Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

‘Hey...’

He looked at her, and she saw that green gaze sweep up and down. She tried not to feel self-conscious in her sweats and the loose oversized shirt. Albeit designer sweats and oversized shirt.

‘You’re still up.’

‘It’s only nine o’clock.’

She hated it that he could make her feel so shy. Awkward. They’d been intimate. She was carrying his baby. And yet she felt like a blushing teenager.

She said, ‘Maria cooked a casserole earlier. There’s some left over. I can heat it up?’

She saw Lazaro’s mouth tighten, as if she’d said something he didn’t want to hear.

‘No, thanks. I ate at the office.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Actually, there’s something you should know before you come to see the bid on Friday. We decided not to use your logo in the end.’

‘Oh...’ Skye was surprised at the level of disappointment she felt—which was crazy, considering she’d almost forgotten about it. ‘That’s okay. I was only playing around with ideas. It wasn’t serious.’

But, actually, being involved in something Lazaro was working on had felt nice. More than nice. His approval had meant more to her than she would ever admit.

She spoke quickly, in case he saw her disappointment. ‘I was out with the estate agent again today. I think I’ve found a house I like.’

Lazaro was pouring himself a whisky at the drinks cabinet. He turned around. ‘That’s good. Where is it?’

‘Beside El Retiro Park. Los Jerónimos.’

Lazaro frowned. ‘But that’s in the city.’

‘Yes... But all those other houses...they felt cold. Isolated.’

‘They’re in the best areas. Where—’ He stopped talking.

Skye said quietly, ‘Where Gabriel Torres lives? Where your parents live?’

She’d guessed it must be where they all lived. There were many huge walled estates with grand-looking houses just visible from the road.

Skye shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t like it out there. There’s no centre...no atmosphere. Everyone is locked behind their huge gates and walls with more security than a head of state. It’s not natural.’

Lazaro put his drink down. ‘I came from the streets, Skye. I won’t bring up my child across the road from the park where I used to sleep at night.’

Skye winced inwardly and moved closer, instinctively wanting to soothe Lazaro’s rough edges. ‘Well, I don’t want my child to be brought up in a place where the only people he’ll see are domestic staff and drivers—where he’s ferried in blacked-out cars from exclusive place to place. I want him to be able to walk out through the door and go to the park. Play with neighbourhood kids. Go to a local school. Have as normal a life as possible.’

* * *

Skye stood in front of Lazaro and all he could see were those huge blue eyes. Full of something that caught at his insides like a fist and squeezed tight.

Like a coward, he’d been hoping she’d be in bed by the time he returned. But she wasn’t. Here she was, wearing jogging bottoms and a shirt that was loose enough for him to see the lace of her light blue bra. For him to imagine the full voluptuous curves of her breasts. Her hair was in an untidy pile on the top of her head. Golden red tendrils falling down. She epitomised earthy sensuality.

Por Dios... He wanted her. But what she was saying had touched on so many raw wounds inside him he almost couldn’t see straight.

He said, ‘You paint a picture of an idyll that doesn’t exist, Skye. Not for people like me—like us. It is not that simple.’

‘I think it can be. You walk out of here every day and nothing happens to you.’

She didn’t get it. ‘You and the baby are much softer targets than me.’

‘I think you want to live out there because you stood outside those houses, watching those people. Wanting them to notice you. I understand what that must have been like...’

Emotions were rising inside Lazaro—dark, tangled emotions.