Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  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

  Chpater 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

  Epilogue

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Special Note

  Royally Relinquished

  Copyright © 2017 by Hayley Faiman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editor: RC Martin, The Green Pen

  Cover: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  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

  Chpater 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

  Epilogue

  Also by Hayley Faiman

  About the Author

  Special Note

  Fairy tales are stories of triumph and transformation and true love, all things I fervently believe in.

  Kate Forsyth

  THE NAME THAT LIGHTS UP my cellphone screen makes me cringe. It’s my mother. I hit the ignore button and send the call to voicemail. I haven’t spoken to her in years. She’s not necessarily a bad person, but she’s a user.

  The last time she called me, it was for money. The time before that, it was for a place to stay. And the time before that, money—again. We’ve never been close, and I counted down the days until I turned eighteen so that I could run as far away from her as possible.

  My entire childhood was a revolving door of men—men she could suck dry until they got fed up, or she’d used every ounce of what they had, then she would move onto the next.

  I’m not even one hundred percent sure she knows who my actual father is.

  My birth certificate lists my father as—unknown. It’s probably better that way; the caliber of men that my mom was able to snag were usually pathetic and mostly disgusting. I’d hate to think of where I actually come from.

  It’s been seven years since I’ve been back to see my mother, and I don’t plan on going back to that little town anytime soon, either. I moved to Portland, Oregon with my two best friends on my eighteenth birthday, and other than the few phone calls I’ve had from my mother, I’ve never looked back.

  I’m also fairly certain that I’m afraid of commitment, when it comes to relationships with men. I’m twenty-five years old and I’ve got no prospects, mainly because of my fears of turning into my mother.

  What if I open that door and it suddenly turns into a revolving one?

  I don’t want to be like her, a woman who sucks men dry, who uses them and then moves on to another. A woman who screws anything with a couple nickels in his pocket.

  My phone alerts me that I have a new voicemail. Reluctantly, I choose to listen to it.

  “Caitriona Geneva Grace, this is your mother calling. I’m desperate. This time, it’s real, Caitriona. I’m going to be homeless if I don’t get some rent money. Call me back, or you can just deposit the money in my account. You still have the account number, don’t you?”

  Caitriona Geneva Grace—who names their baby that? My mother, that’s who. The call ends, and without hesitation, I delete the message. She’s been on the verge of homelessness her entire life. It’s the same line she used on my grandparents before they passed. It’s the line that she used on me the first and the third time she asked me for money. The third time I gave in, so I’m sure that’s why she’s calling me now.

  I shove my phone into my purse as I walk inside of my best friend, Madison’s, office building. Madison is completely opposite of me; she’s always been that way. She’s a successful attorney and married to James, who owns his own contracting company.

  Madison, James, and I have been friends since kindergarten. Somewhere along the way, their relationship morphed from friendship to romance.

  “Hey,” I sigh as I sit down across from her at her big wooden desk.

  I reach forward and set down the paper bag that contains her Philly cheese sandwich on the top of her desk before I pull mine out of my own bag.

  “I think I broke James’ dick,” Madison blurts out as I take a bite of my sandwich.

  I swallow the bite of food in my mouth harshly, trying not to choke at her words. Though, I’m not sure why I don’t expect them. It’s Madison. My best friend is outspoken, and sometimes I wonder if her words are for shock value alone.

  “How?” I finally ask.

  I try not to imagine poor James’ dick bent in half, broken and barely hanging on.

  “We’ve been having sex for months now, constantly. Last night, he told me that his dick hurt, that it was raw, and he needed a few days off,” she explains before she lifts her head and narrows her eyes. “Who turns down constant sex?” she demands.

  “A man whose dick is raw?” I point out. She practically growls.

  James and Madison have been trying for a baby for the past six-months. She’s past the point of calm and rational, and she’s turning almost desperate. We’re only twenty-five, but Madison has focus and drive that goes beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s how she got through school, then law school, then passed the bar and landed this fantasti
c position with her law firm.

  “I need a vacation,” she announces before she takes a bite of her food.

  “You and James should totally go somewhere. What about Seattle?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere with him. I want to get away from it all, just you and me,” she says.

  “I can’t afford to go anywhere, Mads. I’m broke,” I practically whisper.

  I’ve been living in the same crappy apartment since I was eighteen years old, in one of the worst neighborhoods in Portland. I live paycheck-to-paycheck, scrimping and barely getting by. A vacation is not something I can just take when I feel like it.

  “My treat, Cait,” she announces flippantly.

  “I can’t ask you to pay for a vacation for me, or even accept it.”

  “I need some down time, a break from all this baby business. I want to relax by a pool, drink cocktails, and watch cabana boys walk around,” she grins.

  “Mads, I just can’t accept that. You and James already do too much,” I murmur.

  They do, too. They’ve fed me so many dinners that I could never pay them back. Madison is always pretending not to want things, like clothes, furniture, and housewares, giving them to me instead. They’ve been my support system since we were only kids.

  They’re my only family.

  “I’m taking you, you’re going. Pack your sexiest swimwear and a dress or two. We’re leaving after work tomorrow,” she announces.

  Before I can object or ask anymore questions, her phone rings. She grins as she picks it up, and then she puts on her serious lawyer face and starts to talk business. I grab our lunch trash and dispose of it before I bend down and get my purse, throwing it over my shoulder and giving her a small wave as I leave her office.

  “Hello, Caitriona,” Robert Dayton, one of the partners at the firm, says as I close Madison’s door behind me.

  Robert is in his mid-forties and handsome; but he knows he’s handsome, and that is a complete turn-off. He seems nice enough on the surface, and he’s fit and dresses impeccably. He’s a snake, though—a completely charismatic snake. Something about him makes my skin crawl, and he always seems to find me when I’m in the building.

  “Hey, Robert. Are you having a good week?” I ask, smoothing down the wrinkles in my skirt.

  Robert quickly loses interest in my face as his eyes zero in on my breasts, like they always do when he corners me. Another reason I don’t really care for him; he always makes me feel a little uncomfortable. He’s that guy you have to constantly stay on the defense around.

  “Of course I am, Caitriona. I’m alive, I’m healthy, and I’m making a shit ton of money every hour I work,” he laughs.

  I scrunch my nose up at his words. He always tries to work in how much money he makes into a conversation—yet another reason why I don’t care for Robert Dayton.

  “That’s nice. I better get to work. Sorry to cut this short,” I say as I begin to walk toward the elevator.

  I feel Robert’s cold hand grasp my bicep, halting my attempt at a quick getaway.

  “Why don’t you quit that pathetic excuse of a job at the MediSpa and come be my assistant? I’ll double your salary,” he leans down and whispers, his mouth almost touching my ear.

  “That’s, uh, very generous; but no, thank you,” I murmur.

  I wriggle out of his grasp and hurry away from him as fast as I possibly can, feeling his eyes watch me as I go.

  It’s time to settle down, Henrik.

  My father’s words play on a constant loop in my head. He said them, he meant them, and he showed me the woman that I would choose while he did it.

  Eugenie, the ice fucking cold bitch, looks back at me from a picture on the dossier he handed to me. It boasts of her familial lineage, her proper education, and her impeccable breeding.

  Now I’m on a plane headed to Vegas. I need to unwind. I need to relax. More importantly, I need to get laid. Soon, I’ll be tied down—tethered to and ice cold bitch. My cock will probably shatter the instant I try to fuck her.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “We’ll be landing in just under an hour, sir. Is there anything you need?” the flight attendant asks, dropping her voice slightly.

  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, thinking about what she’s offering. I could give her a quick fuck in the loo if I wanted. She’s laying it out there for me to take, but I shake my head. She knows exactly who I am and that’s why she’s offering.

  A year, even six months ago, I would have gladly taken her up on the fuck. Now, it doesn’t seem as appealing. I want someone who wants me for—me. I know it sounds mental, considering I’m going to be getting married to someone else soon, but just once I want someone to want only me—not my title.

  “No, thanks, luv,” I murmur. Her face falls slightly before she walks away.

  An hour later, I’ve landed in Las Vegas, my security guard, Hugh, flanking my side.

  “When we get to the hotel, out of sight?” I ask.

  “As always, your highness,” Hugh mumbles next to me.

  I roll my eyes at his use of my title. He knows it drives me crazy, and he does it just to piss me off.

  “Hugh, I hope this sunshine relaxes your puckered ass,” I grin.

  I watch as he narrows his eyes slightly, but he doesn’t say a word in response. He’s such a tight ass, and so easy to fuck with; but at the same time, he’s my best friend, aside from my brother. So I razz him because I can. He does it back, but in a subtler fashion, like calling me your highness.

  After my lunch with Madison, I head to work. I’m a receptionist for a MediSpa. I schedule appointments, answer the phone, and file. It’s not a demanding job, physically or mentally, but it pays the bills and keeps a roof over my head.

  I wish that I could do something else, go to school and find a career, but I don’t have the money or time for that. There’s only one person who will take care of me, and that’s—me.

  “Have you thought about doing any CoolSculpting on your thighs and your ass?” Natasha, my coworker, asks me.

  Natasha is the other receptionist in the office. I have to spend my days sitting next to her vile self, pretending not to completely dislike everything about her awful personality.

  “No, I haven’t,” I grind out through a clenched jaw.

  I don’t look over at her. I continue to do my work, scheduling appointments for the next day and emailing the staff so they know what their day will look like tomorrow.

  “You really should think about it. You know it freezes fat cells. I can tell just by looking at you, you could really use it,” she says.

  I can hear the evil smile in her voice, and I know she’s just trying to goad me.

  I ignore her, refusing to respond. She’s not worth the wasted breath or energy. Natasha asks me at least once a week if I’m going to have work done. This week, it’s CoolSculpting, last week it was Botox. Next week, who knows what she’ll come up with.

  Natasha sees flaws, in everyone, and she feels the need to point them out—not only to me, but to clients. I’m sure that she’s sold a lot of services for the spa that way, but that isn’t me.

  I’m confident enough in myself to know that I don’t need anything done. I might have something tightened, lifted, or filled later in life, but it won’t be because I feel like I need it; it will be because I want it, because I’ll want it for nothing other than myself.

  I have curves. I like dessert, I love good food, and I like to drink cocktails, so I’m not perfectly toned and fit, and that’s okay with me. I’m having fun and I’m enjoying life. I’m not trying to suck the fun out of everything along with all my excess body fat.

  The rest of the workday is fairly calm. Natasha is too busy talking to everybody around her to focus on me for the remainder of the day, and I’m grateful for it.

  I make my way home, thankful to be done with work and people for the day. Walking inside of my tiny, crappy, studio apartment, I’m too tired to even think ab
out my mini-vacation with Madison tomorrow. I need to pack, though. I know that if I don’t, she’ll rummage through my closet and pack for me.

  I throw my swim suit, a couple dresses, a pair of shorts, a pair of pants, and a few tops in my bag. Then I wash my face, shower, and throw on an old t-shirt before I crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I have to work for most of the day, then I’m off with my best friend.

  I LOOK AT MADISON IN surprise as we walk up to the check-in counter. Portland to Las Vegas. We’re going to Vegas. I’ve never been out of Oregon before, and I’m giddy with excitement at what lies ahead. I’ve seen videos of Vegas, and pictures, but being there is going to be so amazing. I already know it.

  While Madison is checking in our bags, my phone rings. I step to the side to take the call, glancing at the name first before I do.

  It’s James, Madison’s husband.

  “Hey,” I say quietly.

  “Take care of my girl while you’re gone, okay?” he asks, sounding tired and worried.

  He’s stressed; he has to be. He and Madison have built this wonderful life, but they’re struggling emotionally right now, and I completely understand it.

  “Everything will be fine, Jimmy. I’ll keep an eye on her, and we’ll have a relaxing time just hanging out by the pool. Take the weekend to relax yourself,” I say softly.

  “She needs this,” he murmurs.

  “You do, too,” I say before I tell him goodbye and hang up the phone.

  “Ready?” Madison says as she walks up to me.

  I smile and nod, happily taking my ticket and following her to the TSA line. Once we make it through the checkpoint, we walk to our terminal and sit down. I’m anxious about flying. I’ve never actually been on an airplane before.

  “Are you okay?” Madison asks.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit.

  “Maybe you’ll meet some super sexy guy while we’re gone,” she says, nudging my arm with her shoulder.

  “I doubt that,” I laugh.

  It’s funny because I haven’t really dated in years. It’s not that I don’t want to find someone, it’s that I’m too terrified of turning into my mother. I don’t want to put myself out there, at all.