Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

by Abby Green

  He’d told her he wouldn’t touch her again. And yet within minutes of arriving back at the hacienda he’d been devouring her like a man crazed with lust. He’d forgotten why he was so angry with her. He’d forgotten everything.

  But now he remembered.

  Damage control.

  This was a situation that he couldn’t run away from—as had just been made painfully clear.

  Lazaro went into his bathroom and turned the shower on to cold. He gritted his jaw as the icy needles slammed into his body, willing the cold water to douse the lingering heat in his body.

  He told himself that the fact that they had chemistry was something that could no longer be denied or ignored. And perhaps it was a good thing—because when he told Skye his plans for the future he wouldn’t be afraid to play dirty if he had to.

  She would submit to his will. She had to. She owed him.

  * * *

  It was dusk when Skye woke from the deepest slumber she could remember in months. She felt disorientated, and it took her long seconds to get her bearings and realise she wasn’t naked in her own bed. She was naked in Lazaro’s bed. And then it all came rushing back, along with the after-effects of pleasure. Aching muscles. Tender parts of her body.

  The room was empty, just one low light casting shadows. Skye groaned. She’d been so angry with Lazaro for leaving her here, and yet within minutes she’d been climbing him like a tree and all but begging him to make love to her.

  He’d told her that it wouldn’t happen again. That their relationship wasn’t about this. But clearly there was a force between them stronger than his will and her better judgement. It was little comfort to know that he was as affected as her. He must resent her for it.

  Skye got out of the bed and picked up the detritus of her clothes, her face burning when she thought of how desperate she’d been to get naked. She pulled on her jeans and top and tiptoed back to her own room, stripping off again and diving straight under a hot shower. As if that could wash away her humiliation.

  After drying and plaiting her hair, to keep it out of her way, Skye dressed in clean jeans and a top, flushing again when she thought of how Lazaro had been so scathing about her attire.

  She hated to admit it, but he’d got to a very secret part of her that had always felt conscious of not being more feminine. She’d noticed the women who came into the restaurant sometimes and envied their sense of style. Women like the impeccably coiffed Leonora Flores de la Vega.

  Enough. Skye scolded herself for the uncharacteristic self-pity. She knew she had to face Lazaro again some time, so she forced herself to go downstairs, where an enticing smell of cooking food was drifting from the kitchen.

  When Skye reached the entrance hall the massive front door was open. There was only the faintest of breezes on the warm Andalusian air. It was so beautiful here. Peaceful. One might be forgiven for forgetting that there was a greater world out there, full of strife and turmoil.

  Skye had often wondered if her mother’s wanderings were an endless search for peace... The real world had never bothered Skye too much—she’d learnt at an early age how to adapt to her surroundings and make the best of a situation, no matter where they were. But she’d always wanted to settle down one day and know she didn’t have to keep moving.

  She’d thought she’d done that in Dublin—but now look at her. Like mother like daughter. No, she assured herself. Not like mother like daughter. She would offer her child a stable life, no matter what it took...

  At that moment Almudena came into the hall and smiled at Skye, who flushed guiltily as she wondered if Almudena knew where she and Lazaro had been all afternoon.

  The older woman said, ‘Lazaro is in his study. He’s asked that you go to him before dinner.’

  Skye smiled and said, ‘Gracias,’ feeling butterflies erupting in her belly as she approached the half-open door of Lazaro’s office. She heard the low rumble of his voice and knocked lightly before entering.

  He was on the phone and saw her, gesturing for her to come in, terminating the conversation as he did so.

  Skye automatically said, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  He shook his head and stood up. ‘You didn’t. Come in.’

  Skye ventured further in, noting his worn jeans and the polo shirt that emphasised his powerful physique. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

  ‘Did you want to discuss something?’ she asked.

  Lazaro went over to a drinks cabinet, turned around, ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Maybe just some water?’

  After a few seconds he handed her a glass. She saw that he had a drink for himself—something that looked far more potent than water. For a second she envied him.

  She took a sip to try and cool her blood.

  He went back around his desk and gestured. ‘Please...sit down.’

  So polite. As if the previous hours hadn’t happened. Still, if he could act cool then so could she.

  She went over to the chair, but just before she moved to sit down she saw something on the desk and the glass in her hand nearly slipped out of her nerveless fingers. Her sketches.

  She put down the glass with a clatter and leant forward, gathering up the sketches and stuffing them back into her leather folder. She looked at Lazaro. ‘How dare you go through my things.’

  Lazaro, supremely unconcerned, sat down and looked at her. ‘Please, sit.’

  She ignored him, hugging her folder close, praying silently he hadn’t seen that sketch. ‘You had no right.’

  Lazaro looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to see inside her head, and then he surprised her by saying with a note of grudging respect, ‘Your portraits are good. Really good.’

  Skye was so stunned she sat down. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where did you study?’

  ‘I didn’t. I’m self-taught.’

  Lazaro stood up again, as if he couldn’t contain his own energy. He paced to the window and then turned around, hands in his pockets. ‘You don’t appear anywhere—not at any schools...universities.’

  Skye frowned. ‘You looked me up?’

  ‘You’re carrying my child. I’m a wealthy man and I know next to nothing about you.’

  You know how to make my body sing.

  Skye shut that thought down. ‘I could say the same about you.’

  Lazaro didn’t look happy about the fact, but he said, ‘Nevertheless, if you do an Internet search on me plenty of information will appear.’

  This was said with a complete lack of hubris. He was just stating the facts.

  Skye said, ‘Are you accusing me of setting you up by getting pregnant? I thought we’d been through this.’

  Lazaro folded his arms. ‘You’ve said you’re not motivated by money but, let’s face it, no matter what, if that child is mine, you’ve hit the jackpot.’

  Skye held the folder over her belly, as if to stop the baby hearing him. ‘He or she is your child—and that is a horrible thing to suggest.’

  Lazaro shrugged. ‘It’s true.’

  The depth of his cynicism rubbed Skye raw—especially after what they’d shared that afternoon. She stood up, emotions bubbling over. ‘You could have just asked me, you know. I don’t have anything to hide, and I’m not here to extort money out of this situation.’

  He gave her that hard look again. ‘Everything tells me not to believe you, but I actually think you might be telling the truth.’

  ‘You mean your cynical nature tells you not to believe me,’ she pointed out.

  Lazaro spoke in Spanish. ‘You understood me when I said bruja. And I’ve heard you speaking Spanish with Almudena. Where did you learn to speak it so fluently?’

  Skye felt ridiculously and irrationally guilty. ‘My mother and I had a somewhat nomadic existence. We lived all over Europe and
the Middle East at one point or another. I found it easy to pick up and retain languages...probably a survival technique. If I ever did enrol in a school it was never long before we moved again. I taught myself the basics of everything and picked up stuff along the way. That’s probably why you couldn’t find me listed anywhere.’

  ‘Why did you move so much?’

  Skye shrugged one shoulder, desperately wanting to avoid Lazaro’s penetrating gaze, but not wanting to show him any vulnerability.

  ‘My mother was always enticed by the new and the shiny—whether it was the promise of a job or a new lover.’ She saw something on Lazaro’s face and said fiercely, ‘She was a good mother. I knew I was loved and I was always secure, no matter how much we moved around. She made sure of that. But I don’t want that lifestyle for my child. One of the things I wanted most when I was growing up was a home...one place. Somewhere I knew was mine, that I could come back to.’

  * * *

  Lazaro stayed silent.

  He wasn’t used to feeling a sense of affinity with anyone, but Skye’s words had struck a chord deep inside him. When he was younger he’d used to stand outside the palatial properties belonging to his mother and his father and his half-siblings, envying the very solid roots that they took for granted. That envy had nurtured his ambition to be successful. To be accepted.

  The fact that Skye had been through a very different yet somehow similar experience was disconcerting. She hadn’t had it much easier than he had, and yet she appeared to hold no grievance, just a wish to do things differently. She also appeared not to have a cynical bone in her body.

  At that moment Almudena knocked on the door to tell them dinner was ready.

  Lazaro’s focus came back. He couldn’t let a fleeting sense of affinity derail his ultimate ambition.

  He gestured to the door. ‘Shall we?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  SKYE COULDN’T DENY she was relieved at the interruption. She didn’t enjoy being under the spotlight of Lazaro’s exacting questions.

  She walked out to the terrace, where the table was set. Candles flickered and silverware shone against a pristine white tablecloth. It was an undeniably romantic setting and yet, despite what had happened between them that afternoon, Skye couldn’t imagine that Lazaro appreciated the effort. He didn’t strike her as the romantic type.

  It made her wonder how he’d been with his fiancée.

  Skye felt a pang of conscience and impulsively asked, as Lazaro took his seat opposite her, ‘Have you talked to Leonora?’

  Something fleeting crossed Lazaro’s face, but it was gone so fast Skye couldn’t decipher what it meant.

  ‘No, I haven’t spoken to her. Why do you ask?’

  Skye played with her napkin. ‘I just feel bad... I’m sorry that she was embarrassed like that. I hope she’s not too upset.’

  Lazaro took out his phone and after a few seconds handed it over to Skye, who looked at it and gasped.

  The headline read: Gabriel Ortega Cruz y Torres weds Leonora Flores de la Vega in an exclusive and private wedding at the family estate in Madrid.

  Skye gasped and looked up. ‘They’re married? How is that even possible?’ She handed the phone back.

  ‘For Gabriel Torres pretty much anything is possible.’

  Skye suspected that the same could be said of Lazaro. ‘Does Leonora know that Gabriel Torres is your half-brother?’ she asked.

  Lazaro’s face was totally expressionless, but Skye could see a tightness in his jaw. ‘Hardly—he doesn’t acknowledge it himself. I didn’t think he’d go to these lengths to get back at me.’

  ‘Maybe he really likes her.’

  Lazaro shot her a look. ‘Like? Like and love are not emotions people from Gabriel and Leonora’s world indulge in. She comes from his world and she needs money. I’m sure they came to some arrangement.’

  ‘That’s so...cold.’

  ‘That’s reality.’

  Almudena arrived then, with their starter, and Skye started eating the delicious asparagus and ham. She could enjoy food again without fearing its reappearance the following morning, as the morning sickness that had blighted her first trimester appeared to be over. In fact, she was feeling better than she’d felt in a long time.

  Hmm... said an inner voice. I wonder why?

  A lurid image of her body entwined with Lazaro’s came into her head and she cursed it silently, not even looking his way in case he saw something on her far too expressive face.

  ‘You eat every meal with a single-minded absorption I’ve never seen in anyone else.’

  Skye looked up, and finished chewing her last mouthful of asparagus, trying not to feel as if he’d just compared her unfavourably to every woman he’d known.

  ‘I learnt early to appreciate whatever was put in front of me, because sometimes it was a long time between meals.’ If her mother had suddenly decided to jump on a train and go from Paris to Prague. Or Berlin...

  Lazaro regarded her, cradling a wine glass in his hand. ‘How can you be so un-cynical? You hardly had a more secure start in life than I did.’

  Skye shrugged. ‘My mother was trusting—probably far too trusting—but we generally had good experiences. People looked out for us...for me. And, even though my mother’s way was scatty and unconventional, I knew I was loved and that she would do anything for me.’

  ‘Except stop moving around?’

  Skye looked at Lazaro, surprised at his perspicacity and at the dart of hurt it provoked. Because she’d often wondered that herself.

  She smiled a small smile. ‘Except that. When I was seventeen we were in London, and I had a job in a hairdressing salon. When she announced that she wanted to move on I told her I was staying. I was earning money and I got a room-share in a flat with a friend. That’s when I stopped moving around.’

  He arched a brow. ‘You know how to cut hair?’

  Skye nodded. ‘It’s a useful skill to have.’

  Once again she cringed inwardly, thinking how different this line of conversation must be from what he was used to. If Leonora Flores was anything to go by, Lazaro’s usual women oozed class and sophistication. They didn’t have obscure skill sets like Skye, thanks to her unusual upbringing.

  ‘And where does your talent in drawing come from?’

  ‘Not my mother...she couldn’t draw a stick-man to save her life.’ She shrugged self-consciously. ‘I don’t know...maybe my father? Whoever he is.’

  * * *

  Almudena arrived with the main course. Lazaro was surprised. He hadn’t even noticed her taking away the starter plates.

  He found Skye genuinely...interesting. Which was a novelty when not many people interested him or surprised him.

  He could recall sneaking into art galleries when he was a teenager, standing transfixed in front of massive majestic canvases. He could imagine that Skye had done the same thing. Both of them had been on the margins of society for different reasons. And yet she didn’t seem to be consumed by greed for what she might have missed out on as her birthright.

  ‘Your father could be a millionaire,’ he pointed out.

  She shrugged, unconcerned. ‘He could. Equally he could be a pauper—or dead.’

  Lazaro sat back. ‘Are you really telling me you couldn’t care less?’

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t deny I’d like to know who he is...maybe even talk to him...but as for what he has? That means nothing to me. Because it’s who you are underneath that counts.’

  Lazaro might have thought she was messing with him if she hadn’t sounded so genuine. ‘A nice sentiment,’ he said. ‘But somehow I don’t think it’s that simple.’

  She looked at him, a fork full of Almudena’s signature paella halfway to her mouth. She actually managed to give him a pitying look.

  ‘Maybe some day you’ll find that your cynical world vi
ew isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’

  Lazaro watched her eat and thought to himself that that was highly unlikely.

  * * *

  They finished the meal in a surprisingly convivial silence. Skye said thank you to Almudena when the woman cleared away the plates and brought some sweet pastries and coffee.

  When they were alone again Lazaro said, ‘There’s something we need to discuss.’

  Skye sat up straighter. ‘Yes...there is. I know you’re not happy with where I’m living in Dublin, but maybe I can find a new place and then—’

  Lazaro was shaking his head. ‘You’re not going back to Dublin.’

  Skye felt frustration rise at his matter-of-fact tone. ‘What are you proposing, then? To leave me here and drop in when it suits you?’

  To have mind-blowing sex? snarked that little inner voice.

  Skye ignored it and said hurriedly, ‘Or maybe you’re going to set me up somewhere that’s conveniently on the sidelines of your life with your child?’

  Lazaro looked at her. ‘If you think you’re someone who can be easily sidelined then you do yourself a disservice.’

  That kept Skye quiet. She didn’t think he’d meant it as a compliment. She had the distinct impression that he wished she was more easy to sideline.

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’

  Lazaro stood up and walked over to the wall that separated the terrace from the gardens. She couldn’t stop her gaze roving over his broad back and down to the slim waist and powerful buttocks. He turned around and she shifted her eyes up, feeling a guilty burn under her skin.

  ‘What I’m suggesting is that we get married. It’s the only viable option right now.’

  It took a second for his words to sink in, and when they did Skye shot up from her chair. ‘Is this because we had sex?’