Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

‘I’m scared too, Lazaro,’ Skye whispered. ‘So scared. I love you so much. But I always vowed never to let anyone close enough to hurt me. And you really hurt me...’

Lazaro lifted his hands to her face, cupping her jaw, his thumbs wiping at tears she hadn’t even been aware she was shedding. Great. Now she’d be all blotchy.

‘I’m so sorry. I was an idiot. Please come home with me...let me show you how much I love you.’

Skye searched Lazaro’s face and his eyes, not fully believing what she saw. Too afraid.

Then Lazaro took his hands away and said, ‘Wait. I have something.’

He pulled something out of his pocket and she looked down to see her wedding ring and engagement ring in the palm of his hand. She’d left them behind at the last moment.

He got down on one knee and took her hand. ‘I never asked you to marry me. I told you we would marry and you had no real choice. But now you do. And I want you to choose. Skye Blossom O’Hara, will you please consent to be my wife, the mother of my child and hopefully our future children?’

She wanted to—so badly. But what he was asking her to do was to forget the lessons of a lifetime and put herself in someone else’s hands again.

As if he could see her turmoil, he said, ‘I saw that sketch you did of me...and it scared the life out of me. No one has ever seen me before—really seen me. Except you. And I think it’s the same for you. No one has really seen you either. But I see you, Skye. I love you, and I know you love me too. You just have to trust me, my love. I won’t let you fall.’

Skye looked down into the eyes of the man she loved and she believed him. ‘Yes... I’ll be your wife, Lazaro Sanchez.’

And she fell right into his arms and into his heart.

They landed in a tangle of limbs on the floor, and at some point resurfaced for long enough to make it into the bedroom, where they relived that first night all over again—except this time one night would last for ever.

EPILOGUE

Eight months later, Andalucía.

‘HEY, WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD.’

Skye smiled into the kiss Lazaro pressed to her mouth. She reached for him, but he caught her hands.

‘Not this time, you insatiable woman. I have something to show you.’

He helped her out of the hammock strung between two trees in the back garden of the hacienda. It was early summer and the air was redolent with the perfume of a hundred different flowers.

Skye stood up, her sundress falling around her legs. Her breasts were heavy with milk and she smiled at their four-month-old son Max, who was sleeping peacefully against his father’s chest in a harness. Lazaro had taken him for a walk after his last feed.

‘How is he?’ She touched his plump cheek and he stirred softly before settling again.

She didn’t blame him. Her favourite thing to do was to fall asleep on Lazaro’s chest and feel his heartbeat under her cheek. But that was usually after—

She blushed and said hurriedly, ‘What do you want to show me?’

He smiled at her and she blushed harder—because he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

He took her hand and led her into the hacienda and up the stairs, all the way to the stairs that led up to the top room where she’d sketched her first portraits.

She looked at Lazaro, her excitement growing. ‘It’s ready?’

He nodded and opened the door that had been closed to her for months on Lazaro’s instructions. He led her up the stairs and into the space, and emotion filled her heart so much it was all she could do to take it in.

It had been transformed into a dream artist’s studio. The windows had been made bigger. There were several easels. Brushes...paints. Paper. Every kind of pencil. Literally everything she might need.

The walls were white, reflecting endless light. There were new floorboards. Rugs. Plants. Candles.

‘Do you like it?’ Lazaro sounded worried.

She nodded, tears filling her eyes. ‘I love it.’