How to Marry a Matador (Exclusive Sneak Preview)

by Ginny Baird

  “Are you all right, Jessica?” Tía Margarita asked, turning from where she’d just plunked her puppy on the table. An elaborate spread was laid for tea, three high-backed chairs facing the pastoral view. Jess watch in awe as Tía Margarita poured and little Rudolfo eagerly thrust his nose into a cup. “You appear a little flushed.”

  “She was just saying that she’s cold.”

  “Fernando!” Jess scolded under her breath.

  Tía Margarita wrinkled up her pudgy brow. “Oh dear, that certainly won’t do. Antonia,” she said, instructing her maid, who was setting the last plate of biscuits on the table. “Please go and grab a wrap for our friend.”

  Antonia disappeared deferentially as Tía Margarita dipped a crumpet in the dog’s tea and then fed him tiny nibbles. “Fernando,” she said to her grand-nephew, “why don’t you show Jessica outside and into the sunshine?”

  “She’s not related by blood,” he said with a wink.

  Jess hadn’t initially considered the ramifications, but now that he’d mentioned it, maybe she was glad. Not that having an eccentric old person in the family really mattered most of the time. If they lived long enough, most folks probably turned that way, even without trying.

  “She was married to your uncle?”

  “Great-uncle, that’s right.”

  “At first, the family felt it a shame they never had children. Then, after a while…” He shrugged and shot her a wry smile. “Oh my, imagine that!” he said, leaning toward her and fingering her hair.

  “What is it?” she asked with alarm.

  He gazed in her eyes in a way that brought back tumbling meadows. “When your hair holds the sun, it looks like gold.” He grinned and pulled something from his pocket. “And gold…is of such beauty, it deserves to be prominently displayed. Don’t you agree?”

  Jess gasped in surprise as he held that marvelous pair of earrings in her direction and lifted them up to one ear. “Very nice,” he said with a satisfied smile. “They suit you.”

  He laid the pair in her palm, then watched her expectantly, apparently hoping he’d gotten this right. Fernando had more than gotten this right; in one deft move, he’d nearly blown her away. Jess felt as if her heart might burst open and tears spring from her eyes at the same time. Nobody had ever done anything like this for her before.

  “But how did you know?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

  “I have my sources at the monastery.” He stepped closer.

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “They’re wonderful.”

  “Then why are you crying?” he asked with a worried frown.

  “Because you really are a marvelous man.” Before she knew what she was doing, Jess had wrapped her arms around his neck and was up on her tiptoes, kissing him.

  He pulled her close and returned her fire with one glorious bout of passion after the next. Jess lost track of time and culture and continent. All she knew was that she was with her hunky matador man who brought her gifts of the heart. How could he be so solid yet giving at once?

  “Teatime!” Tía Margarita called, loudly tinkling a bell.

  Fernando released Jessica with a hearty laugh.

  “Terribly sorry, Tía Margarita,” he said, obviously not meaning it.

  Tía Margarita toddled toward the table, waving her lace hanky in the air.

  “Young people!” she said to Rudolfo, who was making his way around the table, lapping at all the plates.

  Jess slipped the leather bookmark from its bag and placed it on the nightstand beside the old Bible. It had been half her lifetime since she’d cracked the good book. Faith really hadn’t gotten her anywhere, so she’d given it up as years went by. Though there had been a time when she’d found some point in it. As a hopeful teen, she’d spent hours poring over the same passage in Corinthians, wistfully dreaming up what true love might mean. She wondered if she could still find it. It couldn’t be that difficult. Sort of like riding a bicycle, right?

  The door creaked open, and Fernando stuck his head in.

  “Oh, sorry!” he said. “I thought you were downstairs.”

  After their return from town, Ana María had spent quite a bit of time introducing her new daughter-in-law to the contents of her hope chest. Fernando had begged off the moment the baby fashion show had started. He likely felt guilty he’d let things go so far but didn’t have the guts at that moment to rain on his mom’s parade. Of course Jess could understand that. Ana María had appeared so expressive and glowing, commenting on the joys of impending grandchildren, that Jess hadn’t had the heart to break the bad news either.

  “Wait, are you reading the Bible?”

  Jess stared down at the tome in her hand, fretfully embarrassed. “Not really,” she said, snapping it shut. “Just thinking of where to put the bookmark.”

  “Genesis?” he retorted with one raised eyebrow.

  “The beginning, yes!” she said, nervously fumbling through brittle pages. Locating Genesis shouldn’t be that difficult. On the first day… Thank God! She slid the bookmark inside, then glanced heavenward, fearful she’d committed some sort of mental blasphemy.

  “I was just coming for my things,” Fernando said. “All right if I grab a pillow?”

  “What?” Jess asked weakly, almost wishing she hadn’t started this God thing. Now she worried that the heavenly angels were watching them. Maybe had been watching them all along. She felt instantly consumed by heat, thinking the Catholicism was getting to her.

  “It’s nearly eleven. I thought I’d take what I needed for bed.”

  What about what she needed for bed? That clearly wasn’t Fernando scooping up his things and waltzing out of here. Not after today, not after that kiss. Not after our lovemaking this morning either, she thought, quickly covering the Bible with the monastery bag.

  “Fernando,” she said as coolly as she could manage. “Your mother just spent two hours expounding on the joys of grandparenthood. Don’t you think it would seem odd for you to spend the night downstairs?”

  He brought his hand to his chin and, in all seriousness, considered this. “You’re right,” he said, leveling a gaze at her. “We pulled that last night. Doesn’t really seem right to try it again.”

  She shook her head in accord. “Not so soon, anyway.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I stay here?”

  “We’re still married for now,” she said, giving a little laugh.

  Fernando suspiciously eyed the bag-covered Bible. “In the eyes of the church.”

  Jess mustered her best stern expression. “We can’t go disappointing your mom.”

  “She’s bound to be heartbroken soon enough,” he agreed.

  “So, we’re still going to Seville tomorrow?” she asked a little sadly.

  “That is what you want?”

  His gaze locked on hers and was so penetratingly hot she felt as if he’d stripped all her clothes off. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To unmarry this guy?

  Fernando stepped into the room and locked the door behind him.

  “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Yes, of course.”

  “Then, we’ll go to Seville,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He let it slide from his broad shoulders as he walked toward the bed with catlike stealth, every…single…muscle under control. “In the morning.”

  ****

  Chapter Eight

  Fernando stretched out his arms for Jess in the empty bed. Gone? She can’t possibly be gone. He opened his eyes in a panic to spy her simple white shift still hanging in the open armoire. Relief flooded him as he sent his attention to the bathroom. The door was ajar, yet he heard nothing. Fernando sat up and stared at the clock as five minutes ticked by. Then ten. Something seemed amiss. “Jessica?” he called gently. “Querida?”

  Nothing.

  Fernando rose from the bed and walked toward the bath with purposeful strides, his heart pounding. Through the crack in the door, he spied her curled up in a ball on the floor, her arms crossed
over her head.

  “Jessica,” he said, kneeling by her. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to Seville,” came the weak reply.

  “Well, then, that settles it,” he said in an attempt to reassure her. “I’m not going either.”

  Her skin was as pale as her nightgown, and she shivered slightly. On the simple throw rug on top of the cold tile, she was bound to be freezing.

  “Are you sick?” he asked with concern.

  She nodded, shielding her eyes against the light streaming in through the window.

  “My stomach.”

  Fernando thought of the caldo they’d had last night in town as well as the vast array of tapas. None of it had affected him. Then again, his stomach was made of steel.

  “I’m calling a doctor,” he said, decisively.

  “No…don’t.”

  “Jessica,” he stated reasonably. “You can’t even get off the floor. If you have food poisoning, I think that—”

  “It wasn’t the food, Fernando,” she said, glancing up at him all squinty-eyed. It pained him immensely to see her this way. “I’m just not feeling well.”

  “What can I get you?” he asked, believing that no request could be too great.

  “All I need is rest.”

  She looked like her death, and he couldn’t stand it. “It’s not good for you to be lying on the floor. Let me help you back to the bed.” He laid his hand on her arm and found it chilled. “Come on,” he pleaded sincerely, “please let me help you.”

  He held out his hands, and she accepted his grip as he pulled her gently upright. “Here,” he said, steadying her against his side as he sheltered her with one arm, “lean against me. We’ll be there in no time.”

  She clambered into bed and moaned as he tucked her under the covers. Fernando felt utterly helpless. He’d never seen Jessica so debilitated. The woman he knew was capable and strong. To see her like this was crushing. “Has this happened to you before?”

  “I don’t get sick, Fernando,” she answered defensively, even though her ailing tone gave her away. Just as she didn’t fall in love, he pondered, recalling her earlier statement. Here was a woman who allowed herself no weakness.

  “You don’t always have to be strong with me,” he said, sitting on his side of the bed. “None of us can be strong always.”

  “Not even matadors?” she asked.

  “Not even matadors,” he assured her with a tender smile. “We bruise as easily as telecommunications experts. In some ways, maybe more. When you’re trained to be tough on the outside, it’s hard to allow feelings in. Then when you do, I’m afraid, they can hurt twice as much if they betray you.”

  She didn’t answer but was quiet and listened. Maybe being in bed was starting to help. He lay down next to her and nestled her in his arms, spooning her back against his chest.

  “Is it all right if I hold you?” he asked hoarsely, hoping she wouldn’t protest.

  She snuggled back against him in response, and he tightened his arms around her. As he did, his hand brushed her cheek and found it damp. She was crying.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, lightly kissing her shoulder. “Don’t worry, querida. Seville will still be there tomorrow.”

  That was precisely what broke her heart. Seville wouldn’t just be there tomorrow. It would also be there the day after, and the next. Sooner or later, Jess and Fernando would go to Seville, meet with the magistrate, and clear up the paperwork. Then, she’d be back to her ordinary life in America. The one she’d grown accustomed to and which she’d once believed had suited her so well. No one in her life who’d loved her had ever stayed. And now here was someone who adored her, and she was running away. She didn’t know why Fernando had become so taken with her, but she now trusted in his sincerity when he said he had. Why else would he be willing to let her go, unless that was what he believed she needed for her own happiness?

  Jess let the tears quietly fall as she recalled tumbling meadows and the innocence of childhood. There’d been a time when she’d believed in the beauty in this world and had trusted in those who protected her not to hurt her. Jess honestly wasn’t prone to illness and barely ever missed a day at work. However, there’d been one time when she was fifteen that she hadn’t been able to get out of bed for two weeks.

  “Do you know what he said to me?” Jess said softly.

  “Who?” Fernando asked.

  “My father, when he left.”

  “No, what did he say?”

  “He said…” She caught her breath but kept crying, the tears pouring harder. “He said, ‘It’s good you’ve learned love’s an illusion now. It will save you lots of heartache in the future.’”

  “Oh, Jessica. My dear Jessica… Your father was wrong, so very wrong to say that.”

  Her voice was a whimper now, her shoulders lightly rocking with her sobs. “He left me and my mom and never looked back. Not one card. Not one phone call. I don’t even know where he went.”

  Fernando tightened his grip around her, desperately longing to keep her safe. Defended from her past and protected from an uncertain future. He’d provide a future with anything she wanted, if only she could give him her heart.

  “Some men are like that,” he said with a bitter edge to his voice. “And I’m sorry. Sorry on behalf of all of them. But Jessica,” he said, hugging her to him. “You’ve got to believe that not all of us are.”

  “I know,” she said between sobs.

  Fernando held her firmly, not knowing what else he could say or do. And then, after a bit, the crying lessened, and it seemed she was drifting off to sleep.

  “Can we just stay here awhile?” she asked, beginning to doze.

  “For as long as you’d like,” he said, holding her close.

  Ana María entered the kitchen as Fernando was grilling a pan tostado.

  “Making your own breakfast?” Ana María asked with surprise. “Consuelo will be down any minute.”

  “I didn’t want to trouble Consuelo,” Fernando answered, putting the kettle to boil.

  “What’s going on?” his mother asked suspiciously.

  “Jessica’s not feeling well.”

  “Oh dear!” she said with alarm. And then with a knowing nod, she added, “Ah, the morning sickness. It’s begun already.”

  “Isn’t it early?” Fernando asked.

  “Depends on the woman, as well as the pregnancy,” Ana María stated with authority. “With Margarita, I didn’t feel it for months. With you, however, I was sick right away. I chalked it up to conflicting hormones.”

  Fernando felt a flash of pride at the thought of fathering a boy. Though a little girl would be nice too. He stopped himself, realizing he was fantasizing about a pregnancy that didn’t exist. “Mamá, about the baby… I don’t think we should get too carried away or excited.”

  “Posh! Babies are always exciting. Such joys. Just you wait and see, Fernando, when you hold your own child in your arms.”

  He had to admit the thought of having a baby had its appeal, particularly with one beautiful blonde as the mother. She’d look just like the Madonna, with her halo of golden hair. He’d never suspected she was so religious until he’d caught her reading the Bible.

  “Fernando, your toast is burning,” she warned as smoke curled from the oven.

  He hastily withdrew the tray, seeing from its charred contents he’d have to start over.

  “Perhaps you should let Consuelo bring it up after all?” his mother suggested.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he answered, thinking he’d been away from his Madonna too long. What if she awakened and missed having him there?

  “I wonder if he’ll have blue eyes,” Ana María said. “Or green, like yours?”

  “Who?”

  “Your son, of course.”

  “Mother,” he said seriously. “I need to talk to you about the baby—and the marriage too.”

  Her cheeks sagged with concern. �
�What’s happened, Fernando?”

  “It’s maybe what hasn’t,” he said, hanging his head.

  Ana María righted his chin in her hands. “I’m your mother. You can tell me.”

  “You’ll be disappointed,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Do you love her?”

  “What?”

  “Fernando, look at me.”

  He met her warm brown gaze, laced with compassion.

  “I said,” she repeated softly, “do you love her?”

  “With my whole heart, Mamá.”

  “Then, you don’t need to tell me the details. You’re a grown man, and whatever the problem is, I trust that you will fix it.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  She slapped him across the chest, causing him to take a step back in surprise. “Are you a mouse or a man? What happened to the tough little boy who wanted to take on the bulls, eh? That boy,” she said, placing a hand on her hip, “is still in there. Being gored by a bull once didn’t take him away.”

  Fernando admired his mother’s brutal beauty. She was, without question, as tough as any beast he’d ever faced.

  “I understand what you have sacrificed for me. I know you left the ring because you didn’t want to leave me a widow and the mother of a dead child besides. But your heart was there. You loved the sport and were extremely skilled at it too. Maybe even more talented than your grandfather. You were never afraid for yourself, only concerned for me. And now, I am concerned for you. You have to fight for your life, Fernando. Fight for the life you want and the one you believe in your heart you were born to have.”

  He stared at her a long while, swallowing hard. He never could have made it in this world without her. Of all the attributes she possessed, her wisdom was her greatest strength. She was right, of course. About everything.

  “Thanks, Mother,” he said, feeling the heat in his eyes but keeping emotions at bay. “I will take your advice to heart.”

  Jess stumbled across the room, still half dazed from her deep slumber. That infernal telephone had rung half a dozen times—then a pause—then it would start up again! Following the chime and its accompanying vibration, she lurched for a chair beside the picture window onto which Fernando had hastily dropped his trousers last night. Something jiggled and jumped just beneath the open fly. Ah! She grabbed for the cell just in time, midway between ring three and four.