Storms are hardly a novel occurrence in Cuba, and while my family will be prepared, I’ve lived through enough hurricanes to fear them.

“Are we safe here?” Anthony asks Gus. “The Key West newspaper said it’s a few hundred miles away.”

“We might see some winds, rain. Water will be choppy. You won’t want to take the boat out. Hopefully, the worst we’ll get is a day or so of bad weather. I’ll watch the barometer to see if the pressure falls and keep an ear out on the radio. Talk to some people. The fishermen spend their lives on the water. I’d trust their word over that of the Weather Bureau any day. Worst case if it does get bad, we can board up the windows.”

In Cuba, the staff handled our storm preparations, but I remember my father’s worry over the damage the storm could do to the sugar crop, his livelihood frequently threatened by weather and politics.

Gus excuses himself, and we are alone once more.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Anthony asks me.

“I haven’t any.”

“You could walk on the beach again. Better to get in as much good weather as we can.”

He frames the idea as though we are to spend the day apart, and while his suggestion isn’t uncommon—my father certainly spent his days away from my mother, content to occupy his time with work or his social circle—the notion of being married to a stranger, of welcoming a stranger into my bed, is hardly appealing.

“Perhaps we could spend some time together today,” I suggest. “Get to know each other better.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to know me better—yet.”

“We’re married. We’re to spend our lives together. It seems only natural.”

Even if everything about this situation is entirely unnatural.

“Then what do you want to know?” Anthony asks.

“How do you picture our lives together? How will we spend our days once we are in New York?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. This concerns you?”

“No, I suppose I have a hard time imagining what my days will be like. I always saw myself as a wife, but that was in Cuba. With my family and friends around me. I thought I’d marry one of the boys I grew up with, and we’d move into a house down the street from my parents.”

“You didn’t want to leave.”

“I agreed to marry you,” I say evenly, reluctant to untangle the giant gnarl of emotions inside me. It’s not as simple as whether or not I wanted to leave home. The future afforded to me given my family’s fall from grace was a narrow one, and I took the best opportunity I could, even if it’s hardly the future I envisioned for myself.

“While I enjoyed the time I spent in Havana,” Anthony replies, “my business is in New York, and if I am absent for too long, my enemies tend to get restless, try to move in on what’s mine. I’ve already lingered longer than I should have.”

A shiver slides down my spine at the word “enemies.”

“Have you many?”

“Enemies?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose. You don’t get rich without leaving some bodies along the way.”

I realize I must have gone pale by the chuckle that escapes his lips.

“I’ve unsettled you, my little proper society wife.” His gaze narrows speculatively. “I take it you did read some of the articles in the paper. The world I live in really isn’t all that different from politics. People want power because they think it makes them untouchable. They’ll do anything they can to make sure that power is never taken away from them.”

“Does your power make you untouchable?”

“No one is untouchable. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. That’s the thing about power—you never have enough. It always keeps you wanting more.”

“I suppose if you put it like that, it’s not all that different from the social whirl,” I muse, trying to lighten the mood, remembering the unspoken hierarchy in Havana, the power we wielded with a flutter of our skirts and a snap of our fans. Better that than the memories of bodies on the roadside, insects buzzing around them, the scent of death and decay that comes from power.

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” Anthony replies. “I watched you out and about in Havana. I saw how heads turned when you walked by. Even after your family’s scandal, you were still a force to be reckoned with in the city. You’ll do fine in New York.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“You will. And at the end of the day, if they don’t like you, it won’t matter. They will respect you.”

“Because I’m your wife?”

“Yes.”

“It must be nice to be so confident,” I remark, my tone dry.

“It was a hard-fought skill, I assure you.” He leans in as though he’s telling me a secret. “I was rather scrawny when I was younger. I know a thing or two about being powerless, poor, remember it well enough to never want to be in that position again.”

“And now they all fear you.”

“Not all of them.”

“But enough of them.”

He doesn’t bother contradicting me.

“Still,” I reply. “It sounds exhausting.”

“What do you mean?”

“All those enemies must come at a cost. Do you ever get tired of paying it? Don’t you worry one of your enemies will strike at you?”

My father believed he was untouchable once, thought Machado’s friendship would keep his fortunes secure. He never saw the coming wave of power that ushered in Batista, never envisioned our futures would end as they have. If the last two years have taught me anything, it’s that your life can change in a moment even if you never saw it coming.

“This is hardly a conversation for one’s honeymoon. Would you like to go for a short walk?” Anthony says, changing the subject. “I have some business to conduct, but I have a few minutes beforehand.”

“I didn’t realize your business interests were significant here.”

“It’s a useful shipping route.”

What is he shipping?

“Are we to have the sort of marriage where we confide in each other? Tell each other our secrets?” I ask.

“Have you secrets I should know about?”

I shrug, registering how his gaze drifts to my shoulder with the motion.