Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella (Rival Spanish Brothers 1)

‘Sanchez.’

Lazaro tensed. He’d been looking for Skye, and getting more and more irritated because he couldn’t find her.

He turned around slowly to face his nemesis. His brother.

‘Torres.’

Gabriel held a drink and stood in a relaxed pose, but Lazaro could feel the tension crackling between them. Height for height, they matched. And in looks too, even though they were quite different. Gold and dark.

‘Ready for the public unveiling of your bid next week, Sanchez?’

‘As ready as you are.’

Gabriel lifted his glass. ‘May the best bid win. But we both know whose that will be.’

Lazaro had to control his anger—an anger which stemmed from a place so deep and old that for the first time it felt like a burden.

‘Maybe this time you’ll be surprised, Gabriel, and maybe the best bid will win—the one that has the good of the city at its heart, not just the insatiable Torres need for domination in all things.’

Gabriel took a step closer. ‘I do remember you, you know. I remember that day when you confronted my father in the street and claimed to be his son. You have a chip on your shoulder, Sanchez, and it’s time to get over it and stop telling yourself you were hard done by.’

The two men were locked in a silent battle of wills for long seconds before they heard a low voice say, ‘Hello, Lazaro, it’s nice to see you.’

Lazaro blinked and looked to see Leonora standing beside Gabriel, who immediately slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Lazaro saw something in her face. A brittleness. Fragility.

He pushed down his anger. ‘Leonora. I’m sorry again for what happened. It was never my intention to do anything to hurt or embarrass you.’

She gave him a small tight smile. ‘I know. I just met your wife. Congratulations on the baby.’

‘Thank you.’

Lazaro looked at Gabriel and inclined his head. ‘Till next time, Torres.’

He walked away, aware of feeling many conflicting things. That strange sense of his anger being a burden, but also the buzz of exhilaration he always got from sparring with his brother. There were very few people who matched up to Lazaro—Gabriel Torres was one of them.

His brother’s words circled in his head. ‘You have a chip on your shoulder... I do remember you...claimed to be his son.’

It was suddenly more important than ever that Lazaro won this bid over his half-brother. It would be the first time anyone had ever bested a Torres, and even if Gabriel wasn’t willing to acknowledge they might be related, then he would at least respect Lazaro as an equal.

But as he scanned the crowd now the recent interaction with his brother faded into the background. Where once before Lazaro would have relished the opportunities an event like this could offer him, right now all he wanted—

There she was.

She was standing in the doorway looking hesitant. Clearly overwhelmed by the event and this crowd. But even as he watched he saw her smile at someone who passed her, and saw that person transformed from taciturn to surprised and then smiling back, all in the space of a few seconds.

Lazaro shook his head as he made his way towards her. She was a liability. Far too naïve for this world.

Or was she in fact just what this milieu needed? asked an inner voice. Someone who was genuine. Sweet.

She saw him then, and those blue eyes locked on to his. When he got to her he had to curb the ridiculously primal urge to pick her up and carry her out of there. She made him animalistic.

‘I’m done here—ready to go?’

She couldn’t hide her look of relief. ‘Yes, please.’

He took her hand and led her outside to where his car was waiting. They got into the back and Lazaro immediately undid his bow-tie. The car moved sleekly through the Parisian streets.

Lazaro looked at Skye. ‘You met Leonora?’