by Abby Green
He held up his hands. ‘I need help with the cufflinks.’
The event.
Skye sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. ‘There’s a thing? Tonight?’
‘Yes, we have to leave in forty-five minutes.’
Skye felt sick, and grabbed for the nearest covering she could find—a robe that Lazaro must have left out for her. She pulled it on and got out of bed, panic spiking.
‘I need to get ready...’ She looked at him. ‘I have no idea how to get ready.’
Without even looking she knew her hair had reverted to its default unruliness. The make-up so painstakingly applied that morning was well and truly gone.
‘I’ll call for someone to come up and help.’
She went over and did up his cufflinks, feeling shy all of a sudden, in spite of what had just happened.
‘Thank you.’
She looked up. He was clean-shaven, and she wanted to reach up and press her mouth against his jaw. But she didn’t.
She stepped back. ‘I should take a shower.’
She went into the bathroom and it was as impressive as the rest of the suite. A huge bath. Two sinks. A shower big enough for—
Skye’s mind was immediately full of X-rated images. She shut them down and dropped the robe, twisting her hair up and turning on the spray, willing down her growing panic at the thought of her first public function with Lazaro.
As his wife.
When she went back into the bedroom she saw a dress laid out on the bed. She’d tried it on in Spain, for the stylist, and it was intimidatingly beautiful.
It was champagne-coloured and long, and covered her from neck to toe, even her arms. The material was so light and delicate, though, that Skye was afraid to touch it. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of tiny mother-of-pearl beads and crystals sewn into the fabric that shimmered when she moved.
There was a light knock on the door and a young woman put her head around it. ‘Señora Sanchez? Your husband said you might need some help?’
Your husband. She hated how much she liked the sound of that when she’d always considered herself an independent woman.
She forced a smile. ‘Yes, thanks so much.’
The woman came in, smiling. She said conspiratorially, ‘I’m under strict instructions not to straighten your hair.’
Butterflies erupted in Skye’s belly. Dangerous. Just because Lazaro evidently preferred her hair in its natural state, it didn’t mean anything. At all.
The girl looked at the dress and said efficiently, ‘We’ll need flesh-coloured underwear.’
* * *
Lazaro was surrounded by a group of important contacts—people he had come here specifically to meet. Usually in this kind of scenario he was focused and single-minded when it came to getting what he wanted out of his peers. But this evening...for the first time...he was distracted.
Lazaro’s attention was fixated on where Skye stood a few feet away, in animated conversation with an older woman. When she’d emerged into the salon from the bedroom earlier his mind had blanked. His first thought had been: She’s naked. But she wasn’t naked. The dress was the most provocative thing he’d ever seen. And yet not a sliver of skin could be seen below her neckline.
It was flesh-coloured, and clung to every curve the woman had—including the small swell of her belly. And her breasts. It shimmered when she moved. Her hair was up, loose tendrils framing her face. He didn’t know what she’d done with her make-up but she looked more like her. He could see her freckles.
When they’d walked in to the party—her hand holding his in a death-grip—he’d seen the way people—men—looked at her, and for the second time in his life he’d experienced a feeling that had to be jealousy.
But eventually she’d let go and gravitated towards others. Now she looked as if she couldn’t care less where Lazaro was, throwing her head back and laughing at something the woman said, drawing the attention of more men.
Lazaro was about to move over to where she was when someone said, ‘Sanchez...tell us, are you really signing the contracts for the Palazzo Rizzoli tomorrow?’
Lazaro dragged his gaze off his wife, resenting the intrusion. Suddenly he went cold when he realised how close he was coming to forgetting why he was even there in the first place. To continue to secure his place in this world where people whispered behind his back and waited for him to show his lack of breeding.
He turned his attention back where it needed to be.
* * *
Skye knew the moment Lazaro’s intense gaze moved off her. She felt it like a physical thing. She glanced over and saw he was talking with a group of important-looking men and women. All very serious.
She sighed. Her feet were starting to hurt her, and the nice older woman she’d been talking to had had to leave. So now she was on her own.
This function was being held in another beautiful palace on the Grand Canal. Candles and low lighting imbued everything with a golden hue.
The crowd was exactly like the one that had been in Spain the night Skye had gone to find Lazaro. Exclusive and moneyed. Entitled. Skye wondered what it must have been like for Lazaro to grow up knowing that he should have been part of this world, but had been cruelly and brutally cast aside due to an accident of birth.
She could understand where Lazaro’s drive and ambition stemmed from. But she wondered if it would bring him the satisfaction he craved.
Her hand went to her belly. She couldn’t fathom inflicting such cruelty on an innocent child. How a mother could have let her baby go just like that.
Skye became aware of the way people around her were looking at her. She tried not to fidget in her dress, and decided to go to the bathroom to check that everything was in place.
She looked at Lazaro, to let him know, but he was turned away from her, talking to someone. Ridiculously, Skye felt old hurt resurface. There had been too many times in her childhood and young life when her mother had turned her back on her to pursue her own whims, leaving Skye to her own devices.
She reminded herself of what Lazaro had said to her, ‘I’m your husband, not your mother.’ She needed to grow a spine if she was going to survive in this world. Lazaro had never pretended to feel anything but desire for her. She simply amused him with her observations and quirks.
Angry that she was letting his inattention get to her, Skye didn’t bother interrupting him and went to find the bathroom, sighing with relief when she got there and it was blessedly empty.
She was just checking her back view when a woman came in. Tall, stunningly beautiful, with long glossy dark hair. Wearing a simple strapless dress that instantly made Skye feel overdressed.
The woman smiled at Skye but it didn’t reach her eyes. Skye smiled back and washed her hands perfunctorily, not liking the chilly vibe.
The woman was reapplying her lipstick, but before Skye could leave she sent a pointed look to Skye’s belly and drawled, ‘The oldest trick in the book... Well done, Señora Sanchez, you caught the biggest prize of them all.’
Skye stopped. ‘Excuse me?’
The woman turned around. ‘You might look as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but you don’t trap a man like Lazaro Sanchez so easily. When are you planning on divorcing? A year after the baby? Two? You’re set for life anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter.’
Skye was speechless.
The woman walked to the door and looked back. ‘Enjoy him while you have him. It won’t be long before a man like Lazaro is back on the scene. I don’t see him playing happy families for long, do you?’
* * *
Lazaro knew when Skye had disappeared from the crowd. He’d felt a prickling on the back of his neck, and when he’d looked around he’d just caught a glimpse of red hair before she’d gone from view.
The conversation he’d been having was boring h
im, so he’d made his excuses and walked away. And now he stood in the general vicinity of the bathrooms and leant against a golden pillar.
Where was she?
Irritation mounted, along with something else quite alien to Lazaro: concern. What if something was happening with the baby? What if she was alone and in pain?
Lazaro stood up straight, panic rising from his gut. And then he saw her, emerging from the bathroom. He went over, took her arm.
She looked up at him, surprised. Lazaro felt foolish for having panicked. Exposed.
He realised she looked pale and was avoiding his eyes. ‘What’s wrong? Did something happen?’
She looked at him and he had a sense that she felt guilty. ‘No. Everything is fine. Honestly. I didn’t tell you where I was going because you were busy.’
‘Are you tired? Do you want to go?’
He saw the expression that crossed her face before she could disguise it. Relief.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind if you still have people to talk to.’
Lazaro’s mouth twitched. ‘You’re a terrible liar—do you know that, Skye?’
She looked sheepish. ‘Sorry. My feet are killing me. But I can find a spot to sit down—honestly, don’t worry about me.’
This was such an unusual conversation for Lazaro to be having, because generally he was at these things on his own, or the women he brought were clinging to him like limpets—so much so that he’d find himself ending the date early due to claustrophobia.
‘No,’ he said, surprising himself. ‘I’m done too. Let’s go.’
He guided Skye out of the thronged room and down into his private boat. The trip back up the canal to the palazzo was made in silence. Lazaro found the silence...peaceful. He felt the tight knots inside him loosening.
He sat back and observed Skye, who was looking into the buildings as they went along. ‘What are you thinking?’
She glanced at him and then away, looking embarrassed. The moon cast her features in a milky glow, highlighting her pale beauty.
‘I always wonder about who lives in these kinds of places. My life was so nomadic I always wished I lived somewhere. I envied families for the everyday rituals they take for granted...’
A tightness formed in Lazaro’s chest. ‘I used to stand outside the houses of my parents...they lived near each other, in an exclusive part of Madrid. I’d watch them come and go. I’d wonder what it must be like, to know where you were from. To be accepted.’
He could feel Skye looking at him, but he couldn’t look at her. At those huge blue eyes.
‘What those people did to you was shameful. Inhuman. They don’t deserve to know you.’
Her voice was low and he could hear the emotion in it. An unfamiliar sensation eased the tightness in Lazaro’s chest. Empathy. Something he’d only ever experienced before with his close friend Ciro. It was disconcerting to experience it with a woman, when his own mother had abandoned him as a baby and his lovers had always seen him as an object of either lust or wealth.
* * *
Skye looked at Lazaro but he was looking ahead. He didn’t respond to her words.
Just thinking of how his family had treated him made her so angry. Especially his mother, who had nurtured him for nine months. The thought of having this baby and then giving him or her away made Skye feel sick.
The boat pulled in at the steps leading up to the palazzo. Skye couldn’t help the lingering sadness she felt to think of Lazaro’s words. She couldn’t look at him for fear of him noticing. But he seemed locked in his thoughts as they returned to the suite.
When they went into the main salon she took off her shoes with a silent groan of relief. Lazaro took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. He undid his tie, unknotting it so it hung open rakishly.
Skye felt exposed. A little raw.
She said, ‘I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day.’ She’d almost forgotten that they’d got married only that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Lazaro was undoing his top button. ‘What is it, Skye?’
She looked at him. Damn her too-expressive face. She tried to look as bland as she could. ‘What’s what? I’m just tired.’
He shook his head and walked over. ‘It’s more than that. You were animated earlier, and then you disappeared, and since then you’ve looked...melancholic.’
Skye shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m just not good in those situations.’
‘Skye...’
She looked at him, and eventually she said, ‘Fine. There was a woman in the bathroom...she wasn’t very nice.’
Lazaro frowned. Skye went and sat down on a nearby couch, her legs too weary to keep standing under Lazaro’s exacting gaze.
‘What did she say to you?’
Reluctantly Skye answered. ‘She accused me of trapping you and said I was set for life and that you’d be back on the scene soon.’
Five years, if not sooner, according to the pre-nuptial agreement.
Skye felt a pain near her chest.
Lazaro’s face turned hard. ‘What did she look like?’
Skye described her.
‘That sounds like Alessandra Basanti. She’s a model.’
Skye felt nauseous. ‘Was she a lover of yours?’
Lazaro shook his head. ‘No, and I don’t think she took my lack of interest well.’
‘Oh...’
A wave of relief flooded Skye. A wave of relief she shouldn’t be feeling. Because it shouldn’t matter to her who Lazaro had been with before. Because she shouldn’t care. Because that meant emotions were getting involved.
He came over to the couch and sat down. Close. Too close. But not close enough.
Skye was full of conflicting thoughts. She wanted him, but she was afraid he would see how much.
‘That’s not all, though, is it?’
Skye looked at Lazaro, hating it that he could read her like this. ‘Since when did you become a mind-reader?’
‘Since I met someone who shows everything she’s feeling as it happens.’
He tucked a wayward piece of hair behind Skye’s ear and she had to fight hard not to turn her face into his hand. She was losing it. Flutters were erupting all over her body—not just near her heart or in her belly.
She said, ‘I’m not good around negative people. I’m not naïve enough to expect everyone to be nice, but she threw me. She was so...bitchy.’
Lazaro said, ‘She is a bitch. And so are many more in this kind of environment, where the stakes are high.’
Skye shook her head. ‘The woman I was talking to before I went to the bathroom—she was lovely.’
Lazaro smiled. ‘Because you’re about forty years younger than her and not a threat.’
Skye scowled. ‘So cynical.’
He smirked. ‘So true.’
Impulsively, she asked, ‘Do you think I trapped you?’
He went still. ‘I have to admit at first...when I was angry...it was one of my first thoughts. But then I had to acknowledge I was as much to blame for not protecting us. And since getting to know you... No, I don’t think you trapped me.’
Skye didn’t like how emotional that made her feel. ‘Thank you.’
He leaned forward. ‘How would you like me to restore your faith in humanity?’
Skye looked at him suspiciously. ‘How?’
‘A very clever distraction technique I know...’
Skye knew even before Lazaro’s mouth touched hers that she was in big trouble. And she knew it for sure when he pressed her back on the couch and took their kiss to a deeper level. She was falling for him. And all the kissing in the world couldn’t distract her from that very unwelcome revelation.
She’d broken every one of her own rules the moment she’d locked eyes with Lazaro Sanchez in Dublin. She’d let hi
m in. And now it was only a matter of time before she faced the kind of hurt she’d spent her whole life avoiding.
* * *
‘Where is she?’
Lazaro’s head of security answered him. ‘She’s in Piazza San Marco.’
Lazaro turned away from the table full of people in the boardroom. ‘Please tell me she’s not sketching someone?’
‘Er...no. She’s sitting at a table drinking what looks like iced water, and she had some ice cream before that.’
Lazaro terminated the call. He faced the room and said, ‘I’m done with discussing the contract, I’m ready to sign.’
Immediately his legal counsel stood up. ‘Lazaro, is this wise—?’
Lazaro held up a hand and said dryly, ‘Sebastian, we’ve combed through this contract for weeks now. Let’s get this done. I’ve got somewhere to be.’
Within twenty minutes he was striding out of the palazzo and taking the short walk to the Piazza San Marco. He’d just signed the contract for one of Venice’s oldest and most notable buildings, cementing his place among a very few exclusive real estate owners in the world. And yet he wasn’t basking in a glow of satisfaction. Or feeling any measure of peace. He was...distracted.
And the distraction only dissipated when he entered the square and found her. His wife. Her red hair gleaming in the late-afternoon sunshine. Her pale shoulders bare in a sundress with skinny straps and a buttoned bodice that made him want to undo the buttons so he could free her breasts.
Suddenly Lazaro stopped dead. What the hell was he doing? People flowed around him—the thousands of tourists that thronged Venice every day. He’d just cut a meeting short. A meeting he’d spent months preparing for. He’d spent last night in a haze of sensual pleasure to the point that he’d overslept today and been late for that very meeting. Another anomaly.
He hadn’t spent years climbing out of the gutter he’d been left in to let everything unravel now.
He turned around and went back the way he’d come, ignoring the prickling of his conscience.