by Abby Green
‘It’s not just you, though—it’s you and my child.’
Suddenly Skye felt sad to think of a time when it would just be her and the child now inside her, getting on with their lives while Lazaro dipped in and out. But he was so busy, so in demand, how could it be any other way?
‘Still, once a child is clothed and fed and educated, it really doesn’t need much else. It’s too much.’
After a long moment he conceded. ‘Okay, we can renegotiate that bit. Is there anything else? You should really have a solicitor look it over. I can recommend someone impartial.’
Skye shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. You’ve been very fair, and the custody arrangements are in the best interests of our child so I’ve no argument there... Just give me a pen and I’ll sign.’
Lazaro got a pen and made some notes to say she wanted to renegotiate the settlement monies, and then turned to the last page and handed her the pen. She signed without even looking at the rest of it. Then she put the pen down and stood up again.
‘Is that all?’
‘So eager to leave?’
Lazaro had asked the question lightly, but Skye had the impression he was actually a little hurt. Nonsense. Lazaro Sanchez was impermeable. She was dreaming. In truth, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to make love to her again, but there was no way she would ever reveal herself like that.
‘I want to go up to that room and work on my sketch of the old man. I promised his daughter I’d get it to her before the weekend.’
When he was silent for a moment Skye thought he was about to tell her she couldn’t do the sketch, but then he said, ‘I have to go to Madrid, actually—today. And I won’t be back until the wedding. The stylist and her team will help you get ready on the day. We’ll leave for Venice after a small breakfast reception here.’
‘Venice?’
Lazaro nodded. ‘I have some events to go to and some business to take care of there—a building I’m acquiring. We can double it up as a honeymoon.’
Skye panicked at the thought of being in such a beautiful place with the most intoxicating man she’d ever met. And if there were social situations how on earth could she hope to match up to the kind of people she’d seen that night at the engagement party?
‘But it’s a fake marriage—do I have to go there with you?’
* * *
Lazaro had never met a woman who made him so hot that every time he looked at her he wanted her, but who also couldn’t wait to get away from him at every opportunity.
The fact that she preferred to sketch some old stranger rather than—
Rather than what? sneered a voice. Rather than spend time with you?
Lazaro didn’t think. He reached for Skye, and just touching her was instant heat. He brought her flush against his body, saw her pupils dilate, colour flood her cheeks. The silk of the dress was a flimsy barrier between their bodies.
‘You want me, don’t you?’ he asked, even as he could feel the tremor of reaction in her body. He had to hear her say it. She couldn’t deny it. But she wanted to—he could see that.
‘You know I do.’
Something inside him howled with gratification. He bent his head and fused his mouth to hers, the cushiony softness of her lips almost undoing him. He willed her to open up to him, and she did, on a sigh, giving him access to all that sweetness.
In seconds he was drowning, pulling her even closer, spreading his hands down her back to her pert behind. He almost forgot... But at the last moment he remembered and pulled back, taking great satisfaction in seeing how long it took for her to open her eyes. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest next to his.
When she was finally focused on him he said through the clamour of his blood, ‘There’s nothing fake about this, Skye. It’ll be a real marriage in every sense of the word, believe me. As real as it gets.’
* * *
As real as it gets in his world, thought Skye. Where no emotions are involved.
She hated him for making her admit that she wanted him, and yet she was reeling from the kiss. Trembling.
She pushed herself back and out of Lazaro’s arms. ‘I’m going to go and do that sketch now.’
Lazaro looked infuriatingly cool. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, Skye.’
She turned and fled, before she could humiliate herself further.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The day of the wedding
‘MUY BONITA, SEÑORITA.’
Skye forced a smile for Almudena, who had a suspiciously bright look in her eyes. She’d become a friend to Skye, and it made her feel even more like a fraud.
The stylist and a couple of assistants had left after getting her ready for the wedding. Now a car was there to take her to the town hall, where Lazaro was apparently waiting.
The journey was short. Too short.
Only a few days ago she’d been angry and upset that Lazaro had all but abandoned her, but now she wanted to prolong the moments before she would see him again. She wasn’t ready for this gargantuan change. For giving her life up.
But then, she reminded herself, it wasn’t just about her. She didn’t have that luxury any more. And, anyway, she wasn’t her mother. She wanted to put down roots and give her child a solid, stable life.
The car pulled up outside the town hall, where an officious-looking woman was waiting, looking at her watch.
She opened the car door for Skye and helped her out, smiling. ‘I’m Sara, Lazaro’s assistant. I’ll be one of the witnesses.’
Skye got out, wobbly in the high heels. She drew a couple of glances from passing people with her bright red hair, but she was oblivious.
She said to Sara, ‘He’s waiting?’
The woman looked anxious. ‘Yes.’
Skye stood there for a moment in her fancy new clothes, with her make-up and hair done. Behind her was her old safe life. The one she knew. Ahead of her were uncharted waters. Life with a man who wanted her but who didn’t really care about her.
At that moment Skye felt something tiny inside her, like a very faint fluttering. She put her hand down over her belly, which seemed to be growing daily. She knew realistically that it couldn’t possibly be the baby’s movement that she could feel...not yet...but it reminded her, as if she needed reminding, of what was at stake.
She could only go forward.
* * *
Lazaro knew Skye had arrived when he felt a subtle shift in energy. The few people in the registrar’s office hushed. His skin prickled with awareness. He didn’t turn around to watch her walk towards him even though he wanted to.
She came alongside him and her scent reached him. Her scent. Light and delicate. Not the overpowering one she’d had on the other day.
The constriction inside him eased. A constriction that had been there since his fraught phone call with his half-brother the day before.
Gabriel Torres had said to Lazaro, ‘I underestimated you, Sanchez. No one was under any illusions about your motivation in marrying Leonora Flores, but the fact that you’re marrying the alleged mother of your child shows some balls. She couldn’t be bought off, then, no?’
Lazaro had been surprised at the depth of rage his brother’s words had aroused in him. He’d controlled himself with effort and said, ‘Not everyone and everything is for sale, Torres. My plans for the old market space in the centre of Madrid are infinitely better than yours. I actually care about this city. That’s all you need to worry about.’
Gabriel Torres had made a dismissive sound. ‘Please don’t insult me by pretending you have an altruistic streak. Your interest in this is purely personal and against me, because of this ridiculous claim that we’re related. It’s just a shame that Leonora had to become one of your casualties.’
Lazaro had counted to ten silently. ‘My claim is not spurious, Gabriel. I want nothing fro
m you or your family except acknowledgement. And do you expect me to believe that your own marriage to Leonora isn’t strategic? She’s a good woman, Gabriel—not someone you should be using as a pawn.’
Gabriel had responded tersely. ‘She’s where she belongs, that’s all that matters.’
Those words reverberated in Lazaro’s head now, as he looked at the woman who’d come to stand beside him. ‘She’s where she belongs, that’s all that matters.’ Strange and disconcerting how those words seemed to...fit.
Skye was looking straight ahead, and she was holding a posy of flowers that looked as if they’d come from a garden, tied with string. Her knuckles were white. In fact, she was pale.
Instinctively Lazaro found himself reaching out. He put his hand on Skye’s, willing her to look at him. After an infinitesimal moment she did, and a faint pink washed into her cheeks.
Lazaro raised a brow in silent question. After a moment she nodded her head. Her hair was sleek and pulled back into a low ponytail. She was taller in high heels, reaching almost to his shoulder. Make-up covered her freckles. Again. And once again Lazaro had the desire to muss her up.
The registrar started talking and Lazaro faced forward again, repeating his words where necessary, hearing Skye’s soft, clear voice do the same. Their witnesses were both employees of his.
He acknowledged how different this wedding was from the one he’d had planned with Leonora, which would have been in the cathedral in Madrid under the full glare of the world’s media. He realised that there was something about that scenario now that was distinctly unpalatable.
‘You are now married. You may kiss your wife, Señor Sanchez.’
Lazaro looked at Skye. His new wedding ring felt heavy on his finger. Solid. She wasn’t so pale any more. She looked up at him warily. He put a finger under her chin, tipping it up. He felt resistance and he frowned.
She whispered, ‘Do we have to do this now? In front of these people?’
‘Yes. We do.’
The irony of the fact that he had just married the one woman who seemed intent on resisting him at every turn was not welcome. Nor was the vivid memory of how it had felt to be embedded deep inside her, the exquisite clasp of her embrace.
Irritation made him pull her into his body, an arm around her waist. Her body was soft against his. He lowered his mouth and touched infinite softness, and he cursed her pull on him even as he couldn’t help deepening the kiss.
* * *
Skye had really hoped Lazaro wouldn’t kiss her in front of these people, because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to control herself around him. But it was too late. He was kissing her and she was drowning.
When he finally drew back his eyes were two burning green gems and she was clinging to him. She let go and would have staggered back in her high heels if he hadn’t been holding her. She scowled at him.
He frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
She forced her features into the semblance of a smile, aware of their audience. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’
He took her hand and led her to a back room, where they signed the register. Then he led her back out and said, ‘There will be photographers from the press waiting when we go outside. Are you ready for this?’
No.
But Skye just nodded. She had no choice but to get used to this.
They walked outside into the bright sunshine and for a moment Skye was blinded. Lazaro put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She was still holding the small posy of flowers she’d impulsively picked from the garden at the hacienda.
When she could see again, she heard their names being called.
‘Lazaro! Skye! Over here!’
‘Please...una màs, one more!’
But Lazaro put up his hand and signalled that they’d got enough pictures.
Then one voice called out, ‘Hey, Sanchez, how do you feel about Gabriel Torres marrying your ex-fiancée?’
Lazaro went very still, and then he turned in the direction of where the question had come from and said coolly, ‘My wife and I wish them all the very best, of course.’
My wife and I.
As if they were already a unit, speaking as one.
The speed with which Lazaro seemed to be adapting to married life with a woman he would never have married under other circumstances demonstrated to Skye just how ruthless he was—and how determined he was to make things work. To keep up appearances.
He guided her over to where a sleek SUV was parked and helped her get into the back. He joined her on the other side and the driver moved into the traffic smoothly.
He looked at her. ‘Okay?’
Skye was still seeing stars after the blaze of cameras, but she nodded. ‘Fine.’
‘After the wedding breakfast we’ll leave for Venice. I asked the stylist to pack a bag for you.’
Lazaro’s cool unflappability, when she felt frayed and on edge after that kiss—after that ceremony—made her say sharply, ‘That’s how it is now, is it? You’ll tell me where we’re going and what we’re doing?’
He answered smoothly. ‘I’m a busy man, Skye. My work takes me all over Europe and to America. I’ll bring you with me as and when I need to, but once the baby comes obviously I won’t expect you to be as mobile as before. To that end,’ he continued, ‘I’ve already selected some properties to view in Madrid, with a view to moving somewhere more suitable for you and the baby.’
‘And you?’
He looked at her as if he was humouring her. ‘Yes—and me. But I will keep the penthouse apartment at the hotel for convenience, if I’m in the centre of town or conducting events at the hotel.’
For a second Skye was bombarded with a vision of Lazaro, passionately kissing a tall, sleek, beautiful woman in front of one of the massive windows in his penthouse apartment, while Skye walked back and forth in some suburban house soothing a fractious baby.
The spike of jealousy shocked her with its strength.
‘I don’t want to be treated like some commodity you can just move around, Lazaro. If you’re going to do that I’d prefer to get on with my life in Dublin.’
‘Living in a mould-infested basement flat and working as a waitress while doing street portraits for extra money?’
Skye flushed. ‘At least I’d be independent. And I know it’s not just about me any more...but I won’t go back to a life where I’m at the mercy of the whims of someone else.’
‘I’m your husband, Skye, not your mother. This is a partnership.’
Skye stayed silent at that, afraid of what more might spill out of her mouth if she opened it.
The breakfast went quickly, and afterwards Almudena and the stylist helped Skye to change into a going-away outfit. It was in the same style as her wedding dress but in a light blue colour. A matching jacket buttoned just above her bump.
Before she left the room to join Lazaro downstairs she saw the posy of flowers she’d picked from the garden earlier. They looked droopy and a little sad. Skye hated to think it, but she really hoped it wasn’t a sign.
When she got downstairs Lazaro was pacing and looking at his watch. He’d changed too, into a light grey suit, his shirt open at the neck. He looked up when she came down the stairs, those green eyes roving over her body. Little flames of heat licked at her nerve-endings.
His hair looked slightly messier than usual, as if he’d been running a hand through it. He was so beautiful he made Skye’s heart spasm.
No, she told herself fiercely. Not her heart. He didn’t have her heart. Yet. Never, she told herself with a kind of fatal desperation.
He reached out to her and she went forward, putting her hand into his. His hand was big and firm, closing around hers. Skye didn’t like the way his touch made her feel all at once safe and protected, but also as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice about to fall off.
/> He speared her with that green gaze. ‘Ready?’
Skye wanted to say no—to pull free, run back up to the bedroom, take off all the new clothes, the make-up, and go upstairs to that empty room and sketch until she felt grounded again.
But of course she couldn’t do that. So she just nodded and said, ‘I’m ready.’
* * *
Skye had slept for the relatively short flight to Venice. As much because she was genuinely fatigued as because she was finding it hard to compute that she was actually married to Lazaro. She really hadn’t wanted to investigate the swirling mass of emotions in her gut. So she’d slept. And had been woken by Lazaro to find herself in the bedroom at the back of the small plane.
She was wide awake now, though, being helped into a boat that would take them into Venice along the Grand Canal. It was afternoon, and the sun was high, but the late summer was taking the edge off the searing heat.
The boat rocked as Lazaro stepped on, and he sat beside her on the bench after exchanging a few words in Italian with the driver. They took off, and Skye relished the breeze moving through her hair, which was already unravelling. There was a refreshing fine mist of spray from the water and impulsively she stood up, so she could see when they entered the Grand Canal.
When they did, she sucked in a breath at the sheer beauty laid before her. The ancient Venetian palaces lining each side of the wide canal. The gondolas. The speedboat taxis.
Lazaro stood beside her. ‘Is this your first time in Venice?’
She shook her head. ‘I was here when I was about sixteen with my mother. We lived here for six months. It was like something out of a fairy tale for me... I’ve always wanted to come back.’
‘Does this mean you’re fluent in Italian too?’ There was a strange note in Lazaro’s voice.
Skye glanced at him and her heart skipped a beat. The breeze was ruffling his hair and against this backdrop he could have been a charismatic prince from medieval times. Or more likely a marauding pirate.