Lazaro looked at her through the mirror, where he was tying his bow-tie. His hands stopped moving. Skye sucked in a breath at the look in his eyes.
He turned around, his gaze dropping and then lifting again. ‘You look...stunning.’
Skye blushed. ‘Thank you.’ She touched her hair self-consciously. ‘I couldn’t do much with—’
He came over. ‘It’s perfect.’
Taking her hand, he led her into the living area. ‘My friend owns a jewellery shop called De Villiers. He sent over some things for you this evening.’
Skye stopped. ‘The De Villiers? That’s more than a jewellery shop...it’s an institution.’ She’d used to look in the display windows when she was younger, in Paris with her mother, in thrall to all the glittering jewels.
He tugged her over to the flat velvet boxes on the table. He let go of her hand and opened them.
Skye gasped. One contained a sapphire and diamond necklace... Lazaro took it out.
Skye backed away in awe. ‘I can’t wear that. It must be worth a fortune.’
Lazaro’s gaze narrowed on her. ‘Skye, I know you’re not like most women—’
She sent him a look.
‘I mean that in a good way. But will you just try this on? Please?’
Torn between fear and fascination, Skye turned around and lifted her hair up. She felt the cold weight of the jewels land on her skin, sitting just on her collarbone.
‘Come to the mirror.’
Skye went over to the mirror and looked at herself. She looked like one of them now. The people she’d seen that night in Madrid. All sleek and dripping with jewels.
She glanced up and met Lazaro’s eyes in the mirror. Their gazes held. ‘It’s beautiful...it just doesn’t feel like...me.’
He turned her around. ‘It is you. A new version of you.’
Maybe he was right.
He let go of her shoulders and went back to the table. ‘Try these on.’ He held up some long earrings.
‘There’s more?’
He nodded. Skye came over and looked at the selection. She plucked out a smaller pair of earrings than those Lazaro was holding. Sapphire studs. And chose a matching bracelet.
He handed her the clutch bag. ‘Ready?’
Skye nodded, even though she wondered if she’d ever feel ready for one of these events. The sobering thought occurred to her that she shouldn’t get too used to this attention. Because one day, after she’d divorced Lazaro, he’d be giving it to a much more appropriate wife. The kind of woman who wouldn’t need constant reassurance.
* * *
Skye stuck close to Lazaro at the gala function. It was a dazzling display of wealth and glamour in one of the city’s most impressive buildings near the Arc de Triomphe. It was Paris Fashion Week, and the event was in aid of a very high-profile charity.
She’d never seen so many A-listers in one room. She had to consciously close her mouth when one of her favourite movie stars of all time brushed past her and apologised before moving on.
She looked at Lazaro, but he was holding court, surrounded by a starstruck crowd of his own. Skye was quite happy to sip her water and people-watch...until she felt an unmistakable flutter in her belly—something that was more than a flutter. It was a movement. A definite movement. She went very still, everything falling away as that tiny but seismic movement came again.
The baby. Moving.
A surge of wonder and euphoria rose up through Skye and she only realised she must have gripped Lazaro’s hand when he looked down at her.
‘Are you okay?’