Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

into her carry-on bag, the one that could easily fit into the overhead compartments on airplanes. Jessica Bloom had totally flipped her lid, and Eve was going to have to fly to Iberia to unflip it. Jesus H. Christ. She was under a tight deadline at work, and her bosses would be furious at her for skipping out on them now. What could she say to take leave on such short notice? Maybe that a close relative had died? Yes, that would work. Besides, it was nearly the truth. The girl she’d known and loved since middle school had turned into a virtual stranger.
    Eve set the coffeepot to brew and started searching airlines on the Internet. She couldn’t get a travel deal through an online retailer at the last minute. She’d have to book the flight directly. Maybe the dead-relative ruse would work with them as well. That might even give her a discount. She was going to get Jess for this, she surely was. Jess was the most cynical person Eve knew. She didn’t even believe in love. So how come all of a sudden she seemed all bent on getting stuck in a marriage? Perhaps the matador was wicked or had cast some kind of weird spell over her. Eve had heard there were gypsies in Spain. Could they have gotten involved somehow with some sort of black magic?
    Eve twisted up her hair and shoved a chopstick into the knot. She’d had carry-out last night for dinner but had been lazy and used a fork, so this one was clean. She felt a rash coming on, her skin getting all itchy, and thought maybe she’d better take an antihistamine. Eve wondered briefly if she should call Jess’s mother, then decided against it on two counts. One, it was three in the morning, and two, Jess’s mom was a little high-strung to start. No sense in stringing her out further, when maybe there wasn’t much to worry about. Like hell, Eve thought; there was plenty to worry about. But that was her job as the best friend. She was smart. She had a skill set. She even spoke Spanish! Much better than Jess, for crying out loud. And Jess was the one who’d bought into some bull. Okay, calm down, Eve, she told herself. Spinning off into about a billion directions won’t do. Make a list, that’s right. Starting with email to bosses.
    Eve felt a stab of panic, wondering what she’d do if Jess wouldn’t cooperate once she got there. You couldn’t call Child Protective Services on someone over eighteen, and they probably wouldn’t help if that party was in another country anyway. It didn’t matter. Eve could figure the rest of it out once she got to La Esperanza del Corazón and had studied the situation firsthand. Clearly, when Jess saw her face-to-face, she’d realize how out of touch with reality she’d become and beg Eve to take her home. It was hard being the responsible one in the relationship. That was normally Jess’s job, but she’d somehow turned the tables on Eve. And Eve didn’t like it one bit.

    Jess and Fernando sat in bed, snacking on the remains of their “light” breakfast.
    “I’m glad to see you’re feeling so much better,” Fernando said.
    “Yes, thanks. The tea instead of coffee was a good move. Though, don’t get me wrong. I totally love the coffee here. Just not today,” she said, polishing off her toast.
    She really had quite a good appetite once she got started. They’d had to have Consuelo bring up extra biscuits and tea—twice.
    “I’m glad that you talked to me,” he said sincerely. “About what was bothering you before.”
    She surveyed him, brilliant blue eyes smiling. “You know what they say, confession is good for the soul.”
    “Are you Catholic?” he asked suddenly.
    “No. Methodist. Why?”
    “It’s nothing. I just wondered.”
    “I would have to convert, wouldn’t I?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Isn’t there some kind of rule about that? About Protestants marrying Catholics?”
    “I’d have to look it up,” he said.
    “Now you’re teasing me.”
    “I don’t believe anyone should do anything that they don’t want to. Concerning religion or anything else. I understand that you hold your own beliefs.”
    She shot him a curious glance. “Fernando,” she said, “what’s going to happen when we get to Seville?”
    “Anything you’d like. Why?”
    “You know what I’m talking about — the magistrate.”
    “Yes, well, of course we’ll go there. That’s on the agenda.”
    “Agenda?” she asked, staring up at him with big, innocent eyes.
    “There’s a lot to see in Sevilla, Jessica.