Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

Skye flicked through it, and as she did so she was already seeing possibilities, imagining things.

Lazaro’s car stopped at the hotel and he said, ‘I’m going into the office for a few hours. We’ll be leaving for Paris in the morning.’

Immediately Skye felt anxious. ‘Oh, yes. The gala function tomorrow night.’

Lazaro put his hand over hers, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. ‘It’s one event. Pack the black strapless dress. Leave your hair down.’

It was only when Skye got out of the car that she realised she was still holding Lazaro’s bid proposal document, but the car had already pulled away. She took it up to the apartment and found herself settling down with it, and a cup of decaf coffee, sketch

ing out some ideas on a blank piece of paper.

* * *

That evening, it was late when Lazaro got back to the apartment. He’d sent a message to Skye earlier, telling her to eat without him. For the first time ever he was experiencing a very novel thing. The desire for something else outside of his relentless ambition and his focus on work.

His wife.

And, disturbingly, it went beyond the physical attraction. He liked spending time with her. Seeing her reaction to things. She always surprised him. And, even more novel, she was a nice person. Something very unusual in his world. A genuinely compassionate, caring person.

Almudena in Andalucía adored her. His concierge at the hotel had just told him to thank her again for bringing him pastries earlier. He’d noticed his usually taciturn Madrid housekeeper smiling. And it wasn’t because of him.

For the first time in his life his well-worn cynicism felt like a burden. He noticed it all the time.

He walked into the main salon, pulling at his tie, opening his top button. A few low lights were on. He expected that Skye would be in bed by now, and already felt the frustration in his body.

But then he saw a shape on the couch and went still. He walked over. She was asleep. He saw the bid document on the low table beside her, and some sheets of paper with drawings on them. He picked one up. It looked like a logo. A logo for his project.

He realised instantly that it was brilliant. He looked at Skye. She was still wearing the jeans. Her shirt was askew, showing a hint of curved belly under the elastic top of the maternity jeans. Her hair was in a wild tangle around her head. Her mouth was soft and inviting.

And just then, as if aware of Lazaro’s intense perusal, she opened her eyes. Slumberous. She focused on him and smiled a slow, sleepy smile. And before he could stop it Lazaro felt his gut twist with something he really didn’t want to investigate. A nameless emotion. Something he’d never felt before.

Never allowed himself to feel before.

Then she obviously realised where she was and scrambled to sit up. ‘What time is it?’ She saw the piece of paper in Lazaro’s hand and her cheeks went pink, hair tumbling over her shoulders. ‘Sorry, but the visit to the market earlier sparked some ideas...’

Lazaro sat down beside her. ‘It’s really good. I have been paying a team of creatives thousands of euros and not one person has come up with something so simple and perfect.’

‘Really?’

He put the paper down and looked at her. ‘Yes, really.’

She blushed even more profusely and said shyly, ‘You can use it if you like.’

He looked at her. ‘I like...’

Skye’s eyes widened as she obviously realised his explicit meaning. And then she surprised him, by lying down again and slowly undoing the buttons on her shirt, pulling it back to reveal her breasts, nipples pressing against the lace of her bra. She lifted her arms over her head, looking innocent and wanton all at once.

‘Unless you’re too tired...?’ she said.

Lazaro bent forward and snaked a hand under her back, finding the bra-clasp and undoing it with a snap. As he peeled down the skimpy lace triangles covering her breasts he said throatily, ‘I’ve never been less tired in my life...’ And then he cupped one voluptuous mound and closed his mouth over the pouting nipple, very effectively closing his mind to annoying questions and revelations.

CHAPTER NINE

THE FOLLOWING EVENING, in a sumptuous suite in an exclusive hotel in Paris, Skye inspected herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was her first time getting herself ready for an event, but she couldn’t see anything too obviously out of place.

The dress was black silk. Strapless. Its empire line meant the fabric flowed over her belly. Lazaro had said to leave her hair down, and she’d done her best to tame it into some kind of order. She felt very pale and bare with her shoulders and neck exposed.

After making sure she had no lipstick stuck to her teeth, and that her eyeliner wasn’t smudged, she went out into the bedroom.