Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

by Abby Green

  ‘It’s because you’re pregnant. And until we can prove irrefutably that I’m the father the world believes that I am.’

  Something suspiciously like hurt lanced Skye. ‘But you still don’t?’

  His jaw clenched. ‘It’s not that I don’t—just that I’m not naïve enough to believe something I can’t prove.’

  Skye walked over to the wall, but kept a distance of a few feet between her and Lazaro. ‘I’m not going to marry you—that’s a preposterous suggestion.’

  ‘Is it? Really? The fact is that we had a night together which has resulted in consequences that will affect both our lives for decades to come, and we need to face those consequences. Together.’

  The implacable tone of his voice, and the way he seemed to be prepared to sacrifice himself for the sake of keeping up appearances, even while resenting her for it, sent panic into Skye’s gut.

  ‘You’ve admitted you’re not prepared to believe you’re the father till you get evidence, so why would you want to make such a public commitment to a woman who may or may not be the mother of your child?’

  His jaw clenched again. ‘Because the press won’t rest in their hounding of you—and us—until I do. I’ll be pilloried for not supporting my pregnant mistress. I don’t have the luxury of hundreds of years of legacy-building to withstand that kind of negative press attention.’

  ‘But I’m not your mistress,’ Skye wailed.

  If she hadn’t fallen pregnant she would only have ever been a one-night stand to this man. A dim memory as he got on with his life with his perfect wife. That stung far more than she liked to admit.

  ‘Let’s face it,’ she said, trying to hide the insecurity she felt and hated. ‘I would never have been a mistress of yours. What happened between us was out of character for both of us, brought on by extreme—’

  ‘Chemistry,’ he supplied, sounding grim.

  Skye got hot, thinking of how that chemistry had manifested itself a few hours ago. ‘Whatever. I just don’t think it’s necessary to overreact and make a commitment for the sake of it.’

  He folded his arms and shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ He kept going before she could respond. ‘You are fast becoming a household name here in Spain. I can guarantee you that right now people are looking you up, trying to delve into the most secret details of your life. You can never just fade away again. Not as long as people think you’re the mother of my baby.’

  Skye frantically racked her brains for a solution. ‘I’ll say I made it up. To get money out of you... Or because I was jealous of your engagement.’

  Lazaro shook his head. ‘It’s too late. I’ve done all the damage control I can, but the only option going forward is for us to marry. And soon. Within the next week.’

  Skye’s legs turned to jelly. She had to grip the wall beside her as something occurred to her. ‘Is this because your half-brother and ex-fiancée got married? You want to get back at them? I’m not a pawn, Lazaro.’

  ‘No, it’s not because of them. I’d decided to do this before I saw that they’d married.’

  The only thing convincing Skye that he was telling the truth was, well, why would he lie? He didn’t need to.

  ‘You can arrange it that quickly?’

  He nodded. ‘I have contacts. We can do it here, in the nearest town. A civil service.’

  The speed at which this situation was morphing out of Skye’s control was dizzying. ‘What if I say no? You can’t force me to marry you.’

  ‘You’re the one who has said it’s important for you to live your life differently. To give your—our child a secure and stable future. Settled. I can offer you the life you never had with your mother. And, what I experienced, there’s no way I’ll abandon my child.’

  The reminder of how much they had in common made Skye feel emotional, when it was the last thing she wanted to feel. But he was right. She did want to offer her child a stable life. And a father.

  ‘What would...? How would this work?’

  ‘The way I see it happening is this: we would marry for a period of up to five years—enough time to get you and the child settled, establish a base that suits us both and that gives our child a solid start in life—and then we would separate amicably and arrange joint custody. I would always be in my child’s life, and he or she will know who its father is. I can promise you that. My own father treated me like a dog in the street. I want more for my child—just as you do.’

  Skye absorbed his words. ‘This is a lot to think about...’

  Lazaro looked at her for a long moment. ‘On some level you must have been prepared for this when you decided to come to Spain to tell me about the baby. You can let me know what you decide in the morning, but we both know there’s only one solution here...the right one.’

  He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there feeling as though her guts had been pulled out and squeezed.

  Was he right? Had she been prepared for this when she’d come to Spain? No. She’d never imagined this. She’d never thought for a second that he would commit to her like this. Offer her a life. Her and the baby. She’d never imagined that he’d still want her.

  Her conscience struck her. But had she fantasised about this? That was another thing entirely. And, to her shame, on some level she knew she had. Not that he would marry her, but that he would want her.

  She turned to face the view blindly, not seeing the dusky lavender-hued sky. She could only see inwards, to a rushing kaleidoscope of images—meeting Lazaro for the first time, that passionate encounter, interrupting his engagement and incurring his wrath, then earlier, and now this ultimatum.

  Because that was what it was.

  Skye shivered. She had seen many facets to this man, but ultimately this was who he was: a ruthless billionaire whose main focus was in protecting his reputation and his business at all costs. Skye and the baby would only ever be by-products.

  She had to surmise bleakly that even if he had married Leonora, she would have suffered a similar fate. Because Lazaro clearly wasn’t interested in forging personal connections or creating the kind of family unit Skye had always yearned for.

  She was glad she hadn’t told him the full extent of her dreams and aspirations. She’d exposed herself enough as it was.

  Skye had a sleepless night ahead of her. Not because she didn’t know what to do, but because she knew she only had one option.

  * * *

  The following morning Lazaro heard a noise and looked up from where he was reading his tablet at the breakfast table on the terrace. Skye was standing there, looking pale and incredibly young. He was surprised to notice how tense she was. He put the tablet down and sat forward, pulling out the chair at his right. He had the very distinct impression that Skye might bolt at any moment.

  ‘Come, sit down.’

  He cursed her for his sleepless night. Knowing she was just down the hall had been torture.

  Her hair was down and fell over her shoulders in long, damp, curly skeins of red and gold. She must have had a shower. Promptly he was rewarded with an image of water sluicing down her naked body. He shifted in the seat, irritated that she had this power over him.

  She wore jeans and another non-descript T-shirt, and suddenly Lazaro wanted to see her draped in silks and satins.

  Still she hadn’t moved. He was about to speak again when she blurted out, ‘I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.’

  Something unclenched inside him, and he didn’t like to acknowledge that it was a sensation of relief.

  He stood up. ‘Come with me. I have something for you.’

  He walked back into the house, aware of her light, clean scent. He went into his study and to the safe, took out a small box.

  He handed it to Skye, who was still looking pale. Something about her apparent fragility made him feel both irritated and something far more distu
rbing: protective.

  He told himself that it was a natural biological reaction to the woman who was carrying his child.

  * * *

  Skye took the box. She still couldn’t believe that she’d said yes to Lazaro’s non-proposal and he’d barely changed expression. She cursed herself. What had she been hoping for? Tears of gratitude? He was only marrying her because he wanted to protect his reputation.

  And give you and the baby a secure start, reminded her conscience.

  She opened the royal blue velvet box and sucked in a breath when she saw the ring. It was a round pink diamond in a gold setting, with smaller white diamonds either side. Unusual. Not what she would have expected from someone like Lazaro.

  She loved it.

  She touched it and it sparkled. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She looked at Lazaro. ‘You knew I’d say yes?’

  ‘I was prepared.’

  Skye wanted to ask him if he’d picked it out himself but was too superstitious. If he had it would mean something, and if he hadn’t it would mean something.

  ‘Here—give it to me.’

  She handed the box back to Lazaro and he took the ring out. He caught her left hand and lifted it up.

  As he placed the ring on her finger Skye was saying, ‘It probably won’t fit—’

  But it did. Perfectly. And it looked right on her finger, suited her skin tone.

  She pulled her hand back, suddenly very aware of Lazaro holding it and their close proximity. But Lazaro didn’t let go.

  She looked at him, thinking, If he kisses me now I’m not going to be able to hide—

  Hide what? asked that voice.

  But he didn’t pull her closer. He said, ‘This ring...it’s just a symbol. You know it doesn’t mean anything, right? What there is between us...it’s just physical. I don’t want you to confuse passion with emotion.’

  Skye pulled her hand back again and this time tucked it behind her back. She forced herself to hold Lazaro’s gaze. ‘I learnt not to get attached to people when I was growing up, as we were always moving. And as for love...? I saw how crazy it made my mother—constantly searching for something she couldn’t find—so you really don’t have to patronise me. I’m under no illusions.’

  Lazaro looked at her, as if searching for something, but then he seemed to relax visibly and he said, ‘Good. We’re on the same page. I wouldn’t want you to get...hurt, Skye.’

  Irritation sparked inside Skye at his arrogant pronouncement, and she welcomed it as an antidote to feeling so powerless and vulnerable in this situation. ‘I’ve had long years of practice in not letting people hurt me, Lazaro, but don’t be so sure that you’re immune. You might just find that you’re the one liable to be hurt here.’

  The tension dissipated as Lazaro smiled—one of the first really genuine smiles she’d seen. He looked younger. More carefree. More beautiful. Lord. If he smiled like that on a regular basis she wasn’t sure her walls of defence wouldn’t start to crumble. So much for her lofty words...

  He caught her arm and started to walk her out of the study. ‘I think I’ll survive,’ he said.

  Suddenly Skye longed to see Lazaro brought to his knees—all that pride and arrogance in tatters around him. She imagined herself standing over him, triumphant and smiling...

  He obviously saw something in her face and said, ‘What’s so funny?’

  And her smile faded because she knew it was a scenario about as likely to happen as a sudden snow shower over the Andalusian vineyards in summer.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s get some breakfast—we’ve got lots to plan now.’

  * * *

  A couple of days later Skye was looking reluctantly at herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom at the hacienda. She was surrounded by women, the chief of whom stood back now and said, ‘Very elegant, Miss O’Hara. Perfect for your wedding day.’

  Skye’s hair had been pulled back and she wore a cream shift dress overlaid with chiffon. It came to just below her knee and had an empire line. Her bump seemed to be growing daily now, but she was still at that stage where she didn’t look obviously pregnant yet. There was a light coat to go over the dress, a shade darker. Slightly golden in hue. There were sheer tights and cream satin shoes with perilously high heels.

  The woman gave her a last once-over and then instructed her assistants to put the wedding outfit away carefully. Then she looked at Skye and said ominously, ‘Now for everything else.’

  ‘Everything else’ was a veritable wardrobe of clothes for all and any occasion. Daywear—beautifully cut trousers, shift dresses, delicate silk shirts. Evening wear—cocktail dresses and long gowns that Skye overheard the stylist say they’d have to adjust for her petite size. There were clothes to accommodate her in every stage of pregnancy. There was also underwear, shoes and jewellery.

  She was relieved to see some jeans in the mix—maternity and regular. So her own identity wouldn’t be erased completely.

  Then she was taken into the local town to a beauty salon, and subjected to a range of procedures ranging from pleasant—massage—to downright sadistic—a bikini wax.

  As she sat under the hands of a hairstylist at the end of the day, having been waxed, buffed and pummelled, Skye thought of what Lazaro had asked her the other morning after breakfast.

  ‘Why did you say yes?’

  She’d answered, ‘For all the reasons I told you, and also because I never even knew my father’s name. By giving our child your name, he, or she, will never have to wonder where he comes from, like I did.’

  Skye had been surprised at how emotional she’d felt when she’d said that to Lazaro. She’d spent so many years wondering who and where her father was. What he did. What his name was. She could at least give that to her child—a name.

  Skye’s focus came back to the salon, where the hairdresser was saying something about trimming her hair by an inch or two. She made a noncommittal noise of assent.

  A little while later the hairdresser beamed at Skye and held up a mirror so she could see the back of her head. Skye smiled weakly, not recognising herself.

  This was her life now, and she had to get used to it.

  * * *

  Lazaro saw Skye arrive back from the salon in town and for a second almost didn’t recognise her.

  She was sleek and polished. Her hair was straight and gleaming red and gold, bouncing around her shoulders. She wore a bright blue shirt-dress with a gold belt around her still slim waist and gold gladiator-style sandals. Gold hoops swung from her ears.

  Instinctively he moved from his office to meet her in the hall. Her scent reached him—except it wasn’t her scent. It was too heavy for Skye...too flowery.

  ‘You’re back.’

  She turned, and he saw the tell-tale way her eyes widened on him before she shuttered her expression.

  ‘Yes. I’m back.’ She struck a pose with her hand on her hip. ‘The new improved me—like it?’

  Lazaro wasn’t sure he did at all, and that revelation was very disconcerting. He felt like mussing her up...putting his hands in her hair to bring back its unruliness. He lamented the fact that make-up was hiding the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  But as she stood before him now there was no denying what had been hiding in plain sight under her tomboyish uniform.

  He said, with a rough tone in his voice that he couldn’t hide, ‘You’re beautiful.’

  * * *

  Instead of feeling pleased with the compliment, Skye wished she hadn’t opened her mouth. She felt deflated that he liked her like this. Because she didn’t feel like herself. And yet Lazaro approved of this version of her, if his obvious approval was anything to go by.

  He said, ‘I’ve got a copy of the pre-nuptial agreement in my office, if you want to come and look it over?’

  ‘
Oh.’

  Lazaro’s mouth quirked and Skye fought not to scowl at him. She followed him into his office.

  ‘Please, sit,’ he said. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

  Skye sat down, seriously intimidated by the thick document she saw. ‘Um...just some water, please.’

  She pulled the papers towards her and started skimming over the words.

  Agreement between the parties... Skye Blossom O’Hara... Lazaro Sanchez...to agree to be married for a minimum of five years...or until such time as they mutually agree to part...

  There was a section on matters pertaining to the baby, how custody would be agreed in the event of a divorce. And there was another section on money. Skye’s jaw dropped.

  Lazaro, who was pacing near the window, stopped. ‘What is it?’

  Skye pointed at the page where there was an amount listed—an annuity for her when they divorced, and if she remained faithful during the marriage.

  Lazaro came closer and looked down. He stepped back, a strange look coming over his face. ‘What? It’s not enough?’

  Skye sputtered, ‘It’s ridiculous!’

  Lazaro’s expression turned hard. ‘It didn’t take long for your true colours to emerge.’

  Skye stood up, outraged. ‘Not because it’s too little! It’s too much! It’s about as much as the national debt for a small country. It’s obscene. Do you have any idea what most mortals survive on in a week, a year?’

  Lazaro fought back the cynicism which told him she was lying. She had to be. He gritted out, ‘Of course I know what most people survive on. I survived on a lot less myself for years.’

  She immediately looked contrite. ‘I forgot...sorry.’

  ‘It’s because I know how hard and undignified it is to live on nothing that I’ve vowed never to be in that position again—and as the mother of my child, you certainly won’t be.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, sitting down again. ‘I get that. But this is too much. I can survive on a fraction of that. And it’s not my money. I’d feel weird living off you.’