Anabel Unraveled
Table of Contents
Anabel Unraveled
By Amanda Romine Lynch
Copyright © 2012 by Amanda Romine Lynch
Cover Copyright 2012 by eLectio Publishing
Cover Design by Jesse S. Greever and Chad Thomas Johnston
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Other titles from eLectio Publishing:
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by Marcus R. Farnell, Jr. and Jesse S. Greever
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by T. Marcus Christian
The Wall & Beyond
by Joanna Kurowska
Drunk Dialing the Divine
by Amber Koneval
The Advent of the Messiah: Finding Peace, Love, Joy, and Hope in a Modern World
by Tony Turner
More From Life: 99 Truths to Understand and Live By
by Christopher C. Dixon
Living to Give in a Getting World
by Marcus R. Farnell, Jr. and Jesse S. Greever
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For Carly
Acknowledgments
I have been so blessed with the love and support of my family and friends. Without them, this book wouldn’t exist.
To Jon, who didn’t blink an eye when I informed him I wanted to quit my job and write a book, I appreciate your love and faith in me more than I can say.
To Carly Leotti, who has been with me for pretty much every step of the writing process—thank you. I love you.
To my parents, brother, and sister—thank you for always believing in me.
To Nicholas and Noah—thank you for sleeping so Mommy could work on her book.
To Chad Thomas Johnston—your enthusiasm for my writing and total willingness to help me means so much to me. You are a great friend¸and Becki and Evie are lucky to have you.
To Jennifer Harris Dault, my fantastic editor—you are a rock star.
To Ian Makay—thank you for being a shoulder I could lean on, cry on, and take out my frustrations on.
And to the rest of the Dessert Islanders—Landra Graf, Jacqueline Wilson, Jennifer Luitweiler, and Liza Hawkins—thank you for your consistent love and support.
Chapter 1—Anabel
My name is Anabel Martin, and I am an orphan.
I can’t say that. I shook my head and sighed, pivoting slowly in front of the mirror, taking in my hair, my legs, my dress. My blue eyes looked sullen in the mirror, and I wondered if nineteen was too old to be considered an orphan. Does it count if you’ve never known your mother, and your father was emotionally unavailable for your whole life?
“Stand up straight,” I heard a voice say from behind me. I closed my eyes, ready for the lecture.
I turned and grimaced at my brother, Sam, who is more than twice my age. He studied me, taking in everything about my appearance. Being next to him, all stylish in his suit with his well-groomed hair, made me and my obnoxious curls feel wild and savage. “Standing up straight isn’t going to hide it, Sam.”
“No, but it’s the best we can do for now.” He came and kissed my forehead, and pulled me into a hug. “It will be okay, sweetie.” Then he turned and said, “Meet me downstairs in five minutes, okay?”
He paused at the door. “You know, there are ways around this, Anabel. It’s not too late.”
I rounded on him. “If you suggest that ever again, I’ll tell everyone. Those will be the first words out of my mouth, Sam. I promise you.”
“Take it easy,” he soothed. “I just wanted to remind you . . .”
I gave him a stiff nod, and he exited the room.
My name is Anabel Martin, and I ruined my brother’s life.
The fact that Sam is treating me with such tenderness is wreaking havoc on my sense of right and wrong, and truthfully, if I were in his position, I don’t think I would be behaving as wonderfully to him as he is me.
But then again, my brother is almost a saint, whereas I have a dark spot on my soul.
I sat down on my bed that wasn’t really mine and stared at my shoes. They were some designer, Steve Madden, I guess. I had never bought my own clothes and proved to be a horror to my sister-in-law, who had been forced to spend time with me and fix me up with a wardrobe. Taking me shopping was the only thing that we had done together since I moved in with her and Sam, and I hadn’t impressed her when I informed her that I did not know the difference between Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren. When we had finally settled on the Gap, she had thrown her hands up in disgust and waited outside until I called her, needing the credit card.
She doesn’t like me. I haven’t been allowed outside much because nobody likes me due to the fact that I am the sole reason that my brother resigned from office. So far, my social interactions have included him, my sister-in-law, and the rotating bodyguards who all look the same and barely acknowledge me. Sometimes I see my doctor, but he has to make house calls, so those times are rare.
My name is Anabel Martin, and I am very much alone.
Alexis barged in. She’s beautiful—gorgeous, really—and like my brother, also twice my age. She stared at me, judging, and then said, “You look okay, but you need some makeup.”
“I don’t know how to put it on,” I mumbled.
She let out a frustrated noise which was a cross between a groan and a wail, and immediately attacked me with powder and eye shadow. I tolerated this invasion as best I could, but when she tried to assault me with an eyelash curler I pushed her away. “It’s too much.”
“Everyone does this, Anabel,” she snapped. “You’re ready. Grab your coat and go with Sam.”
I glared back at her. “I think it’s ridiculous you are making me wear a trench coat in September.”
“Deal with it,” she sniffed, and turned on her heel and headed toward the door. She paused to look at me and say, “Watch what you say, and whatever you do—”
“Do not talk to Jared Sorensen,” I chorused with her. “As if I’d forgotten.”
She nodded. “You don’t want to hurt your brother any more than you already have, do you?”
“No, Alexis.” I pulled the green coat around me.
“Have a good day then,” she said crisply.
“Yes, Alexis.” I wondered if she caught the edge of sarcasm, but she nodded her blonde head and left.
My name is Anabel Martin, and I hate my life.
I made my way down the stairs and Sam shot me a warm smile of approval. “You look lovely.”
“Alexis fixed me,” I announced. Flanked by Nate and Henry and their earpieces, we walked down the steps and got into the Lincoln Town Car.
The ride to the Capitol Building was a blur. It consisted of me staring at my shoes and my brother clearing his throat. Finally he began, “Look, Annie—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” I closed my eyes.
“I’m your brother, I have to.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, this will go away.
“Try not to talk to him,” he cautioned. “Nobody has gotten wind of what happened with you two yet, and I want to keep that under wraps as long as we can.”
I opened my eyes and nodded, trying to keep my face as impassive as possible, even though my brother was lying. There were all sorts of rumors flying about the two of us. I stared out the window and swore to myself that I was not going to cry, because crying would probably result in Sam causing some sort of physical harm to Jared, and with his temper, that could include anything from punching him to disemboweling him. While that would be slightly entertaining to watch, it probably wouldn’t be good for PR.
My name is Anabel Martin, and I am very bad for PR.
“So what are you going to say?” he asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I managed a thin smile. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about this morning. I guess it will just come.”
The car sidled up in front of the Capitol Building. There were a million people there, with their eyes, cameras, and microphones all trained on our car. I looked at Sam, stricken. “You promised we would have a quiet entrance.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry. We’ll do this quick, okay? I just need you to put in an appearance and look normal. Look Annie, the rumors are that you aren’t okay, and I just need you to smile at the cameras and play the game for me a little, please?”
I stared at him. Sam was the consummate politician: he always had a smile and a wave for the crowds, despite any inner turmoil. I was not similarly gifted. Still, I’d do just about anything for him—so I composed my face and nodded.
Sam looked at Nate, who muttered something into his mouthpiece and opened the door. I stepped out into the bright sunlight and immediately was mobbed. Desperately clutching Sam’s arm, we walked through the masses of press people and TV cameras, and I smiled like a doll and ignored the barrage of questions bombarding us from every direction. I had no idea what anyone said to me, I merely gave the big plastic grin and stared straight ahead. I had to give Nate and Henry credit; somehow they navigated us through the mob in one piece. The hearing was thankfully closed to the press, and when the doors were shut behind us, I stared at my brother in disbelief. “Do you have to deal with this every day?”
He smiled at me, and it was genuine. “Well, one of the perks of resigning from office is not as many people are interested in me anymore.”
“I disagree,” I rejoined, mirroring his smile.
My name is Anabel Martin, and I am a phony.
“Excuse me for one second, okay?” I nodded at him, and he moved to talk to some guy in the back of the room. It was pretty much like the hearing rooms I had seen on TV: an empty table above all the others for the members of Congress, benches much like in a courtroom, and two tables in the front for testimony. I meandered down the aisle, looking at the chairs, the random people, until my eyes fell upon a familiar face, one that I hadn’t seen in a long time.
She was sitting at a table in the front of the room, her long purple skirt falling demurely around her ankles. Her red hair was starting to go gray, I noticed. She looked soft, womanly, motherly, and I wanted nothing more than to throw my head onto her lap and cry my eyes out.
She was Marilyn Jessamyn, my nanny, governess, babysitter, and the closest thing to a mother that I had ever had. Her hazel eyes smiled up at me. “Anabel?”
“Miss Marilyn!” I shrieked, causing everyone else in the room to turn their heads and stare. But I didn’t care. As she stood up, I sprang into her arms. “I’m so happy to see you!”