“There was money,” he confesses.

“A great deal?”

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe I want to know what I’m worth to you.”

“Everything.”

The way he says it—the conviction in his voice—I almost believe him.

“You sacrificed yourself to save your family. I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself in this marriage, too.”

“I wanted to be married. To have a family.”

Even if I envisioned myself having a little more say in my choice of spouse.

“You wanted to escape,” he says.

“Maybe I did.”

All along, I saw myself being marched to this marriage, but truthfully, I wanted what Anthony represents—the potential for a family, a home of my own, security—even if the strings attached to him still give me pause.

“My business won’t touch you. I promise you that. You are the most precious thing to me.”

It seems like a serious statement to make for such a short acquaintance, and I don’t trust his words entirely, but they fill me with pleasure, even if I can’t discount the misgivings inside me.

This time, I’m the one who moves, who closes the distance between us. I wrap my arms around his neck once more, pulling his head down toward me, kissing him like he taught me last night, swallowing the sharp inhale of breath that escapes his lips as soon as we touch.

“I might like being married,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it. I know I will.”

A flush spreads over my cheeks, and I shiver, goose bumps rising over my skin.

Anthony releases me with a sigh. “Why don’t you change out of these wet clothes? I need to talk to Gus to see the latest update on the storm.”

With another kiss, I leave him and go upstairs, undressing and getting into the bath one of the maids drew for me.

Outside, rain pounds the windows.

I slip deeper into the water, staring up at the ceiling, running the washcloth and soap over my body.

A knock sounds at the door. “Can I come in?” Anthony calls out.

“Yes.”

The door opens, and he walks inside the small room.

Nerves fill me at this new intimacy between us, but Anthony says nothing of my current nude state.

He sits on the chair near the vanity, a few feet away from the edge of the bathtub. “I spoke with Gus. People are worried about the storm. It could be a bad one. We’re going to bring the porch furniture inside. Start boarding up the windows. We should be able to finish before the storm hits.”

“Does Gus think we’re in danger?”

“I don’t know. I figure you have more experience with these storms than I do. The locals seem concerned, so I’m inclined to take it seriously.” He grimaces. “Some honeymoon. When we’re back in New York, when things have settled down, I’ll take you to Europe. Have you been to Paris?”

“I haven’t.”

There were those of our acquaintance back in Cuba who traveled there each season, purchasing the latest European fashions, but by the time I was old enough for us to do so, our fortunes were already far too precarious for such a frivolous thing.

“I want to make you happy,” he says, the worry in his eyes suggesting such a thing is not as easy as one would like. “I want to give you the life you deserve.”

Anthony leans over the edge of the bathtub, kissing my forehead, but there’s little passion in the motion, and I can tell he’s distracted by the weather update. “I’m going to get to work on the storm preparations. Make sure everything is done properly. The housekeeper left dinner out for you whenever you’re ready to head downstairs. Don’t worry about waiting for me to eat. This might take a while.”

I finish bathing after he leaves and change into one of the few outfits I brought with me from my old life in Havana, a pale pink dress my mother and I bought together years ago at El Encanto. The fabric is soft from so many washings over the years, and there is a loose thread near the hem that I snip off with a pair of petite embroidery scissors from my sewing kit, but it smells like home.

I place a quick phone call to my family, exchanging a few words with my brother before he passes the phone to our father. They’re unsure if the storm will hit Havana and are readying for potential landfall. Tears fill my eyes as we say good-bye, the sound of my father’s voice bringing a fierce sensation of home and all I am missing.

I eat alone in the cavernous dining room, my gaze flicking to the seat Anthony occupied this morning. Outside, the sound of rain and men moving furniture around fills the night, the occasional shout or exclamation punctuating their efforts.

I gather some of the food the housekeeper prepared and left for us in the kitchen and take it with me to the front porch, setting it up on the tables they’ve yet to drag inside. The rain is coming down slanted now, some of it creeping inside the porch, but the overhang provides enough cover to keep the food safe from the elements.

I’ve learned how unpredictable storms can be—they can come in with a roar and peter out to nothing, or creep in slowly and catch you unaware—but if the weather tonight is any indication, it’s an ominous harbinger of a nasty one indeed.

I search for Anthony near the front of the house, where some of the men are working on boarding up the windows, but he’s nowhere to be found.

It takes a few trips to get the food all set out, but the housekeeper likely had the same idea I did and made enough to feed an army.

My gaze falls on the man I encountered earlier on my walk to the beach. He is standing apart from the crowd preparing for the storm, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“There’s food on the porch if you’re hungry,” I call out to him. He acknowledges my comment with a tip of his hat and a clipped nod before he pushes off from the house and disappears entirely.

A moment later, Anthony comes into view, his clothes sticking to his skin, his hair slicked back from the rain, sleeves rolled up on his dress shirt. His normally elegant appearance has been replaced by a rougher version of him, sweat and rain on his brow, dirt on his face and clothes. He hardly seems like the millionaire he is reported to be and more like the men with whom he shares a good-natured laugh before his gaze drifts to the porch and me.

He bounds the stairs in two quick steps.

The men hang back, as if awaiting his command.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” Anthony says. “Did you eat?”

“I did. I—I missed you at dinner. I wasn’t sure how long you would be out here, but I figured you all would be hungry. My father and brother used to help out when a storm was coming, and—”