Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

Skye played with her napkin. ‘I just feel bad... I’m sorry that she was embarrassed like that. I hope she’s not too upset.’

Lazaro took out his phone and after a few seconds handed it over to Skye, who looked at it and gasped.

The headline read: Gabriel Ortega Cruz y Torres weds Leonora Flores de la Vega in an exclusive and private wedding at the family estate in Madrid.

Skye gasped and looked up. ‘They’re married? How is that even possible?’ She handed the phone back.

‘For Gabriel Torres pretty much anything is possible.’

Skye suspected that the same could be said of Lazaro. ‘Does Leonora know that Gabriel Torres is your half-brother?’ she asked.

Lazaro’s face was totally expressionless, but Skye could see a tightness in his jaw. ‘Hardly—he doesn’t acknowledge it himself. I didn’t think he’d go to these lengths to get back at me.’

‘Maybe he really likes her.’

Lazaro shot her a look. ‘Like? Like and love are not emotions people from Gabriel and Leonora’s world indulge in. She comes from his world and she needs money. I’m sure they came to some arrangement.’

‘That’s so...cold.’

‘That’s reality.’

Almudena arrived then, with their starter, and Skye started eating the delicious asparagus and ham. She could enjoy food again without fearing its reappearance the following morning, as the morning sickness that had blighted her first trimester appeared to be over. In fact, she was feeling better than she’d felt in a long time.

Hmm... said an inner voice. I wonder why?

A lurid image of her body entwined with Lazaro’s came into her head and she cursed it silently, not even looking his way in case he saw something on her far too expressive face.

‘You eat every meal with a single-minded absorption I’ve never seen in anyone else.’

Skye looked up, and finished chewing her last mouthful of asparagus, trying not to feel as if he’d just compared her unfavourably to every woman he’d known.

‘I learnt early to appreciate whatever was put in front of me, because sometimes it was a long time between meals.’ If her mother had suddenly decided to jump on a train and go from Paris to Prague. Or Berlin...

Lazaro regarded her, cradling a wine glass in his hand. ‘How can you be so un-cynical? You hardly had a more secure start in life than I did.’

Skye shrugged. ‘My mother was trusting—probably far too trusting—but we generally had good experiences. People looked out for us...for me. And, even though my mother’s way was scatty and unconventional, I knew I was loved and that she would do anything for me.’

‘Except stop moving around?’

Skye looked at Lazaro, surprised at his perspicacity and at the dart of hurt it provoked. Because she’d often wondered that herself.

She smiled a small smile. ‘Except that. When I was seventeen we were in London, and I had a job in a hairdressing salon. When she announced that she wanted to move on I told her I was staying. I was earning money and I got a room-share in a flat with a friend. That’s when I stopped moving around.’

He arched a brow. ‘You know how to cut hair?’

Skye nodded. ‘It’s a useful skill to have.’

Once again she cringed inwardly, thinking how different this line of conversation must be from what he was used to. If Leonora Flores was anything to go by, Lazaro’s usual women oozed class and sophistication. They didn’t have obscure skill sets like Skye, thanks to her unusual upbringing.

‘And where does your talent in drawing come from?’

‘Not my mother...she couldn’t draw a stick-man to save her life.’ She shrugged self-consciously. ‘I don’t know...maybe my father? Whoever he is.’

* * *

Almudena arrived with the main course. Lazaro was surprised. He hadn’t even noticed her taking away the starter plates.

He found Skye genuinely...interesting. Which was a novelty when not many people interested him or surprised him.