Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

by Abby Green

  * * *

  Skye tipped her face up to the sun, relishing the warmth. And if she felt a bit lonely, she told herself she was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a real honeymoon. It was... Skye sighed. She didn’t know what this was. And she didn’t like the way that, as the heat between her and Lazaro only seemed to grow, any attempt to define it only seemed to get more elusive.

  One minute Lazaro bared a side of him she didn’t expect, and that made her heart ache, and the next he was charming her and seducing her so thoroughly that she couldn’t speak. And the next minute he was the aloof, stern man she’d met in Madrid, when all hell had broken loose.

  This morning he’d been distant and distracted. Late for a meeting. Skye had got the impression that wasn’t a usual occurrence for him.

  She sighed and put money down to pay for her ice cream, then got up to leave. She waved at the taciturn security guard who was following her and he cracked a small smile. Skye took it as a good sign.

  When she got back to the palazzo Lazaro was on the phone, pacing up and down. Shirtsleeves rolled up, baring his strong forearms. His hair was messy.

  He ended his conversation, which had been in French. ‘Did you have a nice morning?’

  The question was perfectly innocuous and civil, but Skye detected a tension in the air that she couldn’t read. It made her nervy, and when she was nervy she babbled. ‘Yes, lovely. I walked all along the canal down to the Piazza San Marco. I found a gelato shop that was my favourite when I was here before. Guido’s. It’s famous. The pistachio and walnut flavour is to die for...’ She trailed off, feeling silly.

  Lazaro looked at his watch. ‘We’re leaving for Madrid in an hour—someone is packing your things for you now.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise we were leaving today. You should have told me sooner. I would have come back.’

  He waved a hand. ‘I knew where you were through Luis.’

  The security guard.

  Lazaro hadn’t actually told her how long they would be in Venice. She’d just assumed. He wasn’t remotely interested in visiting some random gelato shop. He was here to work.

  ‘Did you sign your contract?’

  He nodded. ‘Signed and sealed. I’m now the owner of this palazzo.’

  ‘You must be very pleased.’ But she noticed that if anything, he looked irritated.

  ‘I am,’ he said tightly.

  His phone rang again. Skye made a don’t worry face and went into the bedroom to help the staff pack her things, before changing into something more practical for travel.

  She looked at herself in the mirror of the bathroom. Her hair was springing out of its confinement and her nose was red from the sun. More freckles had exploded across her cheeks and shoulders. She sighed. Whatever fascination she held for Lazaro, it wouldn’t last long. She turned sideways and saw that her bump was protruding more. And especially not when she started to waddle.

  * * *

  That evening, when they’d finished eating dinner in the Madrid apartment, Skye said, ‘So what happens now?’

  Lazaro put down his empty wine glass. ‘I’ve got some meetings here for the next couple of days. I’m working on a bid to renovate and rejuvenate one of Madrid’s oldest indoor markets. I want to turn it back into a functioning market space—which it hasn’t been for nearly fifty years. There’ll be flower shops and craft shops, food stalls... A performance space, and an art gallery.’

  ‘That sounds really cool.’

  A grim look came over Lazaro’s face. ‘It would if I wasn’t up against—’ He stopped.

  Skye ventured a guess. ‘Up against your half-brother?’

  He nodded. ‘Gabriel Torres wants to turn it into a multi-functional space too, but more commercial—a restaurant, hotel...car park.’

  Skye could sense his tension and said, as lightly as she could, ‘I might be biased, but I like your idea better.’

  He said, ‘I have to go there in the morning, to finalise some details on the bid which is happening in a couple of weeks at a public consultation. Come with me, if you like?’

  Warmth flooded Skye, and she couldn’t stop a smile forming. ‘Oh...okay. I’d like that.’

  Lazaro smiled. ‘Oh?’

  She made a face. A moment stretched between them, light and delicate. Skye felt breathless when she realised Lazaro was smiling more. Really smiling. In a way that made him look younger. Carefree.

  He stood up and her heart beat fast. If he touched her now... She felt as if she had no armour to protect her from falling even harder...

  But he said, ‘I’ve got some work to do this evening. You should relax—it’s been a long couple of days.’

  And nights, Skye thought.

  A mixture of relief and disappointment flowed through her, but she affected a breezy tone. ‘That’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I can entertain myself. I’m quite tired, actually.’

  He nodded. ‘See you in the morning, Skye.’

  When he’d left Skye sat back and deflated like a balloon. She realised she was tired. Achingly so.

  She helped the housekeeper to clear the table, in spite of her protests, and then she went to her bedroom. Lazaro hadn’t said anything about sharing a room with her, so she wasn’t sure what would happen, but she was grateful for some time to process everything.

  She decided to take a long, luxurious bath before she went to bed, her hands travelling over the compact swell of her belly under the water. She was tempted to dream of what it might be like—her, Lazaro and the little one—but she was afraid to.

  Because she knew the reality would be far different. And she needed to prepare herself for the inevitable.

  * * *

  It was a mistake to bring her, thought Lazaro as his attention wandered again to where Skye was walking around the balcony on the upper level with one of his team, who was pointing things out to her.

  She was wearing jeans, and she had a hi-vis jacket on and a hard hat. Yet he wanted her. Even now. Here. He’d wanted her last night too, but he’d forced himself to resist the overwhelming temptation to forget about everything and lose himself in her.

  He told himself that he was a fool. What man married to a woman he wanted, who wanted him, denied himself the pleasure? This desire was finite. It had to be, Lazaro thought with a sense of desperation.

  He gritted his jaw and turned back to the people he was with, trying hard to focus on what they were saying.

  * * *

  ‘I loved it,’ Skye said a couple of hours later when they were in the back of Lazaro’s car. ‘I love the fact that it’s covered, and all the wrought-iron and glass. It looks like something futuristic but also old.’

  Lazaro ran a hand through his hair. ‘My team seem to be having trouble trying to figure out a logo and branding for it. But you’ve grasped its essence after one viewing while they’ve been looking at it for months.’

  A burst of pleasure made Skye’s heart thump. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to see something with fresh eyes. May I?’ She held out a hand to look at the bid proposal Lazaro was holding.

  He handed it to her. ‘Be my guest.’

  Skye flicked through it, and as she did so she was already seeing possibilities, imagining things.

  Lazaro’s car stopped at the hotel and he said, ‘I’m going into the office for a few hours. We’ll be leaving for Paris in the morning.’

  Immediately Skye felt anxious. ‘Oh, yes. The gala function tomorrow night.’

  Lazaro put his hand over hers, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. ‘It’s one event. Pack the black strapless dress. Leave your hair down.’

  It was only when Skye got out of the car that she realised she was still holding Lazaro’s bid proposal document, but the car had already pulled away. She took it up to the apartment and found herself settling down with it, and a cup of decaf coffee, sketch
ing out some ideas on a blank piece of paper.

  * * *

  That evening, it was late when Lazaro got back to the apartment. He’d sent a message to Skye earlier, telling her to eat without him. For the first time ever he was experiencing a very novel thing. The desire for something else outside of his relentless ambition and his focus on work.

  His wife.

  And, disturbingly, it went beyond the physical attraction. He liked spending time with her. Seeing her reaction to things. She always surprised him. And, even more novel, she was a nice person. Something very unusual in his world. A genuinely compassionate, caring person.

  Almudena in Andalucía adored her. His concierge at the hotel had just told him to thank her again for bringing him pastries earlier. He’d noticed his usually taciturn Madrid housekeeper smiling. And it wasn’t because of him.

  For the first time in his life his well-worn cynicism felt like a burden. He noticed it all the time.

  He walked into the main salon, pulling at his tie, opening his top button. A few low lights were on. He expected that Skye would be in bed by now, and already felt the frustration in his body.

  But then he saw a shape on the couch and went still. He walked over. She was asleep. He saw the bid document on the low table beside her, and some sheets of paper with drawings on them. He picked one up. It looked like a logo. A logo for his project.

  He realised instantly that it was brilliant. He looked at Skye. She was still wearing the jeans. Her shirt was askew, showing a hint of curved belly under the elastic top of the maternity jeans. Her hair was in a wild tangle around her head. Her mouth was soft and inviting.

  And just then, as if aware of Lazaro’s intense perusal, she opened her eyes. Slumberous. She focused on him and smiled a slow, sleepy smile. And before he could stop it Lazaro felt his gut twist with something he really didn’t want to investigate. A nameless emotion. Something he’d never felt before.

  Never allowed himself to feel before.

  Then she obviously realised where she was and scrambled to sit up. ‘What time is it?’ She saw the piece of paper in Lazaro’s hand and her cheeks went pink, hair tumbling over her shoulders. ‘Sorry, but the visit to the market earlier sparked some ideas...’

  Lazaro sat down beside her. ‘It’s really good. I have been paying a team of creatives thousands of euros and not one person has come up with something so simple and perfect.’

  ‘Really?’

  He put the paper down and looked at her. ‘Yes, really.’

  She blushed even more profusely and said shyly, ‘You can use it if you like.’

  He looked at her. ‘I like...’

  Skye’s eyes widened as she obviously realised his explicit meaning. And then she surprised him, by lying down again and slowly undoing the buttons on her shirt, pulling it back to reveal her breasts, nipples pressing against the lace of her bra. She lifted her arms over her head, looking innocent and wanton all at once.

  ‘Unless you’re too tired...?’ she said.

  Lazaro bent forward and snaked a hand under her back, finding the bra-clasp and undoing it with a snap. As he peeled down the skimpy lace triangles covering her breasts he said throatily, ‘I’ve never been less tired in my life...’ And then he cupped one voluptuous mound and closed his mouth over the pouting nipple, very effectively closing his mind to annoying questions and revelations.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING, in a sumptuous suite in an exclusive hotel in Paris, Skye inspected herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was her first time getting herself ready for an event, but she couldn’t see anything too obviously out of place.

  The dress was black silk. Strapless. Its empire line meant the fabric flowed over her belly. Lazaro had said to leave her hair down, and she’d done her best to tame it into some kind of order. She felt very pale and bare with her shoulders and neck exposed.

  After making sure she had no lipstick stuck to her teeth, and that her eyeliner wasn’t smudged, she went out into the bedroom.

  Lazaro looked at her through the mirror, where he was tying his bow-tie. His hands stopped moving. Skye sucked in a breath at the look in his eyes.

  He turned around, his gaze dropping and then lifting again. ‘You look...stunning.’

  Skye blushed. ‘Thank you.’ She touched her hair self-consciously. ‘I couldn’t do much with—’

  He came over. ‘It’s perfect.’

  Taking her hand, he led her into the living area. ‘My friend owns a jewellery shop called De Villiers. He sent over some things for you this evening.’

  Skye stopped. ‘The De Villiers? That’s more than a jewellery shop...it’s an institution.’ She’d used to look in the display windows when she was younger, in Paris with her mother, in thrall to all the glittering jewels.

  He tugged her over to the flat velvet boxes on the table. He let go of her hand and opened them.

  Skye gasped. One contained a sapphire and diamond necklace... Lazaro took it out.

  Skye backed away in awe. ‘I can’t wear that. It must be worth a fortune.’

  Lazaro’s gaze narrowed on her. ‘Skye, I know you’re not like most women—’

  She sent him a look.

  ‘I mean that in a good way. But will you just try this on? Please?’

  Torn between fear and fascination, Skye turned around and lifted her hair up. She felt the cold weight of the jewels land on her skin, sitting just on her collarbone.

  ‘Come to the mirror.’

  Skye went over to the mirror and looked at herself. She looked like one of them now. The people she’d seen that night in Madrid. All sleek and dripping with jewels.

  She glanced up and met Lazaro’s eyes in the mirror. Their gazes held. ‘It’s beautiful...it just doesn’t feel like...me.’

  He turned her around. ‘It is you. A new version of you.’

  Maybe he was right.

  He let go of her shoulders and went back to the table. ‘Try these on.’ He held up some long earrings.

  ‘There’s more?’

  He nodded. Skye came over and looked at the selection. She plucked out a smaller pair of earrings than those Lazaro was holding. Sapphire studs. And chose a matching bracelet.

  He handed her the clutch bag. ‘Ready?’

  Skye nodded, even though she wondered if she’d ever feel ready for one of these events. The sobering thought occurred to her that she shouldn’t get too used to this attention. Because one day, after she’d divorced Lazaro, he’d be giving it to a much more appropriate wife. The kind of woman who wouldn’t need constant reassurance.

  * * *

  Skye stuck close to Lazaro at the gala function. It was a dazzling display of wealth and glamour in one of the city’s most impressive buildings near the Arc de Triomphe. It was Paris Fashion Week, and the event was in aid of a very high-profile charity.

  She’d never seen so many A-listers in one room. She had to consciously close her mouth when one of her favourite movie stars of all time brushed past her and apologised before moving on.

  She looked at Lazaro, but he was holding court, surrounded by a starstruck crowd of his own. Skye was quite happy to sip her water and people-watch...until she felt an unmistakable flutter in her belly—something that was more than a flutter. It was a movement. A definite movement. She went very still, everything falling away as that tiny but seismic movement came again.

  The baby. Moving.

  A surge of wonder and euphoria rose up through Skye and she only realised she must have gripped Lazaro’s hand when he looked down at her.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Skye was about to blurt it out. She wanted to take his hand and put it on her belly. But suddenly she realised everyone was looking at her. It was too fragile and private a moment. And she didn’t think Lazaro would appreciate the dom
esticity of it.

  She shook her head. ‘Bathroom. I just need to go to the bathroom.’

  She needed a moment alone. To process this.

  She threaded her way through the crowd, trying not to trip over her own feet as she did so, and at the last moment spied some open French doors, leading out to a quiet balcony.

  She ducked outside. It was blissfully peaceful out here. Candles flickered, giving the flower-bedecked balcony a romantic vibe. They were on the top floor, and Skye could see the Eiffel Tower twinkling on the other side of the Seine. It was like a glittering bauble.

  The distinctive skyline of Paris with its tall, elegant buildings stretched out all around her. She could see people moving about in their apartments nearby. Families sitting down to dinner. Babies in high-chairs. Couples snuggling up on sofas. A young girl sitting at her desk, obviously doing her homework.

  For a moment she felt absurdly emotional. She didn’t need priceless jewels, as nice as they were. Or to mingle with A-listers, as exciting as that was. All she wanted was a simple existence like that. A secure base. A happy family. And yet, in spite of the heat between her and Lazaro—

  She heard a noise behind her and her circling thoughts came to a stop. She composed herself, and turned to see a woman stepping out onto the balcony, looking as relieved as Skye to be alone. Then she saw Skye and stopped, her mouth opening. Both of them froze as recognition sank in.

  ‘You...’ Skye heard the word emerge from her mouth, recognising this stunning brunette beauty, in a classically simple and elegant dark blue gown that skimmed her perfect figure. Her hair was up in a simple chignon and she wore jewels as effortlessly as Skye wished she could.

  Leonora Flores de la Vega—Leonora Torres—said in accentless English, ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise there was anyone here.’ She turned to leave.

  Skye acted on impulse and said, ‘No. Please, don’t go.’

  The tall woman stopped, and Skye saw the tension in her body. Her guts twisted painfully. Leonora turned around, her beautiful face expressionless. But Skye was sure she saw something in her grey eyes—something human. Kind.