Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

start and pinched her forearm, certain she would wake up. He lazily pulled himself partially upright on one elbow, resting his head in his hand.
    Jess stared, dumbfounded, while Fernando lifted his brow and waited.
    “What…is the meaning of this?” she asked, covering herself primly.
    “Don Fernando!” a voice called through the screenless window in gruff Castilian. “You still riding this morning?”
    Fernando shot Jess a questioning look. She quickly shook her head.
    “Not today, Pedrito!” he called back in English. “We’re sorry to have troubled you!”
    “We?” Jess asked, her voice escaping as a whisper.
    “You insisted I take you riding. Don’t you recall? It was the second thing you wished to do as my new wife.”
    Jess felt the heat bolt to her temples and chin. Suddenly, it all came back to her. The late night at the bodega, Fernando’s unexpected and utterly passionate kiss, their unanticipated encounter with that Catholic priest… Jess swallowed hard past the burn in her throat.
    She’d come to Madrid on an acquisitions merger but had married a matador instead.

    Fernando watched as the beautiful woman leapt from the bed, snatching the duvet with her. Honey-blonde hair cascaded past delicate shoulders as she suddenly averted brilliant blue eyes. “You should cover yourself,” she insisted.
    “But it seems my new wife has taken the covers.”
    “And stop saying that!” she cried with an indignant pout.
    “What? That you’re my wife? I do apologize,” he said, sitting upright and scooting to the edge of the bed. “Perhaps it’s better if I call you my bride.”
    Jess instinctively stepped back. “Now, Fernando,” she began with a wave of her finger. “You know as well as I do that—if anything happened last night—it wasn’t supposed to.”
    He noticed she was trying not to peek at him but was failing in her efforts. He took this as encouragement to drop his feet to the floor and face her outright, sporting his full glory.
    “Is that what you Americans mean by, Take me back to your bed, you beast. I’m yours ? ”
    She gasped audibly. “I said that?” she asked with unmasked horror.
    Taking pity on the woman, Fernando covered his lap with a feather pillow. “You can look now,” he said with a sigh.
    She steadied her chin, settling her gaze on the window. “How do I know I can trust you?”
    “I guess you don’t,” he replied. “But I’m inviting you to take the chance.”
    Slowly, she turned her eyes toward his. They were an amazing shade of blue, aquamarine, really. Fernando felt as if he could swim in them forever. He recalled thinking that yesterday evening, after a few too many pitchers of sangria and a splendidly expensive bottle of cava. Perhaps he’d gotten carried away in asking her to be his bride. But after the flamenco show and the kiss by the fountain, their surprise encounter with his old friend Father Domingo had seemed nothing less than a direct sign from God.
    “Where are my clothes?” she asked, color sweeping the bridge of her nose.
    Fernando pointed to the armoire beside the door leading to the well-appointed bathroom.
    “I suppose the shower’s in there?” she asked, angling her head in that direction.
    “There are fresh towels on the stand behind the claw-foot tub,” he said.
    Her cheeks flamed red. Perhaps she did remember everything.
    “Fine, thank you,” she said hoarsely, sidestepping her way across the floor, the hem of the duvet trailing over inlaid tile.
    “Would you like something to eat?” he called after her. “I can have Consuelo bring up breakfast.”
    She skittered into the bathroom, partially closing the door. “Just coffee!” she called before shutting it with a bang.
    Fernando sat upright with a start and tossed aside the pillow.
    “Consuelo?” he said into the intercom by the bed, pressing its button.
    “ ¿Sí, señor? ” a kindly older voice asked from the kitchen.
    “ Dos café con leche, por favor. ”
    “ Two , Don Fernando?”
    While it had come as surprise, Fernando didn’t precisely view his marriage as a mistake. In fact, given the timeline imposed by his grandfather for inheriting his fortune, this little twist of fate just might prove fortuitous.
    “ Sí, dos . And, if you will, place a pretty, fresh rose on the tray. I have something happy to tell you.”

    Jess let the water run hot, hitting her full in the face. Any second now, she was going to wake up in her apartment in Brooklyn, her