Fantasy: A Modern Romance Inspired by Cinderella (Seductively Ever After) Read online

  Table of Contents

  www.kimcarmichaelnovels.com

  Fantasy

  Copyright

  About this Book

  Dedication

  Ten years ago…

  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

  The Guitar Solo

  Façade

  An Excerpt

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A Seductively Ever After Book

  Fantasy

  by Kim Carmichael

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of this author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Kim Carmichael

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Irksome Rebel Romance, An imprint of Irksome Rebel Press. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher of this book.

  http://www.irksomerebelpress.com/

  Book Design by Tamara Eaton

  Cover Design by

  Photo by Period Images

  Graphics by Star & Skull Graphics

  About this Book

  Who doesn’t want to live the Fantasy?

  Nash Cinder lived the fantasy as lead guitarist for Spectre until his world exploded on stage ten years ago. Since then he’s lived a life in the shadows, where he’s watched his father die, did his stepmother’s bidding, and kept his spoiled stepbrothers out of trouble.

  Ryane Windsome spends her days as a princess of her wealthy real estate mogul father, but when Daddy says she must marry and learn the business, she has to face responsibilities for the first time. She only wants to run away.

  Nash has one safe place left, a cabin in the woods his stepmother is pressuring him to sell, and Ryane’s company is intent on buying it. They meet in a wooded wonderland where they don’t share real names. As they fall in love, they realize they must find a way for the fantasy to withstand the harsh light of reality in this contemporary retelling of Cinderella.

  Dedication

  To reality and fantasy becoming one.

  Ten years ago…

  The guitar solo.

  Guitar in hand, Nash Cinder stood off stage with the rest of his band, Spectre, and waited as the crowd clapped and chanted their standing ovation. When the time was right they would retake the stage.

  At last, their lead singer, Erik Renevant, nodded and Upton, their drummer, grabbed his sticks, lifted them high above his head and went on stage.

  The applause from the crowd thundered over the packed stadium as Upton took the throne and began to pound out a beat. Phil, their bassist went next. The low tones of the base joined the drums.

  Erik turned back to him.

  Nash put his guitar strap around his neck and saluted his best friend before jogging out on stage. He began to play the introduction to their penultimate song, Shadow Light, their notes barely able to be heard above the cheers of the audience.

  Finally, right when everyone there was about to burst, Erik slowly walked out to center stage. Perfectly timed pyrotechnics shot flames with each of Erik’s steps and he began to sing the rock ballad that made them all superstars.

  Nash knew the lyrics by heart, the song spoke of love, loss and of saying goodbye, but he waited, and held his breath for that one special moment after the first chorus.

  The guitar solo.

  As Erik’s words still hung in the air, he turned. Now was his moment to shine.

  He stepped forward and let his fingers travel over the strings. Instinct took over and he became one with the notes as the intricate music echoed around them. The guitar solo was special, it could make or break an artist, and his skill, coupled with Erik’s music, created the perfect opportunity to show off his talent. Already, he was being touted as one of the best guitar artists in rock history. The lights shone down upon him and for a few brief minutes, he was the one everyone was looking at.

  Erik and Phil flanked his sides and together the three of them rocked it out as he created the bridge between the first part of the song and the finale.

  At exactly the right moment, Erik came in, reclaiming the spotlight and Nash returned to the background.

  The song ended, leaving everyone breathless, and they all took a final bow.

  Erik set up the pyrotechnics for them to appear as if they disappeared in a wall of fire, the fitting end for a band named after a ghost.

  He went to get in position, but before they ever made it to the designated safe spot, the world exploded. A searing pain traveled through him as the stage collapsed, centering on his leg and the screams of his band mates would forever be a recording playing on repeat in his mind.

  Chapter One

  All attorneys’ offices looked exactly the same. Nash Cinder paced around the space decorated with the obligatory law books, the oversized, impressive chairs and the diplomas. Yes, maybe the style changed, some were modern, some classic, some eclectic, but no matter if one were signing a contract or reading a will, all law offices possessed the basics. Today’s offering was classic, with dark wood paneled walls, leather chairs, and expensive antiques.

  Nash stared out the window and shoved his hand in the pocket of the one pair of suit pants he owned. All offices also possessed a window, he supposed it was to remind people there was a world that kept going no matter what life-altering news took place within these four walls.

  “Mr. Cinder, I am sorry for your loss.” Thomas Hunt of Hunt, Linden and Vincent Attorneys at Law joined him.

  Over the last week, Nash had heard those words more times than he cared to count, but he wondered how many people were truly sorry for his loss. Did they even realize what he lost? How did one even measure the loss of one’s parent? His father. His dad. “Thank you.” He forced out the sentiment. Everything surrounding death was strange, formal, uncomfortable and foreign.

  “What about me?” The shrill voice of his stepmother, Stacy Cinder, broke through the still silence of the office.

  Draped in what appeared to be a black flowing ball gown, the woman entered flanked by her two accessories, also known as his stepbrothers: Colton and Cash. She put the back of her hand on her forehead and dabbed her eye with a black lace handkerchief. “Throughout this whole ordeal, everyone has offered their apologies, thoughts and condolences to my stepson first, forgetting that I was the one who dealt with everything this whole time.” At her own words, she burst into tears.

  H
er wails nearly shattered his eardrums and Nash almost wanted to apologize for what his stepmother endured during his father’s illness, but he remained by the window. Something, be it his instinct or his sixth sense, told him the trials and tribulations were only beginning when they buried his father and he needed to gather all his strength.

  “Of course Mrs. Cinder, I am extremely sorry for your loss.” Mr. Hunt approached her. “Please have a seat.”

  Colton and Cash put their arms around her and guided their mother to the chair.

  “Nashville.” His stepmother sat and held her hand out. “Come to your mother.”

  Need he remind this woman his true mother and father were now together, probably in a much better place than here? He could only pray there were no attorneys’ offices in the afterlife. Before the woman screamed that he didn’t move fast enough, he tightened his hold on his cane, went across the room and put his hand in hers. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “I don’t think it’s ever going to be all right. Nothing has been all right since…” She gripped is hand, squeezing down until it hurt and pulling him down.

  He lost his balance and in an effort to remain standing and not fall flat on his face, he grabbed the chair and steadied himself.

  The woman stared into his eyes. “Your father was never right since your accident. You don’t know what that did to him.”

  Nash ground his teeth together. How could he not know what the accident did to his father? One second he was the lead guitarist for the multi-platinum world famous rock band, Spectre, the next he was lying in the same hospital as his cancer-ridden father while the doctors and nurses attempted to piece his leg together after the explosion.

  Of all the members of his band, he was considered the lucky one. Erik, the lead singer, ended up with his face being destroyed, Upton, their drummer was burned half of his body, and Phil… With a sigh, Nash ran his hand over his face. He only hoped Phil was playing his bass in heaven with his parents.

  No, after his accident, his father was never the same. Between the cancer treatments and watching his son go through rehabilitation and lose his career, he withered over the next ten years.

  In all truthfulness, Nash was surprised the man didn’t give up sooner, but his father was an optimist, he thought the snake oil they tried to sell him would work, he thought his son would take the stage once more, he thought there was good in everything.

  “Nashville.” His stepmother dug her pointed nails into the back of his hand. “Make it better.”

  In unison, Colton and Cash nodded.

  Nash cleared his throat. It was once his father’s job to make it better, so he supposed this was part of his inheritance. “Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  “So much like him.” She sat back in the chair and let go of him. “Let’s see if indeed everything is fine.”

  Nash stood. Colton and Cash took the last two chairs in the room.

  “Let me get another chair.” Mr. Hunt lifted his phone.

  “It’s fine.” His stepmother shook her head. “Nashville can stand behind us. Let’s get on with the reading of the will.”

  Not wanting to create any more of a scene, Nash took his spot standing behind his stepmother’s chair and nodded to Mr. Hunt.

  The attorney took his seat behind the desk and lifted a large document. “This is the last will and testament of Robert Cinder.”

  With the introduction, the reading of his father’s last document began. At the end, all that was left was a piece of paper that outlined what to do with those possessions one left behind after they left. His father was reduced to what he was worth monetarily, but it had nothing to do with the heart, the fact that he bought Nash his first guitar, that the man raised him after his mother died, attending to every detail, down to taking cooking classes because he didn’t want his son eating only fast food, that even when his dad could barely move, all he wanted was to hear Nash play.

  Instead of any of those memories, he now listened to percentages and bank accounts and little baubles that meant nothing without the person.

  Nash didn’t care about any of these items, the little bit of money, the house that his father shared with his stepmother. He only even bothered coming to the reading of the will for two items, the ones that held what really mattered – memories.

  “Nashville.”

  At his name, he blinked and looked at Mr. Hunt. “Yes.”

  The attorney opened his desk drawer and held out a blue velvet jewelry box. “Your father wanted you to have his and your mother’s wedding rings as well as your mother’s engagement ring.”

  His stepmother let out a groan. “The man could never let go of anything.”

  At his first wish being fulfilled, Nash exhaled. He took the box and opened it to find his parents’ plain platinum wedding bands, and the large pear shaped diamond that was his mother’s engagement ring. After closing the box, he pressed it to his chest, then waited for the last item.

  “Now for the matter of the Los Padres cottage.” Mr. Hunt turned the page on the will.

  His stepmother sat up on the edge of her seat, the twins mumbled among themselves.

  Nash tightened his hold on the jewelry box. His stepmother got the house she lived in with his father, and his father split the little money he had among all of them, but the Los Padres cottage was purchased by his parents, his mother loved that little square of earth as she called it, and he needed it to have that connection to his parents. Over the years the land had grown in value and no doubt his stepmother wanted the parcel to sell.

  “I bequeath to my son, Nashville Robert Cinder, the property and cottage located in the Los Padres National Forest.” Mr. Hunt nodded.

  Nash exhaled.

  The twins muttered to one another, as his stepmother gasped and let out a little cry.

  Mr. Hunt raised his hand. “However, there is a condition.”

  His stepmother clutched the edge of the attorney’s desk. “What is it?”

  “‘The property must be kept in order and in good repair and the work done personally by my son, he must work the land and complete the work himself. If my son is not able to maintain the property, it is to be sold and the proceeds split between Nashville and my wife, Stacy Cinder.’” Mr. Hunt nodded.

  His stepmother turned and glared at Nash. “We may as well put the land up for sale now, there is no way in your condition that you will be able to keep the property up.”

  “I will be fine.” If he had to crawl on his hands and knees to maintain the little cottage, then he would. He lifted his chin toward Mr. Hunt. “How will that be determined?”

  “Yes, how exactly will we know if Nashville is keeping the property up to his father’s high standards?” His stepmother hissed.

  “There is more,” Mr. Hunt said. “‘Three months after my death an appraisal company will be out to evaluate the property, and every year after that.”

  “At least we only have three more months to wait to get what’s coming to us.” Colton, the older twin by a minute and thirty seconds, patted his mother’s hand and the three of them nodded in unison.

  “Is there anything else?” he asked. With no money to speak of, he would have to rely on his own sweat to make sure the property remained in tact.

  “Yes, a message to you.” Once more, Mr. Hunt turned the page.

  “He gets a message?” Cash shook his head. “Where’s our message?”

  Nash waited, wishing he had the capability to run out of the room.

  “‘Nashville, my son, I will always be proud of you, no matter what. Take care of everyone and remember every end comes with new possibilities. I know you have endured hardships, I know you lost the career you loved, and I know your life will never be the same. It may feel like I am giving you an insurmountable task with the land, but no matter your limitations, I know you can do it. Always give everything your best shot.’” Mr. Hunt put the will aside.

  Nash’s eyes heated with tears he had
yet to allow to fall. Part of him understood why his father made the conditions, the other part wondered why he could never be allowed anything without having someone hold something over him.

  “I can’t believe we have to wait to get that property up for sale.” His stepmother twisted around in her chair and looked up at him. She reminded Nash of some sort of evil ostrich. “Nashville, make it better.”

  Nash backed up toward the door. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.” If nothing else, he wouldn’t go down without giving it his best shot.

  Chapter Two

  The pile of file folders on Ryane Windsome’s desk messed up the cool crisp lines of the expensive one-of-a-kind piece of furniture. Created from one single piece of glass, it took five men to position the desk to have the right Fung Shui and a team of designers found the perfect accessories to accent the piece, but now there was a pile of manila file folders smack dab in the middle of the desk.

  “This is not acceptable.” Her words made her three assistants, Belinda, Bobbie and Bernadette stand.

  “What’s wrong?” Hands clasped, Belinda rushed toward Ryane with the other two in tow. “What can we do?”

  “Do these folders have to be there?” She pointed to the offensive pile.

  The three women gathered around the corner of her desk. Bobbie whispered something to Bernadette, who in turn whispered something to Belinda.

  “Ma’am.” Belinda lowered her voice. “That is your work. I think it has to be there.”

  While Ryane supposed her assistants had a point, she only wished the folders could be the same pink that matched the rest of the office accents. In fact, that was an excellent idea. Windsome Holdings, her family’s company that bought and sold large parcels of land, could also be color coordinated.

  “Yes, the work has to be there,” she agreed.

  Before she had the opportunity to ask her assistants to pull the file that contained all of the design specifications for all things Ryane Windsome, her father entered.