by Ginny Baird
“Please tell me you’re in Seville.”
“Evie?” Jess said with surprise. “What are you doing calling me here?”
“I had the number from your incoming call. What do you think?”
Jess pushed Fernando’s slacks aside, sat in the chair, and rubbed her brow. “I think it’s nine in the morning. What’s your point?”
“My point is, I just woke up with the most horrible nightmare. I had visions of you telling me the whole trip was off.”
“What trip?” Jess said, feigning innocence.
“To Seville, you big dummy!”
“It is off,” Jess said. “But not like you think.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying I need to spend the day in bed.”
“Jess…” Evie said, her voice pitched low, “now’s not the time to turn into a sex machine.”
“A what? No! You don’t understand. I have a headache.”
“What?”
“And a stomach ache too. Really, my tummy’s killing me.”
“You never get sick.”
“I know. That’s the kicker.”
There was an odd pause at the other end of the line.
“Where’s the matador?” Evie finally said.
Jess panned the room, peering into the bathroom as well.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Good. Then you can tell me the truth.”
“I just did.”
“You’re playing possum, Jess.”
Jess sat up a little straighter, indignant. “I take offense at what you’re saying.”
“I thought you told me there was some sort of timeline going on here.”
“Well… Maybe.”
“That you had to get to the magistrate to stop him from sending the paperwork to Madrid.”
Jess’s eyes fell on the Bible, midway across the room. “We’re still married in the eyes of the church.”
“Now you’re talking crazy.”
Jess heard whistling in the hall and knew Fernando was coming. He pressed open the door, carrying a plentiful tray. “Breakfast is served!” he said with a flourish. His eyes fell on hers as she frantically gripped the phone.
“Jess!” Evie yelped.
“Gotta dash!” Jess said, quickly hitting End Call.
“Who was that?” Fernando asked, setting the tray on a table.
“Only my very best friend on earth, Evie.”
“Splendid,” he said with a smile. “She’ll have to come and visit.”
Eve shoved garments 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. Given that you may never go there again, I’d hate for you not to take full advantage of the trip.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Only one thing.”
She waited expectantly.
“That before we go to the magistrate, you allow me to show you something.”
“Like…?” she pressed.
“Just something,” he said, holding firm.
There was plenty he intended to show her. Given her devout nature, starting with the Cathedral of Seville. Then there’d be a long walk by the river. Perhaps a lazy lunch in the Barrio de Santa Cruz… Oh! He’d forgotten the Giralda, a lovely Moorish tower adjoining the Cathedral and once belonging to the ancient mosque that had previously stood in its place. There was also the Tower of Gold, the Archives of the Indies, the Royal Alcazar…
“All right,” she agreed, “but how long will that take?”
“That’s hard to say,” he offered. “Better pack an overnight bag.”
****
Chapter Nine
Jes
s didn’t have a whole lot to put in an overnight bag. When she’d run off with Fernando to La Esperanza del Corazón, she’d left most of her things in the business apartment in Madrid. She’d been flying back and forth so frequently, the home office had set her up with a semipermanent spot. The neat little efficiency apartment was a short walk to Retiro Park and a block from the Prado, not that she often had time to take in the sights during her hurried business trips. There were so many meetings to attend, with principle players and corporate affiliates all vying for her attention. Global Financial Telecom was in the come home to papa business, and everyone in the industry knew it. Smaller entities absorbed by GFT were favored by a worldwide reach and saw their stock values double overnight. Jess didn’t really mind being in the takeover business when the other parties were all so eager to jump. Besides, she’d enjoyed the people she’d met, all of whom were intelligent and interesting. Only one had been devastatingly handsome, and had made her heart skip a beat each time he’d met her eyes with his piercing green gaze.
While she never let on, the truth was that, over time, Jess increasingly looked forward to her little jaunts to Madrid. She and Fernando didn’t just converse, they verbally jousted. And she’d found herself more aroused, and her interest more piqued, by each sparring encounter. He just may have been trying to talk up his firm’s market price, but he did so in a way that Jess found unbearably enticing. She’d never seen a wedding band and had heard rumors on both sides of the Atlantic about the ultra-eligible man being single. Still, she never would have considered making a move. That simply wasn’t her. Besides, how messy that would be, becoming involved with a business colleague who lived an ocean away! Given her abysmal track record with men, anything more than a simple flirtation wasn’t worth the risk. Now, she was married. Married.
Jess folded her cream-colored slacks in half and tucked them in her bag. Given the pitcher of sangria or two she’d downed in preparation, it seemed stunningly prescient that she’d packed a wardrobe exclusively in shades of white. She hadn’t known straightaway they were going to La Esperanza del Corazón to get hitched. Fernando had asked her only two questions. One, did she feel like doing something wild. And two, would she like to see where he came from. Both sounded unbelievably reckless and exciting. They left late-night voice mails to their respective offices saying Jess was touring the south with Fernando to evaluate some of his business holdings. In a way, that had been true, Jess decided, thinking of the vineyard.
Why Fernando had whisked her into town and wanted to show her that little church courtyard in the middle of the night, she couldn’t anticipate. It seemed as if he hadn’t totally planned it either. Because his bumping into Father Domingo there had appeared a legitimate surprise. Not half an hour later, Fernando was asking her to marry him, and she’d be damned if, at that moment, it didn’t seem exactly right. He was so handsome standing there in the moonlight. And when he held her and made her promises… Jess felt her knees weaken at the memory of that very first time. She was glad she’d had the foresight to pack several nighties, two of which she tossed in her suitcase now.
Jess stared down at the heap of clothes in her bag, thinking it didn’t precisely look like she was packing for an annulment. She gingerly dangled a white silk thong from one finger, considering whether she should take it back out. That could depend entirely on what she anticipated might happen on this trip. Jess dug through her larger bag until she found several more skimpy undergarments, deciding to bring them along. Truth was, none of these items took up much space. One way or another, it was best to be prepared.
Fernando steadied his arms around her and nestled her back against his chest as she gazed at the panorama. “So what do you think?” he whispered in her ear.
“It’s stunning,” she said, still a bit breathless from the steep climb up the numerous ramps.
They stood at the pinnacle of La Giralda, the original minaret from the old Moorish mosque that once stood in the place of Seville’s enormous cathedral. Rumor held that when the Catholics drove the Moors from Spain, they’d razed everything connected to Islam, save a few lovely relics they’d found too abundantly beautiful to destroy. There was the Alhambra Palace in Granada, the famed mosque in Córdoba, and this charming tower here, which the Catholics had bastardized by transforming the place once used for calling Muslims to prayer into a bell tower aimed at beckoning Catholics to mass.
It was a warm and sunny afternoon, a comfortable glow settling over the ancient part of the city and the whitewashed former Jewish Quarter flanking La Giralda’s edge. All afternoon, they’d meandered cobblestoned streets, stopping here and there for a chilled white sherry or a pitcher of sangria, with small rations of snacks, or tapas, offered on the side. Fernando had checked them into a nice hotel with a lovely courtyard behind a wrought-iron gate, stating it was never wise to do business in Seville in the afternoon. Seeing a magistrate was best reserved for the severity of morning, before people had enjoyed their midday meal, a nice bottle of wine, and the accompanying siesta. With him being the local and all, and more familiar with the landscape, Jess had naturally decided to defer to his judgment. They clearly couldn’t have some magistrate mucking things up on account of a good Rioja.
Fernando pointed out other landmarks around them, including the buildings of a more modern Seville across the waters of the Guadalquivir, and the remnants of an ancient maritime fortress situated on this side of its banks.
“I thought tonight we’d take in a flamenco show,” he told her.
“But we saw one of those in Madrid.”
“Imposters!” he declared with a laugh. “Flamenco comes from the south. It’s a blend of historical regional dance influenced by our Moorish cousins. What you saw in Madrid is adequate but for the tourists. What I’ll take you to here, you’ll also see children dance in the streets, especially at Feria.”
“Feria?”
“It’s the big festival in the spring, connected to the sherry harvest. You’d love it, I think.”
She gazed back at him over her shoulder, captivated by hypnotic green eyes.
“There are lots of horses…” he tempted.
“Why are you so sure I like horses?”
“Because,” he said, giving her a little squeeze, “I’ve seen how you ride.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“Like a woman who was born to the saddle,” he said, giving her neck a kiss.
A group of school children had paraded onto the parapet. A couple pointed and giggled at Fernando’s public display of affection while their teacher scorched them with a disapproving glare.
“Come on,” he said, breaking away and taking her hand. “Let’s go have a late lunch.”
“And think about taking a siesta?” she asked hopefully.
“Absolutely,” he said with a grin.
Eve gawked as the cabbie pulled through the gate of the expansive hacienda.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Casa Garcia de la Vega, sí.”
“Maybe we’ve got the wrong one.”
“There’s only one family in town with that name.”
He came to a halt at the height of the circular drive between a flowering rose garden and an imposing front door. For the first time since she’d book her Iberia flight, Eve felt a sense of panic. What if she’d done the wrong thing in coming here? What if these people were lunatics and stocked the place like a fortress with knives and guns? Even worse, what if they were terribly good people, high-bred and well-mannered, and Jess became furious at her for becoming involved? Eve swallowed hard and stepped from the cab, thinking it was no time to chicken out now.
She rapped three times, and, after what seemed like an eternity, an old man in dirty britches and holding garden tools answered. “Bueno?” he said by way of greeting.
“Ah yes,” she answered in crisp, clear Castilian. Eve was very proud of herself for being the first one in her class in Spanish Four. The fact that this had been in
high school didn’t diminish the fact. “I was hoping to find Ms. Jessica Bloom at home.”
He lowered his brow and stared at her. “No existe.”
She didn’t exist? Oh my God! They had killed her! Eve frantically glanced around, wishing with all her might she’d asked the taxi driver to wait. Here she was, a million miles from nowhere, with the gardener from some maniac family holding murderous shears. She stared down at his hedge clippers, thinking she spied hints of dried blood. Maybe it was red Spanish clay. She wasn’t sure but certainly wasn’t ready to take the chance. Eve took two giant steps back, nearly stumbling down the stone stairs.
The old man surveyed her cautiously, then began to close the door.
“Pedrito!” a woman’s voice called from inside. “Who’s there?”
The man stepped aside, his keen eye on Eve, almost like he believed her to be the dangerous party.
“Hello,” the elegant middle-aged woman said. “I’m Ana María Garcia de la Vega. How may I help you?”
“I’m Eve. Eve Parker,” she said, extending her hand.
Ana María shook it, appearing vaguely uncomfortable with the gesture.
“You come from America?”
“In search of my friend, Jessica Bloom. Last I heard, she was here.”
Ana María smiled pleasantly. “She’s a Garcia de la Vega now.”
“So I heard,” Eve said, willing herself to remain calm.
“And yes, she was here, but I’m afraid she’s not now. She and Fernando have gone to Seville.”
“Thank God!” Eve cried, unable to stop herself. She cupped her hand to her mouth, recalling she was in a very Catholic country.