Page 37 of Cinderella's One-Night Baby

He understood in that flash of a moment that Gabrielle really would do anything to protect Lucas and that that same fierce love would be used to protect the child developing inside her.

His child. Their child.

His heart twisted.

‘Gabrielle, I give you my word that I will never make such a threat again. Lucas is your son, I can see that.’ Holding her stare, he dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘But you and I both know you didn’t give birth to him.’

Gabrielle climbed into the back of the car feeling as wretched and sick as she’d ever felt, a sensation not helped by the scent of Andrés’s cologne diving straight into her bloodstream and making her pulse surge before her bottom had even made contact with the leather seat.

It shouldn’t be like this, she thought miserably. Not only was Andrés far richer and far more powerful than The Bastard, but somehow he knew the truth about Lucas. He had the power to destroy her entire world. It shouldn’t be possible that she could still feel so drawn to him and that she should be so acutely aware of the muscular tanned arms and the sleeve tattoo on display in the khaki polo shirt he was wearing. It was disconcerting to find him wearing smart tan shorts too. She’d assumed he only owned suits and tuxedos. Or was this all just her fevered mind going into overdrive after a night of tossing and turning?

He nodded a greeting to her. ‘Did Lucas and your mother get away okay?’

She could hardly work her throat to answer. ‘Yes.’

This was the second year in a row her mother had taken Lucas to France and waving goodbye had been just as bittersweet for Gabrielle as it had been last year. Bitter because being in the apartment without him felt like she’d had a limb removed. Sweet because the bond between grandma and grandson was so strong. They might not have much in the way of riches but one thing Lucas had been raised with was an abundance of love.

She cleared her throat. ‘Where are we going?’ Andrés’s driver had headed off in the wrong direction to his apartment.

‘Somewhere neutral.’

‘Why neutral?’

‘Because I suspect the conversation we’re going to have will be difficult for us both.’

Her stomach dropped.

Breathing deeply, she gazed out of the window and ordered herself not to panic.

She could laugh. She’d told herself not to panic at least every ten seconds since Andrés had left her apartment. It frightened her how much she wanted to trust the sincerity she’d seen in his eyes when he’d sworn never to use Lucas as a threat again, but even if she could trust it, there was nothing to stop him carrying out his threat to report her to the authorities. She had everything she needed to back up her lies to them—and she would lie to the Queen of Monte Cleure herself if the alternative meant losing Lucas—but if they ordered a DNA test all the lies and documents supporting them would come to nothing.

How did Andrés know? That was another thing she couldn’t get over. The secret had been kept tight for four years.

‘We are here,’ he said, breaking through her rabid thoughts.

Somewhere neutral turned out to be the harbour.

They walked in silence down the jetty to a gleaming yacht, one of the biggest docked there.

‘Is this yours?’ she asked, unable to imagine Andrés bothering to invest his money on a superyacht she doubted his workaholic lifestyle gave him the time to enjoy.

‘Yes.’

‘Then how can it be neutral?’

‘Because I’ve not spent any time on it since the day I took delivery of it.’

‘Seriously?’

He raised a broad shoulder. ‘Sophia went on and on at me until I gave in and bought it. You can blame her for the interior decoration. All my family enjoy using it. The rest of the time it’s chartered out. It was pure luck that it was docked in Barcelona.’

Climbing the steps that had been lowered for them, the professional crew greeted them with glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.

The interior decoration was tastefully extravagant and Gabrielle easily imagined the rich colours and plush furnishings coming from Sophia’s creative imagination. If her stomach wasn’t so tight and cramped with nerves of what was going to come, her mouth would be open in stunned appreciation at yet more evidence of how the super wealthy lived.

This yacht that had to have cost around the hundred million mark, had essentially been bought as a gift for Andrés’s family to enjoy.

By the time they’d settled on the sprawling sun deck with an array of breakfast food and fruit and drinks laid out for them, the captain had already set sail and the harbour was a speck in the distance behind them.

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