Confessions Of A Pregnant Cinderella

‘You would have had time to look me up then—maybe that’s why you decided to meet me…when you knew it was worth it.’

‘Maybe I didn’t look you up,’ Skye shot back. ‘Maybe I decided to go because you were the sexiest man I’d ever met and I knew if I didn’t go I’d regret it.’

She stopped and bit her lip, aghast at what had just tumbled out of her mouth.

She lifted her chin. ‘I will admit that I looked you up the following day. And then I realised that you were…someone.’

It was a ridiculously ineffectual way to describe a man who had become a self-made millionaire by the time he was twenty-five after setting up his own hedge fund. He’d since become a billionaire, by diversifying into the real estate market. His signature move was buying up old decrepit buildings in up-and-coming areas and restoring them.

‘So that’s when you decided to take advantage of the situation?’

Skye stood up again. ‘Unbelievable as it might seem to you, my life plan wasn’t actually to get pregnant at the age of twenty-two.’

‘Oh? And what was it then? To become the manager of that restaurant?’

‘That’s not fair. You have no idea who I am or what I want.’

Lazaro took a step towards her and said with an infuriatingly smug tone, ‘On the contrary. I think we established pretty effectively what you wanted that night.’

Skye’s cheeks were burning now, her hand gripping the glass hard. ‘There were two of us in that room, and as I recall it any wanting was pretty mutual.’

He gritted his jaw at that. ‘Why did you really come?’

‘To tell you. Don’t you want to know that you’re going to be a father?’

He studied her for such a long moment that Skye fought not to squirm, and then he shook his head.

‘You’re not just here to impart this news out of the goodness of your heart.’

Skye struggled to hold on to her temper. ‘You are being incredibly negative. Would you really have preferred that I didn’t tell you? That you had a child out in the world that you knew nothing about?’

To her surprise he blanched slightly at that, and then his face became shuttered.

‘If you are pregnant, and if the baby is mine, then of course I want to know about it. I’ll admit it’s not something I was prepared to deal with quite yet, but no child of mine will want for the lack of a father.’

His eyes glowed with an intensity that caught at Skye inside. She realised then that she hadn’t seen anything about his parents in the information she’d found about him online, and she wondered about that now. But before she could say anything else a wave of dizziness took her by surprise and she swayed on the spot.

Instantly he was at her side, taking the glass out of her grip, a hand around her arm. ‘What is it? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

She was trembling. ‘I think I need to eat something…’

‘When was the last time you ate?’

Skye just wanted to sit down. ‘Breakfast?’

If you could call a banana and a croissant that had later made its reappearance in the airport toilet breakfast.

Lazaro made a rude sound and led Skye over to a chair to sit down. He handed her the water. ‘What do you want to eat?’

She hated being weak and vulnerable like this. She’d wanted to come and face Lazaro, give him the news and then walk away with her head held high, knowing she’d done the right thing.

‘Maybe a sandwich? And some fries?’

He went over to a phone and made a call.

When he came back Skye said, ‘Thank you. I’m sorry. I really didn’t intend to cause such an upset and I didn’t intend taking up your time like this.’

He looked at her and put his hands on his hips—which only drew Skye’s attention to that lean waist.

‘So you were going to come, drop your bombshell and then leave?’

Skye winced at his thunderous expression. ‘I just wanted to let you know. I don’t expect anything from you. Maybe once the news has died down you can repair things with your fiancée…’ She saw his expression darken even more and corrected herself. ‘Sorry, ex-fiancée.’

He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. ‘I told you—Leonora won’t have anything to do with me after this.’

In fairness, Skye had to admit she had looked like a nice person. A person who didn’t deserve to be upset in public like that.

Her insides cramped with remorse. She hadn’t handled this very well at all.

Just then a chiming sound rang through the room, and Lazaro sent her a dark look before he went to the door. He came back with a tray. On it was a plate covered with a silver dome.

‘Come into the kitchen.’

Skye dutifully followed Lazaro, trying not to notice the sexy athleticism of his stride. Or feel hurt that he was going to take her into that utilitarian kitchen to eat—probably for fear she’d drop crumbs all over his pristine suite.

He must have been staying here in order to make the announcement. Perhaps he’d even planned on spending the night here with his fiancée. Celebrating their engagement. It was certainly romantic enough, with its stunning views of Madrid laid out around it.

Then Skye stopped on the threshold of a kitchen she hadn’t seen before. It certainly wasn’t the one she’d been led through. This one was massive, and had state-of-the-art appliances and a sleek modern finish. There was a dining table and chairs by one window. Lazaro was putting the tray down and taking off the silver dome to reveal a very fancy-looking sandwich and fries.

Her mouth watered. She went over and sat down.

‘I thought I came up through the kitchen?’

Lazaro looked slightly discomfited. ‘I asked them to bring you up that way to avoid the paparazzi.’

‘Oh.’

She said ‘oh’ a lot. Lazaro watched, half-fascinated, as Skye tucked into the sandwich and fries with little self-consciousness. Watching a woman eat, he realised, felt like a curiously intimate thing to do. Especially when most of the women he spent time with chased a lettuce leaf around their plates.

He got another glass of sparkling water and put it down on the table. She glanced at him and wiped her mouth. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she said thank you.

They’d gone pink like that when their eyes had met in that small restaurant near his hotel in Dublin. And they’d gone even pinker when he’d asked to her join him there for a nightcap when she finished work.

She’d said Oh then too.

‘Oh… Wow… I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t know you. You could be anyone.’

He’d handed her a card from his jacket pocket. A platinum-embossed card, with his name and contact details. He’d said, ‘It’s not proof I’m not a serial killer, but I can assure you I’m not. I’m just asking you to meet me for a drink at the bar…a chance to get to know one another a little better.’

She’d looked at him with those huge blue eyes that seemed to hide nothing. ‘But what’s the point?’ she’d asked.

Lazaro had surprised himself by saying, ‘Haven’t you ever done anything totally spontaneous for no good reason but just because you want to?’

He’d also surprised himself with how much he’d wanted her to say yes. He’d expected her to jump at the invitation—as most women would—but she’d seemed genuinely torn.

Eventually she’d said, ‘Okay…maybe.’

And so he’d sat in that hotel bar, waiting for a woman. And for the first and only time in his life he hadn’t known if she’d show up.

And then she had.

He could still recall seeing her standing in the doorway, in skinny jeans and that tatty jumper, half-falling off her shoulder. Holding a slouchy bag. It should have been the moment he’d realised he’d gone a bit crazy, but her long red hair had been down, and tumbling wildly over one shoulder, and an intense hunger had bitten into him so acutely that he hadn’t even been able to stand to greet her.

‘Thank you for that.’

Lazaro broke out of his reverie and saw Skye pushing the now empty plate away from her. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman actually finish her food.

‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

She went pinker and avoided his eye. ‘I hadn’t actually got as far as booking anywhere. I saw a hostel at the train station when I came in from the airport, I’m sure I can get a room there.’

Lazaro’s gaze narrowed on her, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t plan on staying and you’ve booked no accommodation? Did you even book a return flight? Or were you hoping that perhaps this little stunt might induce me to take you into my bed again, where you could ensure you became pregnant?’

Skye had been avoiding his eye, embarrassed at having been exposed in her lack of planning for this, but now her head snapped around so quickly she almost got whiplash.

For a long moment she couldn’t speak, she was so incensed. And then she stood up, trembling with emotion. ‘You are the most unbelievably cynical person I’ve ever met. I’m not here to fleece you, or to seduce you, Lazaro. I couldn’t care less about your wealth or your fancy hotel suite—’

‘Apartment.’

‘What?’

‘This is my apartment. I own the hotel.’

‘Oh.’

He owns the hotel. Of course he does.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Skye made a move back to the living area, searching for her bag and coat.

‘Where are you going?’

She found them and picked them up. She turned around. ‘I’m going to go and find somewhere to stay. My return flight is early in the morning—because, as I told you, I’d just planned on giving you this information. Not staying. Leaving. Which I’m going to do now. Goodbye, Lazaro.’

Before she could turn to go Lazaro came and stood in front of her. He was shaking his head.

‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here tonight and then we’ll discuss where to go from here tomorrow.’

Skye’s head was feeling fuzzy from tiredness. ‘But I’m due at work tomorrow night…’

‘If you are pregnant with my child—and let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt until we can prove the baby is mine with a DNA test—then you’ll be staying right here in Spain.’

Skye’s mouth opened and closed. Opened again. ‘That’s crazy. You can’t order me to stay here.’

‘If you’re carrying my child, as you claim you are, then, yes, I have a right to be involved in its future—and in yours too.’

Skye felt panicky. ‘In its future. When he or she is born. Anything could happen between now and then.’

‘And in the meantime you’re going to run yourself ragged waiting on tables, staying in hostels and living in God knows what kind of place.’ He frowned. ‘Where do you live?’

Skye felt defensive. ‘In a perfectly nice basement apartment in Dublin.’

She felt guilty when she thought of the mould on the damp walls of her bedroom. And the malfunctioning gas cooker. And the fact that her area turned into a kind of war zone at night. But she was fine. They knew her face so they left her alone.

Lazaro made a sound as if he could read her thoughts. ‘If you’re working as a waitress then I know what kind of place and area you can afford, and I don’t want the mother of my child putting herself or my child at risk.’

Skye’s hand automatically went to her belly. ‘I would never do that.’

She had to admit to herself, though, that she had had misgivings about how she would cope on her tiny salary and in a cold and damp apartment.

He took her bag and coat out of her hands before she could stop him. ‘You’ll stay here this evening and tomorrow we’ll go to see my physician and confirm your pregnancy. Then we’ll have another discussion.’

Anger and a feeling of impotency made Skye say, ‘You can’t just upend my life like this. I have a job. A home. A life.’

He arched a brow. ‘I can’t upend your life? Like you just upended mine?’

CHAPTER THREE

SKYE HAD HAD no answer to Lazaro’s killer response. It had shut down her anger and her justification for leaving because she had done that. She had come here and created this situation and now she had to deal with it.

So she’d agreed to stay. For now.

He’d shown her into a huge bedroom and said, ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

For a while she was too afraid to move in case she left a mark on the pristine carpet, which felt like walking on a cloud, or the silk upholstery of the furniture. Everything was in tones of white and light grey. Sleek and modern lines. Elegant and classic.

She looked at the huge bed warily, but eventually the feeling of grime on her skin got to her and she realised she couldn’t risk getting the sheets dirty.

She went into the bathroom and gasped. It was almost as big as the bedroom. With a slate wet room shower and bathtub big enough for a dozen people. Two sinks. Its soft lighting was very kind to her, making her look less washed out than she felt. But she knew it was just an illusion.

She stripped off and stepped under the shower, almost groaning out loud as the powerful jets of warm water pummelled her skin. Her hair usually took an age to dry, but she couldn’t resist the urge to clean that too, massaging her scalp with the most delicious-smelling shampoo.

Afterwards she went back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her head and a voluminous terry cloth robe dwarfing her body. She was tired, but too restless to sleep after everything that had happened, so she curled up in a large armchair and looked out over the view of Madrid under a starry sky.

She wondered if Lazaro was devastated by losing his fiancée. He hadn’t seemed too upset about it. But then he’d said their marriage hadn’t been based on love. He appeared to have an aversion even to the notion of love.

And she hated to admit that a small part of her had been relieved to hear that his relationship with his fiancée hadn’t been a love match.

The night she’d spent with Lazaro had been so…cataclysmic. It had touched Skye emotionally far more than she liked to admit. The morning after she’d wanted to stay more than anything. But she’d known it would only be prolonging the inevitable. Even before she’d known the extent of who he was she had known that Lazaro Sanchez wasn’t a man who struck up a relationship with a waitress after a one-night stand. It might have gone into a two-night stand, but that would have been it.

Anxiety knotted her belly and she had to consciously breathe in and out to unravel the tension. Her mother’s voice came into her head. ‘We’re human beings, Skye, not human doings. All you can do is focus on the present moment. Nothing else exists.’

Her mother would always smile radiantly at that, and her New Age pronouncement would usually be followed by one of her customary spur-of-the moment decisions to move city/country/job. Basically, as soon as somewhere had just started to feel like home they’d moved.

But in one way she was right. Skye couldn’t do much right now but submit to Lazaro Sanchez’s decree. He was the father of her baby. Even if he didn’t believe her.

He could have thrown you out on her ear and refused to listen to you, an inner voice pointed out.

Okay, so she hadn’t exactly given him much choice, but it had been her only option. And, even though she wished there had been some more discreet way of doing things, she didn’t regret informing him that he was going to become a father.

She’d never had the chance to know her own father. It was the one thing her mother had always been uptight about—Skye’s father’s identity. She’d eventually revealed the truth that she wasn’t sure who her father was. She’d been at a party…there had been two guys…she didn’t even remember their names…

Skye’s mother had actually come from a very wealthy background, but she’d been rebellious and artistic. Her family had cut her off after news of her pregnancy had emerged, and that was when she’d taken up the life of a hippy nomad. Her pride had refused to let her contact her family again. Pride and—as Skye had realised over the years—immense hurt that she’d been rejected by them.

Family. Skye sighed deeply. She had a very jaundiced view of family, considering the way her mother’s had treated her, and yet that had never stopped her dreaming about a family of her own. A family that was rooted in one place. Secure. Stable.

When she’d found out she was pregnant, as much as the timing was seriously off, she’d felt a huge urge to nest. Put down roots. And telling Lazaro Sanchez about his child had been a part of that. She wanted to be settled when she had this baby, and to have some kind of communication with Lazaro so that her child would grow up knowing where it was from and who its parents were.

She wanted her child to see the world, as she had, but with the knowledge that he or she always had a home to return to.

Skye felt a wave of weariness steal over her. She let her head drop back into the deep cushions and closed her eyes. She’d snooze, just for a minute, and then she’d get up and sort out her few paltry belongings.

Lazaro stood looking down at the sleeping woman for a long moment. He’d wanted to check that she was okay, but she hadn’t answered his knock on the door so he’d opened it. He hadn’t seen her immediately and for a moment had thought she’d gone—back the way she’d been brought in. Through the service entrance.

He hadn’t liked the spurt of panic…

But then he’d seen her. Curled up. Dwarfed by the chair. Fast asleep.

Her head was resting on her shoulder. The towel on her head was almost falling off. He couldn’t deny how she made him feel. Hot. Aching. Even now, when she was all but covered up. He just had to imagine her naked under the shower and his body went into meltdown.

She also made him feel livid, for appearing like a genie to rob him of his moment.

Basta! He bent down and slid his arms under her legs and her back, lifting her up. She didn’t even stir, she was so deeply asleep. She was light. Fragile.

Pregnant.

When Lazaro put her down on the bed the towel slid off and her damp hair fell in a sprawl around her head, a splash of red against the white linen. She looked utterly innocent and guileless.

His conscience pricked. She had been innocent—a virgin. Would she have jumped into bed with someone else so quickly?

Everything inside him rejected the notion.

When Skye had said she’d struggled to get hold of him he’d had to concede that perhaps she was telling the truth. He recalled seeing his card in the bin of that hotel suite, and he could remember the sensation of disbelief. No woman—ever—had missed an opportunity to gain access to Lazaro’s inner circle.

But he did have a rule that no one unknown was allowed to contact him. Especially women. She would have been an unknown to everyone else but him. No one knew about that night. Because he had been in Dublin. He wasn’t on the paparazzi’s radar there.

He remembered something else from that night. When they’d sat down for a drink in his hotel bar he’d asked her why she’d decided to come.

She’d looked at him a little embarrassed, but also with something almost defiant, and said, ‘Because I’ve never met anyone like you. And you’re right. Sometimes it’s good to be a little spontaneous.’

He’d looked back at her. ‘You’re refreshingly honest.’

She’d frowned at him as if he was crazy. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? What do I have to hide?’

Something heavy settled in Lazaro’s gut. The truth was that she didn’t come from his world, where cynicism and mistrust went hand in hand. She was most likely telling the truth. But still, he’d be a fool not to confirm it for himself. And he’d be an even bigger fool to throw all caution to the wind and assume she wasn’t up to something just because of a feeling in his gut.

When Skye woke the following morning she was disorientated. She was in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in—except she couldn’t remember falling asleep in it… Because she hadn’t. She’d fallen asleep in a chair.

She came up on her elbows and felt the towel behind her on the pillow. She groaned. Her hair would be a disaster today. And how had she ended up in bed? She was under the covers, but still wearing the robe…

Her face grew hot at the thought of Lazaro carrying her to the bed. But he must have. He must have come in. And watched her sleeping. And then he’d picked her up.

Her insides knotted, and not entirely with anxiety. With awareness.

She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from outside the bedroom but the sun was up. She got up, and after a quick wash, and trying to tame her hair as much as possible, she dressed and took a deep breath before venturing out into the suite—the apartment.

She found Lazaro in the formal dining room. He was sitting at one end of a long table with breakfast laid out around him and a stack of papers. His legs were stretched out under the table and he was dressed in a blue pinstripe shirt and dark trousers. Hair damp from the shower. Jaw clean-shaven.

And she felt a tug of desire deep in her belly.

He looked up, just as a woman Skye hadn’t seen before bustled into the room, carrying what looked like a coffee jug.

She greeted Skye. ‘Buenos dias.’

Skye murmured hello back and went over to the table, feeling shy and self-conscious in the only change of clothes she’d brought with her—her habitual uniform of jeans and a loose top…sneakers. She’d always veered towards a tomboyish style, but she’d never been so aware of it than now, when she was in front of this man.

The woman—his housekeeper?—left them alone again. Lazaro put down the paper he was reading and raked her up and down with those vivid green eyes, heightening her sense of exposure.

‘No fake waitress outfit today?’

Skye blushed guiltily. ‘I wore my work clothes as I figured they might help me blend in with the staff at the hotel.’

It wasn’t as if she could have hoped to blend in with the guests!

Lazaro made a rude sound which only reminded her of the audacity of her actions and the dramatic consequences. Suddenly she felt sick.

She gripped the back of a chair. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry about how it happened.’

Lazaro frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.’

The dreaded nausea was rising. Skye managed to garble something unintelligible before she sprinted from the room, back to her bathroom, and made the toilet just in time.

She groaned as she sensed a presence hovering nearby. ‘Leave me alone, please. It’s fine. It’s just morning sickness.’

He didn’t leave. ‘You have this every day?’ He sounded horrified.

Skye might have laughed if she’d been able to. She literally couldn’t possibly reach any lower in Lazaro Sanchez’s eyes right now, with her head inside a toilet bowl. Whatever desire he’d felt for her would be well and truly gone after this little episode.

To her relief the sickness soon dissipated and a damp facecloth came into her vision. She took it. It was warm. She wiped her face and pulled herself up, going to the sink to rinse her mouth out.

She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror, knowing just how wan she’d look.

Lazaro was standing in the doorway looking slightly shell-shocked.

‘I’m sorry about that. I’ve no control over when it comes, but it passes pretty quickly. And the doctor said it shouldn’t last into the next trimester.’