When We Left Cuba(39)
We don’t let go of each other for the rest of the night.
* * *
? ? ?
We spend my last day in New York drinking champagne naked in bed, dining on chilled lobster and a thick cut of filet mignon. We don’t speak of politics, or his fiancée, or Fidel, or the future, but I learn some of the answers to the questions that have filled my mind about him, and he learns some Beatriz secrets, too.
“Tell me about your family,” he says.
“My family?”
“I’m curious.”
“It’s really not that exciting.”
“Now why do I have a hard time believing that? I’ve seen your sisters in action.”
I laugh.
“What was your brother like?” he asks, his tone gentler.
“He was fun. When we were younger, he always had a trick up his sleeve, always wanted to go in search of an adventure. He was charming. And he was kind. We all spoiled him, of course; he was the only boy with four sisters. He loved it.”
“It’s nice to be able to be friends with your siblings. You’re lucky in that. It isn’t always so.”
“My sisters have always been my friends. And Alejandro was my best friend. I don’t know how to describe it, but we understood each other in a way no one else in the family did. Maybe it was a twin thing.”
“You must miss him terribly.”
“Always. It feels wrong to move on with my life knowing he won’t ever have the opportunity to do so.”
Nick brushes a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell me about your family,” I say.
Nick leans back against the headboard.
“My family is big and loud, and full of expectations and plans.”
“Was the Senate one of their plans?”
“It would be easier if I could say that, wouldn’t it? No, that one was all my own. Sometimes I curse myself for it, but mostly I’m grateful for it. My work in the Senate saved me.”
“How so?”
“When I came back from Europe, I was lost. During the war, I was surrounded by men who fought for the same things I did. There was a brotherhood there. It disappeared when I came home.”
“And the Senate gave that back to you?”
“I suppose it did.”
“I never got the impression senators were so chummy.”
“We are and we aren’t. And still, we’re working toward a common cause. I missed that sense of purpose when I came back.”
“Why politics?”
“I’m in a unique position. I was born into a family that hasn’t had to struggle for the basic things other people in this country are fighting for. I have a platform and a voice thanks to my last name, and I want to use it to do some good in this world. I saw firsthand what comes of not speaking up for what you believe in when I was fighting in Europe, what silence can do to a man, and I want to make the world better than I found it.”
“Is it true what they say? That you dream of being president one day?”
He shoots me a wry grin. “If you’re going to have a goal, why not make it a big one? At the moment, though, I’m just hoping for reelection. It’s not my time to run for the presidency, yet, and besides, the party is in good hands.”
“You’re friends with Kennedy, aren’t you?”
“So you did ask about me.”
I laugh. “Let’s just say it’s hard to make it through a season without hearing the name ‘Nicholas Preston’ on everyone’s lips. They say you and Kennedy are great friends.”
“He’s a great man. He’ll be a good president, will lead this country in the direction we need to go.”
“And after that?”
Nick smiles. “Perhaps one day it will be my time.”
“You’ll need to be careful, then. Future presidents can’t afford scandals.”
“No, they can’t.”
“You’ll need the right wife. The right family. The right image.”
“Yes, I will. I do.”
I swallow.
“Are there others? Other women like me?”
Even as I fear his answer, I make myself ask the question, because I will not go into this with anything less than my eyes wide open. He would hardly be the first man to have a woman in public and others in private.
“Have there been other women? Yes.”
I’m hardly surprised, yet I appreciate the honesty between us.
“There aren’t any other women now. There haven’t been for some time.” He sighs. “I wish I’d met you a year ago. I wish I’d met you before I made promises.”
“We shouldn’t do this again.”
“No, we probably shouldn’t,” he agrees.
chapter fourteen
We say good-bye in my hotel room, one last kiss between us, Nick’s arms wrapped around my waist, the body I’ve gotten to know so well pressed against mine, the business card with his private number scrawled on it clutched in my hand. Once Nick is gone, I head downstairs to the hotel bar, where Mr. Dwyer and I agreed to discuss my meeting with Fidel.
“I heard it went well with Castro last night,” Dwyer says by way of greeting when I sit across from him at the table.