Love, Unwanted (Discovering Love #3)

By: Ra Chael Ohara

Discovering Love Series Book 3



Prologue





Caroline



You know that part at the end of every fairytale where the prince swoops in and saves the princess right in the nick of time, whether he’s saving her from the evil stepmom or the evil octopus lady under the sea? Just when you think all hope is lost, in comes the hero to fight the evil. Then he grabs the princess and whisks her away for a happily ever after. That’s always been my favorite part.

Since I could remember, reading has always been something special to me. As a child, I would read those parts at the ends of the fairytales over and over. Then I would do what I always did. I’d close the book, close my eyes, and hope with all my little might that my prince would rescue me and whisk me away for our happily ever after.

As I got older, of course, the books changed and started featuring more…adult scenes and princes, but my wishing routine didn’t change. I would still close that book, close my eyes, and wish for my prince to come and rescue me.

Unlike the princesses in my books, I didn’t have an evil stepmom or even an octopus lady. I have a mom and dad, but I also felt like I had no identity. My father, Rich Taylor, is an extremely strict pastor. I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans or cut my hair. I attended youth group five nights a week, and if I dared look at a boy, I would pay in the worst way.

My father believed women and children should be seen, not heard. Men were on a pedestal and women should cater to them. It was the way of life for our household. Unlike my mother, who seemed to be okay with our way of life, from the time I was old enough to know the way I was being raised wasn’t the norm in every household, I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to leave.

At twelve years old, I read a book about a young woman who went on an adventure of self-acceptance and ended up in a small town in Ireland. From that book on, I fell in love. I read book after book about the beautiful country and knew it was where I belonged.

I started saving every penny I could make. Each day, I woke up with one goal—to make it to the next day without landing on my father’s bad side. It was a lonely childhood. I was not allowed friends, but knowing there was an end in sight made the loneliness easier to deal with. Through it all, I never gave up hope I would find my prince.

Finally, after years of living a life I despised, I turned eighteen. I wasn’t naïve enough to think my parents would just let me go, so, on the night of my birthday, I wrote them a goodbye letter, packed my bags, grabbed my goldfish, Bubbles, and climbed out of my window.

I moved to Ireland to start a new life, a life that was my own, one I could be proud of, but I got so much more than I thought I wanted.

This princess went on an epic adventure of finding herself and love. My prince didn’t wear white and fight with a sword. He wore torn jeans, Henley’s, and had an iPhone, but he protected me and loved me better than any fictional book character could.

But there was an evil force, one who was anonymous, yet still stronger than any other force in one of my books. Unlike the fairytales, my happily ever after wasn’t guaranteed.

My name is Caroline Taylor. Sit back, relax, and let me tell you the story of how I found my dark prince.





Chapter One





No Adventure Here

Lishoy, Ireland



I love the smell of books. In a world where everything has gone electronic, I’m proud to admit I have stayed true to the old fashioned way. I even went as far as buying a small building with the money I made from working as an assistant in a realty office and opening a little library.

I’ve lived in Ireland for five years now and not once have I regretted my decision to leave my home in England to live here; not even when I eventually got the nerve to call home and talk to my parents and they told me I was a sinner before letting me know they were disowning me. I still don’t regret it.

I came here for an adventure but quickly learned that you can take the girl out of the oppressed household, but you can’t take the oppression out of the girl.

I’m what people would call an introvert. Don’t get me wrong. I tried to be spontaneous and meet new people. I even started dating a guy named Chris, but I quickly learned most guys only want one thing, and once they get it, they disappear. I wish I had learned that before I slept with him.

I was crushed when Chris slept with me and left. I haven’t thought about dating since. I’ve convinced myself those heroes I read about in my books, the ones I fantasized would come sweep me off my feet, didn’t exist in real life.

There’s a small part deep inside of me that still holds on to the hope one day I’ll find real love. I’m a romantic at heart, through and through. I guess I’ve just given up hope on it happening anytime soon.

Over the years, I’ve become dependent on routine. Each day is the same. Monday through Thursday, I wake up at eight in the morning and go for my jog. I come home, get ready for work, dressing in the same style of clothing every single day—a high-waisted pencil skirt with a nice blouse—then go to work.

At five in the afternoon, sharp, I lock the doors to the library, straighten everything up, and head home. I eat dinner, watch trashy TV, go to bed at eight to read, and eventually fall asleep.

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