Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

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.