The Spaniard's Marriage Demand
May 2004—The Port of Vigo, Northern Spain.
"NO! I don't care what you say to me or even if you never speak to me again, Emilia, but I'm not going to break off my own research for my book and hare off to God only knows where in pursuit of some surly, ego-centric film director who may or may not be where you say he'll be and most certainly wouldn't give me an im-promptu interview even if I professed to be dying!"
Sucking in a deep, irritated breath following her pas-sionate tirade to her sister over the phone, Isabella tapped her fingernails impatiently on the hotel reception desk where she'd taken the call and sensed a trickle of sweat meander slowly down her back. It felt like warm glue. It might be raining yet again but the dead heat was relentless. Right now she'd sell her soul for a cool shower and a cold drink followed by a lie down in her very plain but peaceful little room to gather her thoughts and perhaps catch a nap before doing some work. She'd been walking all day interviewing pilgrims on the famous route to Santiago de Compostela. Her back ached and her feet hurt but she was buoyed up by the companionship and enthusiasm of the pi ... read full excerpt from: The Spaniard's Marriage Demand ebook
