When We Left Cuba(46)
“You’re worried about my reputation?” His tone is fairly incredulous.
I shrug. “You’re the one with something to lose.”
“And what about your reputation?”
“I told you. I have no plans to marry. As long as my reputation doesn’t trouble my family overmuch, I don’t really care what people say about me here.”
“Because this is just temporary. Because you’re still planning on returning to Cuba.”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing here. I wasn’t a monk before, but I’ve never been involved with someone so—”
“Young?” I finish for him.
“That’s part of it, but not everything.”
“Innocent?” It’s a struggle to say the word with a straight face. Despite my lack of sexual experience, I find it hard to believe anyone would describe me thusly.
“No, I guess I just don’t want to complicate your life.”
“Don’t worry on that front. Fidel already complicated it for you.”
“I don’t want to be the thing you use to make yourself forget, either. To numb the pain.”
“You’re not.”
“Where does that leave us then?” he asks.
“Why do we have to worry about that? Can’t we just keep this private, between us?”
“So there’s an ‘us’ now?”
“You tell me. I’m not the one with the fiancée. I don’t want to hurt her, either, although I suppose we’re already far past that.”
“I know. It’s not like that. I know how that sounds. How seedy the whole thing sounds. But it’s not—we’re not—she doesn’t love me. I don’t love her. It’s not about that. I don’t want to hurt her, either, don’t want to cause any gossip that will embarrass her. Or my family. Or you.”
“Then we probably shouldn’t be standing on the beach together. Take me somewhere,” I say recklessly.
* * *
? ? ?
Nick leads me down the beach, past the mansions shuttered until their inhabitants return. We stop in front an empty house on a stretch of beach near the Breakers.
My family and I live in a less fashionable section of the island, although, really, there are no bad neighborhoods to be had. Once you cross the bridge, you’re automatically in an enclave of wealth and privilege.
“Whose place is this?” I ask.
A spacious veranda and pool deck lined in hedges overlooks the water, the house set back a bit, the entire rear portion of the mansion a wall of enormous glass doors. It must be incredible to watch the sun rise and set from such a vantage point.
“It’s mine,” he answers, a touch of pride in his voice. “I bought it a couple months ago. I had my attorney offer on it when it came on the market in October.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It was the view that sold me. I imagined myself standing out here, listening to the waves crash. I was in the throes of the campaign, and the idea of finding some peace and quiet here was extremely persuasive. My family has a home on the island, but there’s little solace to be had there. Relatives pop in and out all the time, the rooms filled with guests and interlopers. I figured it was time I found a place of my own.”
“I can imagine. Sometimes I just want to escape my house a bit. My morning walks give me the chance to clear my head. It can be both a blessing and a curse being surrounded by family.”
“Yes, it can. Do you want to take a look around?”
“I’d love that,” I answer, even as I wonder if seeing this will make it worse. Will I now be able to envision him here with his fiancée?
“Katherine’s father wishes to gift us a house as a wedding present when we do eventually marry,” he adds as though he can hear the thoughts running through my mind.
“And this house?”
It hardly looks like a love nest with its vaulted ceilings and elegant fixtures, but is that what this is? An expensive house in which to situate a mistress?
“An investment. An indulgence. When I marry, perhaps I’ll sell it or rent it out to those who come down for the season.” His expression turns serious. “It’s not what you think. I knew the family that owned it before, and I always loved this house. When it came on the market, my friend mentioned it in passing, and the idea of having my own place, of being able to relax, was eminently persuasive.
“And yes, perhaps I imagined you standing on the balcony next to me. I hoped when we saw each other again, we would have the opportunity to do so. I’ve thought of you every day since we parted in New York.”
I’ve been on the receiving end of some truly magnificent flattery, but it is the truth in his words that speaks to me most. After being surrounded by subterfuge, his honesty is a welcome change, even when the very nature of our relationship demands secrecy and discretion.
I take his hand. “Show me the rest of the house.”
I follow him from room to room, our fingers linked. The marble floor is cool against my bare feet, the furniture covered in crisp white sheets.
“The staff hasn’t opened the house for me yet. I’ve been staying at the Breakers. It was easier than trying to get a household set up from Washington. Plus I was eager to get down here.” He hooks his arm around my waist, his lips brushing my temple. “Desperate to see you.”