“I remember the dress,” I reply, a little faint.

“I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“You didn’t approach me.”

“No, I didn’t. It would have hardly been appropriate with my reputation. I never thought our paths would cross again, but then there you were. Turning up when I least expected it, flashes of you around Havana—an elbow here, the curve of your neck there, the whirl of your skirts passing me by—the idea of you getting stuck in my head like a tune I couldn’t shake.”

“More romance,” I tease, even as my heart thuds in my chest, because it is starting to sound romantic, and the idea of this man watching me dash around Cuba sends a thrill inside me even though I realize that such things are not enough of a foundation for a happy marriage, for a partnership.

“You want romance, I’ll give you enough romance to make you blush.”

I want more.

“One day, your father sat down across from me at a poker table.”

This is the part of the story I didn’t get. The whispers I heard—Mirta Perez’s father sold her over a card game.

“Did you know when he sat down what you intended to do?”

“No. I don’t believe in much, but something kept throwing you in my path, and I’ve never been one to miss a shot at what I wanted.”

“So you struck a deal for me.”

“I offered to marry you, yes. It seemed a solution to everyone’s problems. Your family needed help—extra funds and favor with Batista—and I wanted, needed—”

He doesn’t say it aloud, but I can finish his thought anyway.

You.

Has anyone ever needed me in all my life until him?

Anthony’s grip on me tightens. “That night in your father’s library, the first night we talked . . .” His eyes gleam. “I wanted to do this . . .”

It’s all I can do to remain still, my throat thick with some emotion I cannot name.

The family I want, the marriage I crave, is within my grasp.

We could be happy together. I could be happy with him.

Now I am the one who is greedy. He speaks of my beauty, my body, but I want all of him.

I want his heart.

Anthony’s cologne fills my nostrils, his body hard in all the places I am soft, evidence of a man who has gotten through life using brute force and brawn.

His lips catch mine as I tilt my head toward him, his tongue parting the seam of my mouth, and I open to him, easing into the kiss.

Nothing in my life so far has prepared me for this. For him.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against my lips, stroking my hair.

I take a deep breath, his ministrations unspooling something tightly wound within me as I grasp my future.

My nightgown drops to the floor, and the look in his eyes sends a thrill through me, my name escaping his lips on a strangled breath as I move toward him.

By the end of the night, I’m officially a wife in every way.

Twenty-Eight

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1935

Elizabeth

I used to be utterly consumed by the thought of death. My mother said it was unnatural for a girl of my position to be so preoccupied with such things, but given my family’s history, I couldn’t help but wonder what my father’s and brother’s final moments were like, whether they knew they were going to die, if there was an instant when they wished they could undo the decision they made, a flash of regret. In my more fanciful moments, I expected warmth, and white light, and angels heralding them to their final destination.

When I died, I felt cold. And darkness.

One moment, I was in the train, holding on to Sam, and the next, I was gone, one thought flitting through my mind before everything went dark—

I don’t want to die.

When I wake, a woman leans over me, her outfit a bright white, a light shining in my eyes. Her voice rings in my ear over and over again.

“Elizabeth—Elizabeth—”

There’s a dull ache in my head, my throat scratchy and dry. My body throbs, an ugly bruise on my hand. Another one on my wrist. I try to lift my arms, but I can’t move, I—

Panic fills me.

“Elizabeth.”

I swallow, blinking, gazing beyond the nurse to a spot over her shoulder, a now familiar voice.

Sam.

He takes my hand.

The nurse speaks, but it sounds like she’s far away, as though I am submerged in water.

The train—

“Water—”

“Do you want some water?” she asks.

I shake my head, trying again, the words a jumble in my mind. “Water. There was water.”

“The storm carried us away,” Sam interjects. “A wave came. It flooded the train car. You were tossed around when the wave crashed over us, and you hit your head against the side of the car. You were unconscious.”

“I was underwater.”

“You nearly drowned.”

“Where am I?”

“A hospital in Miami,” Sam answers. “A Coast Guard cutter brought us up here. They’ve been evacuating people from Matecumbe Key to the mainland. They took you out as soon as possible because you’re injured.”

“I’ll give you a few moments,” the nurse says, her heels clipping against the floor until the door shuts gently behind her and we are alone.

“It happened so quickly.” He squeezes my hand. “The storm surge overtook the train, and the cars filled with water. I held on as best as I could, tried to hold on to you. All around me people were doing the same thing. One minute you were with me, and then you were gone. The current was too strong. It ripped me away. It’s a miracle we didn’t drown.”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“I’ve never been so scared in my life. The evacuation train . . .” His jaw twitches. “It was swept off the tracks. Some people made it out through the windows, some held on to the tracks and the train, but many were swept up by the ocean and drowned.”

“All those people—the children.”

“No one knows yet how many died. They’re still trying to locate survivors, uncover bodies.” He pauses. “It’s bad out there. The recovery is going to be a long and arduous process. It seems like the storm swept in and took everything with it. It’s a wasteland.