“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?”

“They’re training pilots. To invade Cuba.”

“Yes.”

“Are you one of the pilots?”

He laughs. “God, no. Far too much responsibility.”

“But you’re involved.”

“Yes. As is your Mr. Dwyer.”

“And President Kennedy? I assume you’ve secured his support?”

The president’s approval rating is high, his popularity soaring. People like the image he presents: the young, handsome idealist with the beautiful, accomplished wife and the two adorable children. I mostly like the president. Idealists make me wary as a matter of principle, but there is a thread of pragmatism in Kennedy’s policies that gives me hope. Besides, at the end of the day, he is merely one man. The coffers of the American political machine are lined with men like Mr. Dwyer who scoff at ideals and have no compunction about rolling up their sleeves and getting to work. If the president lacks the stomach to do what needs to be done in order to defeat Fidel, no doubt one of his advisors will do the trick.

“Allegedly, Kennedy supports it,” Eduardo answers. “I imagine your senator would know more about the president’s intentions, though.”

“He’s not my senator.”

“That’s not the story I’ve heard.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Eduardo’s gaze returns to my wrist. “That’s an expensive bracelet.”

“For what? A mistress?”

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“It’s what everyone else is saying, isn’t it?”

“Well, what did you expect, Beatriz? He’s here with his fiancée.”

“Don’t tell me your latent morality is outraged by an affair. Half the party is sleeping with someone they aren’t married to, and everyone knows it. You’ve certainly had no compunction over doing the same thing.”

“It’s not about my morality. It’s about your pride.”

I laugh, as though my aforementioned pride isn’t currently lying on the floor in disgrace. “Do you think I’m settling?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Why does everyone assume I want marriage? That if I’m not someone’s wife, I’m not worth anything.”

“It’s not about marriage. You shouldn’t be anyone’s second choice. Don’t you want to be someone’s first choice?”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s choice. I want them to be mine.”

“And you choose him?” Disbelief threads through his voice.

“I choose myself. And right now I choose Cuba.” I take a step back. “I should return to the party before people talk even more.”

This is what Isabel attempted to warn me about in the car earlier. Have the whispers reached my parents’ ears?

“Before he gets too angry, you mean. I saw the way he looked at us standing together. He’s jealous.” The smug note in Eduardo’s voice throws me off. “He won’t claim you, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you, either.”

I laugh angrily. “And if that is true, how does that make him any different from the rest of you?”

I am hurt, and the image of Eduardo standing before me in his elegant tuxedo, an arrogant expression on his face, makes me want to hurt him.

“Is that what this is?” I taunt, understanding dawning. “You want me because you think he has me?”

Eduardo takes a step toward me, his hand coming to rest on my bare arm. “You have no idea what I want.”

Why does that sound like a challenge?

He releases me just as abruptly as he touched me.

“You won’t see me for a while. I’m leaving Palm Beach.”

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t say.”

“Where are you going?” I repeat.

Our gazes meet.

“I choose Cuba. Every time. Where are you going?”

“Guatemala,” he murmurs after a beat.

“And then?”

“I can’t talk about this, Beatriz.”

So it’s Cuba, then. The stories in the paper are true, the whispers I’ve heard of a coming coup. A fierce stab of worry catches me off guard, replacing what should be excitement.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

What does he know about fighting? The things they did in Cuba against Batista are not the same as going to war, and I can’t look at Eduardo in his elegant tuxedo and see a soldier. And the rest of them, the men going to battle to reclaim our island: Has the CIA trained them? Or are they simply being given guns and told to hope for the best?

“You’re worried.”

“You’re not a soldier.”

A faint note of amusement threads through his voice. “Have a care with my ego, Beatriz.”

“You know what I mean.”

Trust Eduardo not to take this seriously.

He cups my face, tilting my chin so our eyes are nearly level.

“The days of letting others fight our battles are over. If I don’t fight, if I don’t join my fellow Cubans, I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

“And if you die? What do regrets matter then?”

“If I die, then it will be for something I believed in.” His fingers brush my cheek. “Would you be sad if I died? Would you cry for me?”

His tone is idle, taunting as mine was earlier, playing with me as I did him. We are so alike, too alike. I would say that this is all a game to him, except— There’s something in his eyes that suggests otherwise.

“Of course I would cry.”

“Because we’re friends.” Eduardo traces the curve of my lower lip with his thumb, brushing away a tear at the corner of my mouth. I’ve played too close to the edge this time, lost whatever temporary relationship I had with Nick. Elisa has gone to Miami, Isabel is getting married, Nick was never mine, and now Eduardo is off to war, and I am really, truly alone.

I shudder.

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself,” he says with an affectionate smile.

“I am.”

“You never did like being left out. You would always convince me and Alejandro to take you with us when we went on adventures, even if it was somewhere your mother never would have let her daughters go, even if it was the most unladylike activity.”

“I’ve never had much interest in being a lady.”

He smiles. “No, you haven’t. But try to stay out of too much trouble while I’m gone. I will worry about you.”

“Be careful,” I reply.

“I will.”

Neither one of us moves, his thumb lingering on my lower lip.

“We’ll be in Havana soon,” he vows.

“We’ll dance at the Tropicana,” I counter.

I close my eyes, and let my imagination take me there, indulging in the foolish hope that we will turn back the clock, and everything will be simpler once again. When I open my eyes, Eduardo is staring back at me, his gaze intent, and now that I am older, more experienced, I understand the look there for what it is.

“Have you ever wondered—”

He dangles the words between us, the possibility of them—

Have you ever wondered what it would be like between us?

Perhaps.

“We’ve never—”

“Once,” I correct him, the memory surprisingly sharp in my mind despite the intervening years, the image of two children playing at being grown-ups and the kiss I stole all those years ago.

A different life.

Eduardo’s lips curve into a smile as he remembers that rainy day when the world was a different place entirely.

“Once,” he agrees.

His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip again, hovering there.

“Haven’t you wondered about all the things I’ve learned since then?” A hint of amusement threads through his voice, as though this is all a game, like the ones we played when we were younger, but there’s an earnestness that belies the casual tone of voice, the playful smile on his mouth.

I can’t force myself to say the words, feel as though I’ve stepped outside my body and am watching this happen. In the end, I only manage a shaky nod before his eyes darken, his mouth covering mine, his arms hooking around my waist, hauling my body against his.

He kisses like a man living on borrowed time, as though the coming war will steal his remaining days from him, and he knows it. He kisses without guilt or reservation, the legendary skills I’ve heard whispered about in powder rooms clearly not exaggerated one bit. It’s fun kissing him, energy building inside me like a laugh bubbling up, and then the bubble bursts, and the fun is swept away by the sensation of my body coming alive, the intensity of his kiss drowning out everything else.

As quickly as Eduardo embraced me, he releases me, and where I expect to see the same confusion in his eyes that lingers inside me, I see only inevitability, as the realization that he has wanted me for far longer than I ever knew hits me full force.