rude sniffing to Dr. Abbott’s crotch.
“Swarley. Yes, I’ve been seeing him since he was just a pup.”
Swarley’s magnetic attraction to a certain crotch is distracting. Although he’s not my dog, and I’m sure Dr. Abbott is used to it, I feel the need to explain his behavior.
“He must think you have a big piece of meat in there.”
The words come out of my mouth and my brain—that apparently has a two-second delay—catches up as I turn crimson. Dr. Abbott is discernibly embarrassed by my comment because the shade of his face mirrors mine while he averts his eyes to the chart he’s holding. Kimberly coughs and turns her back to us. It’s obvious she’s trying to stifle her reaction as well.
“Oh my God! I didn’t mean … or what I meant—” Swarley has diarrhea of the ass and I have diarrhea of the mouth. Could this day get any worse?
“Sydney, it’s fine,” he recovers with quick composure. “How long has Swarley been having—” He pauses and I notice he’s looking at my feet.
Yes, this day just got worse. I wiggle my toes then cover my barefoot with the one that has a sandal.
Dr. Abbott smirks and his eyes meet mine. He exudes a subtle shyness that I’m guessing is masked by his white-coat authority and the Dr. before his name.
“When did Swarley start having diarrhea?” he asks with a genuine smile.
“This morning. I arrived late last night, but I didn’t meet Swarley until early this morning when Elizabeth and Trevor left. They didn’t mention him having any issues, so I assume it’s just been today.”
“Did you bring in a stool sample?” he questions, jotting some notes on the chart.
“Um, no. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m going to do a quick exam, but it’s most likely just a case of nerves and anxiety. To my knowledge he’s usually on a strict feeding schedule so I’m doubtful it’s anything that he’s eaten.”
I nod and observe as Dr. Abbott guides Swarley onto a hydraulic lift table. Kimberly puts him in headlock-type hold while the good doctor does his exam.
“Everything looks fine. Make sure he has water and keep him off food until morning. Maybe by then he’ll be settled. If it persists or gets worse, give the office a call. In fact, I could stop by on my jog in the morning and see how he’s doing.”
Kimberly raises an eyebrow in his direction. He’s tapping his pen on the chart.
“Oh, that’s not … necessary. I mean, I’ll just call if there’s an issue. No need to go out of your way.”
“It’s not really. Actually, I jog by there every morning. I only live a few blocks away.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and looks down at his feet shifting his weight from one to the other. Holy crap! He’s flirting with me and Kimberly is so onto him.
“If you have time, but really, don’t go out of your way.” I smile as I stand.
He glances at my feet again. I bend my knee and hide my barefoot behind my other leg as I shrug my shoulders.<
br />
“Stepped in shi—poop outside.”
“Oh, where’d you leave it?”
“Outside.”
“Kimberly will finish up the paperwork and bill the Worthington’s account. I’ll get your shoe cleaned off.”
“What? No!”
He holds up his hand and shakes his head. “I insist. It’s the least I can do. I think you have your hands pretty full with this guy.” He scratches Swarley behind his ears. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He leaves and I look at Kimberly as she fills out some paperwork. “Is Dr. Abbott this nice to everyone?”
She grins but doesn’t look up. “Nice? Yes. But if you’re asking if he routinely cleans shit off shoes? No.”
Kimberly tucks her chin-length auburn hair behind her ear. She looks about forty, but I’m not the best judge of age.
“If your next question is whether or not Dr. Abbott is married, the answer is no.”
Now I’m officially uncomfortable and just as anxious as this spastic dog to get out of here.
“That’s interesting, but I wasn’t going to ask. I don’t live around here and I’m leaving in a month. Trust me, I’m not looking for—” My thoughts trail off. Looking for what? Romance? A date? Sex?
“Suit yourself. But he’d be quite the catch.”
The nervous tension is building. This trip is about Swarley, not finding a fix for my nonexistent social life. I twirl my long, dark brown hair around my finger as Dr. Abbott returns with my sandal.
“Good as new.” He hands it to me.
“Thanks, uh … it really wasn’t necessary, but thanks, Dr. Abbott.” I bend down and slip it on. Standing up, I notice Mr. Quite the Catch is looking at me, but not at my eyes.
I clear my throat and his gaze finds mine again.
“Oh, um, my pleasure, and call me Dane. Until tomorrow.” He nods and steps aside.
Swarley wastes no time dragging me back to the waiting room. Before I push open the door, I glance back and wave.
“Thanks again, bye.”