“Kennedy won Connecticut,” Maria announces triumphantly, jotting down the result on her pad. “He leads in the popular vote, too.”

I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, even as a pang of sadness hits me.

How will she feel when we return to Havana? Even in the best of circumstances, it’s hard to imagine our country won’t undergo a massive transformation period. Will she be able to experience the same level of freedom the Americans enjoy in their country? Will her vote truly matter in Cuba one day?

Change is all around us, both at home and here, and where I once fought so hard for change, now I must admit I fear it, a bit. Change is good in principle, but there is no guarantee in terms of what you will end up with, and I wouldn’t wish our experience with Fidel on my worst enemy.

Tonight, the trend seems to be a growing movement toward a new guard replacing the old, a slate of handsome, young, privileged men with heroic military backgrounds ushered in on the wave of Kennedy’s enthusiasm and success. Nick would fare well in such a climate, and I wonder where he is tonight, if he’s sitting beside his friend Jack Kennedy in Hyannis Port waiting for the results, or if he’s home in Connecticut surrounded by his family and fiancée.

“The race is tightening,” Maria declares, the pencil between her teeth now.

“I’m going to sleep,” our mother announces, sweeping from the room in a cloud of Chanel with a pat on the head for Maria and a nod for Isabel and me. Given our one-sided conversation about my prospects, I receive a frown my sisters don’t.

“Senator Kennedy is still leading,” Isabel says once our mother has left the room. “And the Senate results?”

I flush, staring down at the silk couch to avert my gaze from my sister’s prying eyes, running my fingers along the floral pattern.

“I imagine they will come later,” I reply.

“Things would probably be easier if he didn’t win,” Isabel whispers.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Quiet,” Maria admonishes. “I can’t hear. Vice President Nixon is about to speak.”

Isabel ignores her. “Beatriz.”

“Isabel.” I mimic her tone as I did when we were younger just to annoy her.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asks.

“Right now? I’m watching the election coverage with my sisters.”

“You’re not going to be watching with your sisters for much longer if you both don’t be quiet,” Maria hisses through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be obtuse,” Isabel snaps, ignoring Maria once more.

Of all of my siblings, Isabel and I have always been the most likely to butt heads, our personalities the most distinct. There is an ease to Elisa, a youth to Maria, and my brother was the other half of me. But Isabel is surprisingly obstinate despite her reticence, and we’ve always been oil and water.

“Don’t presume to know my affairs.”

“Quiet,” Maria interjects again.

“I saw you with him during the season,” Isabel retorts, disapproval dripping from her voice.

“That was months ago. Do you think I’ve been carrying a torch for a man I saw a few times in a crowded ballroom?”

“And next month? When they all return to Palm Beach?”

Have I thought about how it will feel to see Nick again? Of course. Have I wondered if he thinks of me? If he regrets those days between us? If he’s moved on to another girl, another affair?

Of course.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making far too much of a casual flirtation.”

“Your flirtations have a way of causing trouble for the rest of us.”

“So is that what this is about, then? You aren’t worried about me; you’re worried about your reputation.”

“So what if I am?”

“Let me guess. Your precious boyfriend doesn’t want to be associated with a scandal.”

“He’s a senator, Beatriz. What did you think would happen? His fiancée is a debutante. Do what you want, but you are sorely mistaken if you think you can carry on an affair with an American politician and not feel the ramifications of it. That we won’t all feel the ramifications of your behavior.”

“And your own behavior is entirely above reproach? Does your boyfriend know about the fiancé you left back in Cuba? How many men are you going to get engaged to?”

Isabel reddens.

“Will you both please be quiet?” Maria shouts. “I’m trying to watch the election.”

“Oh, who cares about the election?” Isabel snaps as she rises from the couch in a huff. I’ve crossed an invisible line by mentioning the fiancé she left back home. Our family is filled with secrets and lies, truths we’re neither willing to face nor speak of.

Isabel leaves the room without a backward glance, and there’s a moment where I consider going after her, only to be stopped by the expression on Maria’s face.

“I hate the fighting,” she says.

Something tightens in my chest. “I know. But sometimes you fight the most with the people you love. It doesn’t mean you don’t love them. It just means you don’t always agree.”

“It would be easier if we all could agree.”

I laugh. “But much more boring. There’s nothing wrong with having different opinions as long as at the end of the day we always remember we’re on the same side. We’re Perezes first and foremost.”

“Do you think Isabel will get married and leave like Elisa?” Maria asks, the same fear and uncertainty in her voice that I’ve been ashamed to confront.

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to get married and leave like Elisa?”

“Never.”

* * *

? ? ?

    I wake on the ugly floral couch in the living room to the sensation of Maria shaking me. I peer up into her excited eyes, my head foggy from sleep. I blink, my vision adjusting to the low light in the room, as I attempt to process what time of day it is.

“It’s over.”

The election.

My heart pounds.

“Who won?”

“Kennedy,” she announces triumphantly.

So Nick’s friend is to be this nation’s thirty-fifth president, and the American people are to transition from a Republican leadership to a Democratic one.

“That’s good,” I murmur, my eyelids growing heavy once more.

“He won, too,” Maria whispers.

Two thoughts go through my head right before sleep claims me—

One, even my youngest sister has heard the rumors about Nick Preston and me, and two, even though Isabel was right, and any hope I have of resuming things with Nick would likely be much easier if he wasn’t reelected, I am immeasurably glad for him that he has won reelection.

chapter sixteen

Now that the election is over, everyone has turned their eyes to Palm Beach and what the press has dubbed the “Winter White House.” Everyone wants a chance to rub elbows with a Kennedy, to catch the president-elect’s ear.

There’s a new cachet surrounding the venerable Kennedy compound, a certain pride in the way the yearly residents speak of the family. The Kennedys have been a fixture in Palm Beach for decades, and now it’s official: the Kennedys are American royalty, and Palm Beach is eager to celebrate their coronation. A massive crowd was at the airport in West Palm to greet Kennedy when he arrived in town last month after the election, the images showing people clamoring for a chance to shake his hand, to see the man who has brought so much hope to the country.

Maria begged our parents to let us attend, but after the revolution, my mother has become quite wary of crowds. Perhaps we’ll see the new president-elect up close at one of the many events this winter, even if the circles he and his family travel in are a bit more rarified than the ones we inhabit. Everywhere he goes, there are people eager to meet him, and if he seeks solace here in the sand and the sun, I fear he won’t receive much of a respite. They’re predicting it will be the best season in a decade.

In the mornings, I wake early and walk along the beach. Now that Elisa has moved to Miami, I’m left to my own devices far more often. Maria is in school, Isabel off being Isabel, and Eduardo is once again on a “business” trip. Our friendship is such that we don’t keep tabs on each other’s whereabouts, but I miss him more and more as the days go on. I’ve not really made any friends here in Palm Beach, have social acquaintances more than anything else. I miss the companionship of being around people with whom I can be myself.