When We Left Cuba(53)

She returns my glare, but offers no more comments about the bracelet, and the rest of the car ride passes mostly in silence, save for our mother’s occasional one-sided chatter about tonight’s festivities. Our father is largely silent in the car beside her, his presence in the family a distant one. When my brother was alive, our father was more engaged, but now he is surrounded by women, and despite the love I know he feels for all of us, he treats us as though we inhabit a mysterious world and are best left to our own devices.

We arrive fashionably late, which really isn’t so fashionable considering everyone else imitates the same unwritten rule until we’re all tardy, the impact lessened as we push into the room at the same time.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

I turn at the familiar voice at my ear, my social smile converted to a real one at the sight of Eduardo in a tuxedo.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” I say as we exchange customary air-kisses.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but my plans changed.”

“I haven’t seen you in months.”

He smiles. “Have you missed me?”

“Perhaps a bit,” I tease. “Is everything fine?” I take a step closer to him, my voice lowering to avoid being overheard.

My family has been swept up in the crowd, leaving the two of us alone, but I swear I can feel my mother’s gaze on me, following my every move.

Eduardo nods.

“Where have you been?”

He hesitates. “Miami.”

Nick’s earlier words come back to me.

There are rumors that there are pilots training in Miami.

“You’re going to Cuba,” I whisper.

Eduardo doesn’t answer me. His gaze rests on the diamond bracelet on my arm.

It was foolish to have worn it tonight. Foolish to have given in to my emotions, to missing Nick and needing the connection between us. I should have left the bracelet in my jewelry box at home.

I pull back, dropping my arm to my side.

Eduardo steps toward me. He snags my wrist, the pads of his fingers rubbing the diamonds.

“Everyone is talking about you,” he murmurs.

I tear my gaze away from him and glance around the room. There are, indeed, quite a few eyes cast our way. Is it the proximity of our bodies? Do they think we are lovers? And why do they care? For all of Eduardo’s popularity, neither one of us is particularly prominent in these circles. Besides, there are far more interesting scandals to be had.

“What are you . . .”

My voice trails off.

People aren’t just staring at Eduardo and me. They’re staring at Eduardo and me, but their attention also darts to a couple on the opposite side of the room, and then back again, as though they’re watching a particularly competitive bout of tennis.

I cannot help but look, either: at a beautiful blond debutante and her handsome fiancé.

Nick’s gaze meets mine across the ballroom, and a myriad of emotions cross his face—guilt, confusion, anger—as his gaze rests on the point where my arm is linked with Eduardo’s.



* * *



? ? ?

    It takes every ounce of self-restraint mixed with a healthy dollop of the training I’ve received from Mr. Dwyer to tear my gaze away from Nick’s. I take Eduardo’s arm with a false smile on my lips, my head held high as I accompany him onto the balcony for some air.

Eduardo wasn’t wrong—everyone watches our progress, and whatever I thought of my reputation, it’s clear it is in tatters.

Nick lied to me.

He said he would be in Washington; he told me he couldn’t make it to Palm Beach this weekend.

He lied to me.

“Beatriz.”

There’s pity in Eduardo’s voice as he says my name—pity and worry.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

I will be fine.

I knew this would happen eventually, that he wasn’t mine to keep. I knew all of this, and still, it hurts.

“People are talking,” Eduardo urges.

“I see that now.” I’m not even angry with Nick; I’m angry with myself. I should have known better. I do know better. I was so busy playing house; I stuck my head in the sand at a time when I should have been more cautious.

“Are the rumors true?” Eduardo asks.

“What are you doing in Miami?” I counter.

“Beatriz.”

“You want to do this? You get my cooperation with Castro. You don’t get the rest of it.”

“I thought we were friends first,” Eduardo replies. “I’m concerned about you.”

“We are friends. And if you’re my friend, you won’t ask me about this.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m fine. What is happening in Miami?”

“You are impossibly stubborn.”

“You used to think that was one of my most charming qualities.”

“I used to think a lot of things.”

“Miami?”

There’s no place for a broken heart in all of this.

“You already have an inkling, don’t you?” His tone is faintly mocking. “What is it? Pillow talk?”