by Abby Green
Skye sat on a bench and drank it in. She had to face up to reality. She was here on her own because Lazaro didn’t care enough about their future together to invest time in looking at houses with her. Because he didn’t intend sharing the space. That was why he was keeping his apartment.
He hadn’t needed her to go to his function the previous evening. Gradually she would be more and more sidelined, until she was on the periphery of his life with their child.
And yet there was a tiny rebellious flame inside her, hoping against hope that a future could exist for them.
At that moment something blocked the sun and Skye looked to her left. All she could see was a tall, broad shape. A man coming towards her. Wide shoulders. Long legs. A flash of dark blond hair. Slightly too long.
Her heart started to beat fast. Lazaro. He’d come. He did care.
The exultant rush of euphoria inside Skye was almost overwhelming. She was halfway out of the seat before she realised that it wasn’t Lazaro at all. It was just someone who had a similar build. He wasn’t even as tall. Or as handsome.
She sat down again quickly, her heart plummeting like a stone to the bottom of a pond. Her face burned with mortification as she avoided the eye of the man who looked at her questioningly.
If she hadn’t been fully aware of it before that little incident, she was now. She was in deep trouble.
* * *
In the week leading up to the public bid for the market project Skye hardly saw Lazaro. Her sense of unease was growing even as she told herself she was being ridiculous. This was a big project. And they weren’t exactly living in a conventional domestic relationship anyway.
On Wednesday evening she was falling asleep, watching a documentary, when she heard him come home. She turned off the TV and stood up. He came into the living room, tugging at his tie. He looked tired and Skye felt a rush of emotion.
‘Hey...’
He looked at her, and she saw that green gaze sweep up and down. She tried not to feel self-conscious in her sweats and the loose oversized shirt. Albeit designer sweats and oversized shirt.
‘You’re still up.’
‘It’s only nine o’clock.’
She hated it that he could make her feel so shy. Awkward. They’d been intimate. She was carrying his baby. And yet she felt like a blushing teenager.
She said, ‘Maria cooked a casserole earlier. There’s some left over. I can heat it up?’
She saw Lazaro’s mouth tighten, as if she’d said something he didn’t want to hear.
‘No, thanks. I ate at the office.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Actually, there’s something you should know before you come to see the bid on Friday. We decided not to use your logo in the end.’
‘Oh...’ Skye was surprised at the level of disappointment she felt—which was crazy, considering she’d almost forgotten about it. ‘That’s okay. I was only playing around with ideas. It wasn’t serious.’
But, actually, being involved in something Lazaro was working on had felt nice. More than nice. His approval had meant more to her than she would ever admit.
She spoke quickly, in case he saw her disappointment. ‘I was out with the estate agent again today. I think I’ve found a house I like.’
Lazaro was pouring himself a whisky at the drinks cabinet. He turned around. ‘That’s good. Where is it?’
‘Beside El Retiro Park. Los Jerónimos.’
Lazaro frowned. ‘But that’s in the city.’
‘Yes... But all those other houses...they felt cold. Isolated.’
‘They’re in the best areas. Where—’ He stopped talking.
Skye said quietly, ‘Where Gabriel Torres lives? Where your parents live?’
She’d guessed it must be where they all lived. There were many huge walled estates with grand-looking houses just visible from the road.
Skye shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t like it out there. There’s no centre...no atmosphere. Everyone is locked behind their huge gates and walls with more security than a head of state. It’s not natural.’
Lazaro put his drink down. ‘I came from the streets, Skye. I won’t bring up my child across the road from the park where I used to sleep at night.’
Skye winced inwardly and moved closer, instinctively wanting to soothe Lazaro’s rough edges. ‘Well, I don’t want my child to be brought up in a place where the only people he’ll see are domestic staff and drivers—where he’s ferried in blacked-out cars from exclusive place to place. I want him to be able to walk out through the door and go to the park. Play with neighbourhood kids. Go to a local school. Have as normal a life as possible.’
* * *
Skye stood in front of Lazaro and all he could see were those huge blue eyes. Full of something that caught at his insides like a fist and squeezed tight.
Like a coward, he’d been hoping she’d be in bed by the time he returned. But she wasn’t. Here she was, wearing jogging bottoms and a shirt that was loose enough for him to see the lace of her light blue bra. For him to imagine the full voluptuous curves of her breasts. Her hair was in an untidy pile on the top of her head. Golden red tendrils falling down. She epitomised earthy sensuality.
Por Dios... He wanted her. But what she was saying had touched on so many raw wounds inside him he almost couldn’t see straight.
He said, ‘You paint a picture of an idyll that doesn’t exist, Skye. Not for people like me—like us. It is not that simple.’
‘I think it can be. You walk out of here every day and nothing happens to you.’
She didn’t get it. ‘You and the baby are much softer targets than me.’
‘I think you want to live out there because you stood outside those houses, watching those people. Wanting them to notice you. I understand what that must have been like...’
Emotions were rising inside Lazaro—dark, tangled emotions.
Skye was continuing. ‘If you think living amongst them will bring you peace then—’
‘Enough.’
Something had snapped inside Lazaro. He’d never wanted to touch Skye as much as he did in that moment. Worse. He needed to touch her. To quiet the tumult in his head. Which was exactly why he had to resist.
‘I’ve heard enough pop psychology for one evening, Skye. We will discuss this another time. I have some work to catch up on. You should go to bed—it’s late.’
He turned away from her and walked away, with the image of those huge blue eyes, watching him the whole way, branded onto his brain.
* * *
Skye watched him leave. She knew, to her shame, that if he had touched her she would have been too weak to resist him. So she had to give thanks for his not exposing her. And for revealing the chasm that existed between them when he wasn’t touching her. For reminding her that there was far more keeping them apart than together.
CHAPTER TEN
ON THE DAY of the public bid Lazaro’s driver came to pick Skye up from the apartment. She’d chosen a cream silk shirt-dress and matching jacket. Nude court shoes. She’d even gone to a hairdresser to get her hair tamed, not wanting to draw any adverse attention to Lazaro.
When she arrived at the market where the bid was taking place she was met by Sara, who had been there on the day of the wedding. Skye was glad to see a familiar face. She still felt raw after the exchange with Lazaro the other night.
Sara pointed out where Lazaro was standing—looking serious—with a group of other people. Skye recognised Gabriel Torres and scanned the crowd for Leonora, but couldn’t see the brunette beauty.
‘...your logo.’
Skye realised Sara had been talking to her, but she’d been too busy scanning the space to take in what she’d said. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
The girl looked around and said, ‘Señor Sanchez would kill me for saying this, but we all preferred your logo
and your design for the project.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Skye said, touched. ‘But I understand how these things go. If the agency didn’t want to use it then—’
‘Oh, but no—that’s it. Everyone wanted to use it but Señor Sanchez vetoed it in the end, saying that it wasn’t appropriate.’
Skye didn’t have much time to take in that revelation, because Lazaro was walking over to where she was standing and his assistant melted away.
He took Skye by the hand and led her over to where there were some seats. He explained that the two presentations for the bid would be shown and then, after the public had had about a month to view the plans, their vote would be added to the councillors votes and the winner would be announced.
Skye tried to put out of her mind what Sara had said, telling herself it wasn’t important. But the feeling of hurt wouldn’t disappear. Why had Lazaro decided not to use her logo?
The two presentations got underway, with both Gabriel Torres and Lazaro producing very slick videos detailing their plans for the space. Gabriel’s was focused more on maximising the utility of the space, and Lazaro’s centred around it being used primarily as a market, encompassing craft shops, galleries, restaurants and shops, along with a traditional fruit and vegetable market.
As Skye watched his presentation she felt emotional. The man who spoke so lovingly about this space was not a man who wanted to live in a glass box in the stuffy suburbs. She knew it.
Afterwards there was a reception, and Lazaro came over to Skye. She could see the intensity on his face, in his eyes. Going up against his half-brother was taking so much out of him. But he wouldn’t want to hear her pop psychology.
‘It was brilliant,’ she said.
He looked at her, seemed about to say something, but just then his attention was caught by something above her head and he went white.
Skye reached for his hand. ‘Lazaro, what is it? You’re scaring me.’
His lips were bloodless. She’d never seen his eyes look so haunted.
He said, almost to himself, ‘It’s my mother.’
Skye went cold. She turned around to look where Lazaro’s gaze was directed. The woman was tall and elegant. Light brown hair. Imperious. She was looking at Lazaro with an arrested expression on her face.
And suddenly Skye grew hot as a rush of emotion nearly felled her with its force. She felt the flutterings of her baby in her belly—and that galvanised her to move, without thinking, towards the woman.
She vaguely heard someone say, ‘Skye...’ behind her, but it was too late. She was standing in front of the woman now, looking up into patrician features. And those distinctive green eyes that Lazaro had inherited.
Shaking with adrenalin and emotion, Skye said, ‘How could you?’ She put a hand on her belly. ‘How could you just abdicate your responsibility and abandon your own baby?’
The woman was icily aloof, but Skye thought she saw a flicker of something like pain in her eyes before it quickly disappeared.
‘Because my world is a cruel one, Señora Sanchez,’ she said. ‘But I am glad my son has you.’
Then she turned and walked away, slipping on big sunglasses as she did so.
Skye was still trembling from the rush of emotion and adrenalin. Her arm was caught in a big hand and Lazaro came and stood in the spot his mother had just occupied. The resemblance was even more acute.
He was angry. Livid. Where he’d been white before, now he was flushed. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
It took Skye a second to understand that he was angry with her for confronting his mother. Because, no matter what the woman had done, she was his mother.
Skye couldn’t have been told in starker terms where she came in Lazaro’s life. Beneath the woman who had abandoned him at birth.
The hurt was immense. She could feel her emotions bubbling over and was terrified about what might spill out.
She pulled free and said, ‘I’m going to go back to the apartment.’
She turned and walked quickly outside and got into the first cab she could find. She didn’t hear anyone call Skye... this time.
* * *
Lazaro watched Skye leave, his jaw clenched so hard he had to relax consciously. The bid—everything—was forgotten.
Seeing his mother had been like a punch in the gut. He’d only seen her periodically through the years, but this time she’d been alone and looking at him. As if she’d come for him.
And then, before he’d been able to stop her, Skye had marched over like a tiny virago.
He’d heard her. ‘How could you?’
She’d articulated the words that had resounded in Lazaro’s head all his life, and yet as soon as he’d heard Skye say them out loud on some level he’d known that he’d needed her to do that. Because he couldn’t. Because the emotions his mother roused in him were too volatile.
But Lazaro wasn’t feeling grateful to Skye for her intervention. He was feeling shame, resentment. Discomfort. Raw.
And then from behind him came a voice. ‘Still airing your dirty laundry in public, Sanchez?’
Lazaro whirled around to see Gabriel Torres, those dark eyes seeing every inch of exposure Lazaro was feeling. His arm was drawn back and his hand was in a fist, ready to punch his brother before he even knew what he was doing.
Gabriel’s eyes flashed. ‘Do it, Sanchez. Go on. You’ve been dying to ever since that day you followed us to the restaurant.’
Lazaro wasn’t sure how he found the strength to resist the overwhelming urge to punch the condescending look off Gabriel’s face, but somehow he did.
He told himself it wasn’t because of Skye. Because he could imagine her huge blue eyes entreating him. Because he could imagine her soft, delicate scent and her hand touching his arm, pulling it down.
He’s not worth it, she would say.
And, damn it, as he lowered his hand and swallowed down his pain he’d never resented her more for coming into his life and ripping open every wound he had. He’d operated alone his whole life. He did not need anyone else. Not then, not now.
* * *
The blotches on Skye’s face were finally going down. She was a pale redhead, and her crying was not pretty. She felt calmer, though, as she waited for Lazaro to return. Calmer because she knew what she had to do now. For herself and the baby.
She heard a sound and turned around, steeling herself. Lazaro walked in, tie undone and hair messy. She pushed down her concern.
That green gaze zeroed in on her. His face was stark. Lines seemed to be etched there that she hadn’t seen before.
He came further into the room. ‘You had no right to say anything to my mother.’
Skye said in a low voice, ‘I am your wife and the mother of your child. I think that gives me some right.’
His gaze dropped to the wheelie suitcase beside her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going back to Dublin. I’ve booked an early-evening flight. This isn’t working, Lazaro. I’m not prepared to live in isolation in the suburbs while you maintain a separate life in the city. You’ve made it very clear where I come in your priorities and it’s not high enough.’
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.
‘I know you were the one who vetoed using my logo for the project. Your assistant told me that everyone else wanted to use it except you. And the only reason I can think of is because you didn’t like how I was infringing on your business.’
Your life.
Skye saw a tinge of colour score across his cheeks at that, but she didn’t feel better to know she was right.
‘I looked up the requirements for divorce in Spain. As long as we’ve been married for three months we can divorce within two months. I want to have this baby in Dublin. By the time he or she is born, we’ll have been married long enough to initiate our divor
ce.’
She took a breath.
‘I’ve been talking to my mother and she’s going to come back to help me when the baby is born. We can discuss going forward from there. I’m giving you your life back, Lazaro. You need a wife who is your equal in this world. I’m not that person. I never will be.’
She clamped her mouth shut, afraid of what else might come out. Things she was too vulnerable to say.
Lazaro had said nothing this whole time. He was expressionless. He walked over to one of the windows and looked out. After a long moment he turned around, arms folded.
‘Maybe it is a good idea for you to leave for a while. What you want...what you’re asking for...it’s not a life I ever envisaged. I don’t need a defender, Skye. I never asked for that.’
Skye stifled the hurt and pain blooming in her chest and her heart. ‘It’s not something you should need to ask for. I’ve got a taxi coming. I should go.’
‘No, my driver will take you. And you need to let me know where you are so I can set you up. You’re not going back to that dump of an apartment. Where will you stay tonight?’
The fact that he was letting her go so easily crushed her.
‘With a girl I worked with at the restaurant. She’s got a spare room. I’ll stay with her until I find somewhere.’
‘You’ll have access to money. You won’t need to work.’
Skye said nothing. She had no intention of using Lazaro’s money.
She walked to the door, pulling her small case behind her. She turned. She had a sense of déjà vu—back to when she’d been delivered to Lazaro in this very room like a toxic package.
He was as remote now as he had been then. As if nothing had changed in the meantime. As if there wasn’t this insatiable tug of desire drawing them together in spite of everything. But clearly not even that was enough. She’d overstepped the line the other night, and today, and he wouldn’t forgive her.
