{"product_id":"when-we-left-cuba-isbn-9780451490865","title":"When We Left Cuba","description":"\u003cb\u003eInstant \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn 1960s Florida, a young Cuban exile will risk her life—and heart—to take back her country in this exhilarating historical novel from the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Last Train to Key West\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eNext Year in Havana\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ea Reese Witherspoon Book Club pick.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBeautiful. Daring. Deadly. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Cuban Revolution took everything from sugar heiress Beatriz Perez—her family, her people, her country. Recruited by the CIA to infiltrate Fidel Castro's inner circle and pulled into the dangerous world of espionage, Beatriz is consumed by her quest for revenge and her desire to reclaim the life she lost.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the Cold War swells like a hurricane over the shores of the Florida Strait, Beatriz is caught between the clash of Cuban American politics and the perils of a forbidden affair with a powerful man driven by ambitions of his own. When the ever-changing tides of history threaten everything she has fought for, she must make a choice between her past and future—but the wrong move could cost Beatriz everything—not just the island she loves, but also the man who has stolen her heart...“You won't be able to put this one down.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A thrilling story about love, loss, and what we will do to go home again. Utterly un-put-down-able.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003ePopSugar\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Both a hard-earned love story and a visceral account of history. Cleeton’s writing pulsates with passion and intimacy…. She’s long since established herself as a remarkable writer, but with \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e, she’s written with a sublime force that keeps us tethered to her words.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A beautiful and utterly transporting novel.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublisher’s Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“With rich historical detail, incisive dialogue and a firebrand heroine, Cleeton paints a vivid portrait of a woman caught in the currents of a turbulent time yet determined to make her own way.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“An exhilarating read with a fearless heroine.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eWoman’s World\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Has sex, drama, suspense…and pairs perfectly with a mojito.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e is chock full of espionage, murder, romance, politics, family drama, and themes of national identity...If you loved \u003ci\u003eNext Year in Havana\u003c\/i\u003e, read this straightaway!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKey Womans World\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bold, unconventional Beatriz makes a heroine for the ages...A thrilling, thought-provoking read!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eKate Quinn\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Alice Network and \u003ci\u003eThe Huntress\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A gorgeously atmospheric homage to a country and a past that vibrates with emotion on every page.  Historic events, espionage, and a Kennedy-esque romance make this novel a rich read, but the addition of a formidable heroine truly makes it unputdownable.  This is not just historical fiction, but also an unrequited love story for a country and a way of life, as well as a journey of self-discovery for a woman torn between love and the two countries she calls home.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eKaren White\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cleeton once again delivers a masterful tale of political intrigue tinged with personal heartbreak. Her ferocity and fearlessness can be found on every page, and Beatriz’s story—one of vengeance, betrayal, and bravery—astonishes and thrills.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eFiona Davis\u003c\/b\u003e, national bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Masterpiece\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Atmospheric and evocative, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba \u003c\/i\u003ecaptivates with its compelling portrayals of the glamorous Cuban exile community and powerful forbidden love set against the dangerous intrigue of the Cold War. Unforgettable and unputdownable!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eLaura Kamoie\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling coauthor of \u003ci\u003eMy Dear Hamilton\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“By turns a captivating historical novel, a sweeping love story, and a daring tale of espionage—I absolutely adored this gem of a novel.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJillian Cantor\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Lost Letter\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eIn Another Time\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oozing with atmosphere and intrigue, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e is an evocative, powerful and beautifully written historical novel which had me completely captivated from the first page to the last. Take a bow, Chanel Cleeton!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eHazel Gaynor\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“With a sure hand for historical detail, an impeccable eye for setting, and a heroine who grasps hold of your heart and never lets go, Chanel Cleeton has created another dazzlingly atmospheric and absorbing story of Cuba and its exiles. A beautiful and profoundly affecting novel from a writer whose work belongs on the shelves of every lover of historical fiction.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eJennifer Robson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Gown\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Powerful, emotional and oh so real. One woman's fight to reclaim her own country, against all odds and no matter what the cost is intertwined with the real history of our lifetime and creates an unforgettable story.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eRhys Bowen\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and #1 Kindle bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Tuscan Child\u003c\/i\u003e and the Royal Spyness mysteries\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Scintillating....An intriguing dive into the turbulent Cuban-American history of the 1960s, and the unorthodox choices made by a strong historical woman.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eMarie Benedict\u003c\/b\u003e“Rich in historic detail, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e has it all—the excitement of a page-turning thriller, the sizzle of a steamy romance and the elegant prose of a master storyteller.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eRenée Rosen\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003ePark Avenue Summer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cleeton draws you into the glamour, intrigue, and uncertainty of the Cuban exile community just after Castro's coup through a heroine who could give Mata Hari a run for her money....You'll be rooting for Beatriz to change the course of history—and find her own hard-won happily ever after.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eLauren Willig\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe English Wife\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With a richly imagined setting and a heroine worth rooting for from the start, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e is thrilling and romantic, and timely to boot.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eMichelle Gable\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Summer I Met Jack\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A compelling unputdownable story of love—for a man, for a country, for a past ripped away, and a future’s tenuous promise. \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e swept me away.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eShelley Noble\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLighthouse Beach.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Electric and fierce. Beatriz Perez’s romance with a handsome, important senator will sweep you away, but it’s her profound loyalty to Cuba and her formidable determination to be her own woman despite life-and-death odds that will really hold you in thrall.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eKerri Maher\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Kennedy Debutante\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In a tale as tempestuous as Cuba itself, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e is the revolutionary story of one woman’s bold courage and her many sacrifices for her beloved country. An absolutely spectacular read!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eStephanie Marie Thornton\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eAmerican Princess\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Beatriz Perez’s brand of vintage-Havana glamour dazzles with equal parts intrigue, rebellion, and romance to make for an unforgettable story.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eElise Hooper\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Other Alcott\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“When We Left Cuba \u003c\/i\u003eis a breathtaking book, and it captures what I love best about historical fiction.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eCamille Di Maio\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Way of Beauty\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for Chanel Cleeton\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A beautiful novel that's full of forbidden passions, family secrets and a lot of courage and sacrifice.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eReese Witherspoon\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“A sweeping love story and tale of courage and familial and patriotic legacy that spans generations.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“This Cuban-set historical novel is just what you need to get that ~extra-summery~ feeling.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBustle\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The Ultimate Beach Read”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eReal Simple\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eNext Year in Havana\u003c\/i\u003e reminds us that while love is complicated and occasionally heartbreaking, it's always worth the risk.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eNPR\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“A flat-out stunner of a book, at once a dual-timeline mystery, a passionate romance, and paean to the tragedy and beauty of war-torn Cuba. Simply wonderful!”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eKate Quinn\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Alice Network\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cleeton has penned an atmospheric, politically insightful, and highly hopeful homage to a lost world. Devour \u003ci\u003eNext Year in Havana\u003c\/i\u003e and you, too, will smell the perfumed groves, taste the ropa vieja, and feel the sun on your face.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eStephanie Dray\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling coauthor of \u003ci\u003eAmerica's First Daughter\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Don’t miss this smart, moving, and romantic story.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eHelloGiggles.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eChanel Cleeton\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Last Train to Key West\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWhen We Left Cuba\u003c\/i\u003e, and the Reese Witherspoon Book Club pick \u003ci\u003eNext Year in Havana\u003c\/i\u003e. Originally from Florida, she grew up on stories of her family's exodus from Cuba following the events of the Cuban Revolution. Her passion for politics and history continued during her years spent studying in England where she earned a bachelor's degree in international relations from Richmond, the American International University in London, and a master's degree in global politics from the London School of Economics and Political Science. Chanel also received her Juris Doctor from the University of South Carolina School of Law. She loves to travel and has lived in the Caribbean, Europe, and Asia.\u003cp\u003echapter one\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejanuary 1960\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epalm beach\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe thing about collecting marriage proposals is they're much like cultivating eccentricities. One is an absolute must for being admired in polite-or slightly less-than-polite-society. Two ensure you're a sought-after guest at parties, three add a soupon of mystery, four are a scandal, and five, well, five make you a legend.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI peer down at the man making a spectacle of himself on bended knee in front of me-what is his name?-his body tipping precariously from an overabundance of champagne and folly. He's a second cousin to the venerable Preston clan, related by marriage to a former vice president, cousin to a sitting U.S. senator. His tuxedo is elegant, his fortune likely modest if not optimistic for the largesse of a bequest from a deceased aunt, his chin weak from one too many Prestons marrying Prestons.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAndrew. Maybe Albert. Adam?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe've met a handful of times at parties such as this one in Palm Beach, fetes I once would have ruled over in Havana, to which I now must bow and scrape in order to gain admittance. I likely could do worse than a second cousin to American royalty; after all, beggars can't be choosers, and exiles even less so. The prudent thing would be to accept his proposal-my auspicious fifth-and to follow my sister Elisa into the sacrament of holy matrimony.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut where's the fun in that?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhispers brush my gown, my name-Beatriz Perez-on their lips, the weight of curious gazes on my back, words creeping toward me, clawing their way up my skirts, snatching the faux jewels from my neck and casting them to the ground.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLook at her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHaughty. The whole family is. Someone should tell them this isn't Cuba.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThose hips. That dress.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDidn't they lose everything? Fidel Castro nationalized all those sugar fields her father used to own.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHas she no shame?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy smile brightens, flashier than the fake jewels at my neck and just as sincere. I scan the crowd, sweeping past Alexander on his knees looking like a man who hasn't quite acquired his sea legs, past the Palm Beach guard shooting daggers my way, resting on my sisters Isabel and Elisa standing in the corner, champagne flutes in hand. The sight of them, the reminder to bow to nothing and no one, emboldens me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI turn back to Alistair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Thank you, but I must decline.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI keep my tone light, as though the whole thing is a jest, and a drunken one at that, which I hope it is. People don't go falling in love and proposing in one fell swoop, do they? Surely, that's . . . inconvenient.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePoor Arthur looks stunned by my answer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePerhaps this wasn't a joke after all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSlowly, he recovers, the same easy smile on his face that lingered moments before he fell to his knees returning with a vengeance, restoring his countenance to what is likely its natural state: perpetually pleased with himself and the world he inhabits. He grasps my outstretched hand, his palm clammy against mine, and pulls himself up with an unsteady sway. A grunt escapes his lips.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis eyes narrow once we're level-nearly level, at least, given the extra inches my sister Isabel's borrowed heels provide.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe glint in Alec's eyes reminds me of a child whose favorite toy has been taken away and who will make you pay for it later by throwing a spectacularly effective tantrum.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Let me guess, you left someone back in Cuba?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere's enough of a bite in his tone to nip at my skin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy diamond smile reappears, honed at my mother's knee and so very useful in situations like these, the edges sharp and brittle, warning the recipient of the perils of coming too close.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI bite, too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Something like that,\" I lie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow that one of their own is back on his feet, no longer prostrate in front of the interloper they've been forced to tolerate this social season, the crowd turns their attention from us with a sniff, a sigh, and a flurry of bespoke gowns. We possess just enough money and influence-sugar is nearly as lucrative in America as it is in Cuba-that they can't afford to cut us directly, and not nearly enough to prevent them from devouring us like a sleek pack of wolves scenting red meat. Fidel Castro has made beggars of all of us, and for that alone, I'd thrust a knife through his heart.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd suddenly, the walls are too close together, the lights in the ballroom too bright, my bodice too tight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt's been nearly a year since we left Cuba for what was supposed to be a few months away until the world realized what Fidel Castro had done to our island, and America has welcomed us into her loving embrace-almost.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI am surrounded by people who don't want me here even if their contempt hides behind a polite smile and feigned sympathy. They look down their patrician noses at me because my family hasn't been in America since the country's founding, or sailed on a boat from England, or some nonsense like that. My features are a hint too dark, my accent too foreign, my religion too Catholic, my last name too Cuban.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn a flash, an elderly woman who shares Anderson's coloring and features approaches us, sparing me a cutting look designed to knock me down a peg or two. In a flurry of Givenchy, he's swept away, and I'm alone once more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf I had my way, we wouldn't attend these parties, save this one, wouldn't attempt to ingratiate ourselves to Palm Beach society. It isn't about what I want, though. It's about my mother, and my sisters, and my father's need to extend his business empire through these social connections so no one ever has the power to destroy us again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd of course, as always, it's about Alejandro.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI head for one of the balconies off the ballroom, the hem of my gown gathered in hand, careful to keep from tearing the delicate fabric.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI slip through the open doors, stepping onto the stone terrace, the breeze blowing the skirt of my dress. There's a slight chill in the air, the sky clear, the stars shining down, the moon full. The ocean is a dull, distant roar. It's the sound of my childhood, my adulthood, calling to me like a siren song. I close my eyes, a sting there, and pretend I'm standing on another balcony, in another country, in another time. What would happen if I headed for the water now, if I left the party behind, removing the pinching shoes and curling my toes in the sand, the ocean pooling around my ankles?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA tear trickles down my cheek. I never imagined it was possible to miss a place this much.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI rub my damp skin with the back of my hand, my gaze shifting to the balcony's edge, to the palms swaying in the distance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA man leans against the balustrade, one side of him shrouded in darkness, the rest illuminated by a shaft of moonlight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe's tall. Blond hair-nearly reddish, really. His arms brace against the railing, his shoulders straining his tailored tuxedo.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI step back, and he moves-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI freeze.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe thing about people telling you you're beautiful your whole life is that the more you hear it, the more meaningless it becomes. What does \"beautiful\" even mean anyway? That your features are arranged in a shape someone, somewhere, arbitrarily decided is pleasing? \"Beautiful\" never quite matches up to the other things you could be: smart, interesting, brave. And yet-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe's beautiful. Shockingly so.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe appears as though he's been painted in broad strokes, his visage immortalized by exuberant sweeps and swirls of the artist's brush, a god come down to meddle in the affairs of mere mortals.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIrritatingly beautiful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looks like the sort of man who has never had to wonder if he'll have a roof over his head, or fear his father dying in a cage with eight other men, or flee the only life he has ever known. No, he looks like the sort of man who is told he is perfection from the moment he wakes in the morning to the moment his head hits the pillow at night.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe's noticed me, too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGolden Boy leans against the railing, his broad arms crossed in front of his chest. His gaze begins at the top of my head where Isabel and I fussed with my coiffure for an hour, cursing the absence of a maid to help us. From my dark hair, he traverses the length of my face, down to the dŽcolletage exposed by the gown's low bodice, the gaudy fake jewels that suddenly make me feel unmistakably cheap-as though he can see I am an impostor-to my waist, hips.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI take another step back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Am I to call you cousin?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis words stop my movement, holding me in place as surely as a hand coming to rest on my waist, as though he is the sort of man accustomed to bending others to his will with little to no effort at all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI loathe such men.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis voice sounds like what I have learned passes for money in this country: smooth, crisp, devoid of even a hint of foreignness-the wrong kind, at least. A tone of voice secure in the knowledge that every word will be savored.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI arch my brow. \"Excuse me?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pushes off from the railing, his long legs closing the distance between us. He stops once he's close enough that I have to tip my head up to meet his gaze.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis eyes are blue, the color of the deep parts of the water off the Malec—n.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithout breaking eye contact, he reaches between us, his thumb ghosting across my bare ring finger. His touch is a shock, waking me from the slumber of a party I tired of hours ago. He quirks his mouth in a smile, little lines crinkling around his eyes. How nice to see even gods have flaws.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Andrew is my cousin,\" he offers by way of explanation, his tone faintly amused.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI find that most rich people who are still in fact rich manage to pull this off as though a dollop more amusement would be atrociously gauche.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAndrew. The fifth marriage proposal has a name. And the man before me likely has a prestigious one. Is he a Preston or merely related to one like Andrew?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"We were all waiting with breathless anticipation to see what you would say,\" he comments.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere's that faint amusement again, a weapon of sorts when honed appropriately. He possesses the same edge to him that everyone here seems to have, except I get the sense he is laughing with me, not at me, which is a welcome change.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI grace him with a smile, the edges sanded down a bit. \"Your cousin has an impeccable sense of timing and an obvious appreciation for drawing a crowd.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Not to mention excellent taste,\" Golden Boy counters smoothly-too smoothly-returning my smile with another one of his own, this one even more dazzling than the first.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was handsome before, but this is simply ridiculous.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"True,\" I agree.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI have little use for false modesty these days; if you're not going to fight for yourself, who will?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe leans into me a bit more, as though we share a secret. \"No wonder you've whipped everyone into a frenzy.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Who? Me?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe chuckles, the sound low, seductive, like the first sip of rum curling in your belly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"You know the effect you have. I saw you in the ballroom.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow did I miss him? He doesn't exactly blend in with the crowd.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"And what did you see?\" I ask, emboldened by the fact that his gaze has yet to drift away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"You.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heartbeat quickens.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Just you.\" His voice is barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the ocean and the wind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I didn't see you.\" My own voice sounds husky, like it belongs to someone else, someone who is rattled by this.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy gaze has yet to drift from him, either.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis eyes widen slightly, a dimple denting his cheek, another imperfection to hoard even if it adds more character than flaw.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"You sure know how to make a guy feel special.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI curl my fingers into a ball to keep from giving in to temptation, to resist reaching out and laying my palm against his cheek.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I suspect plenty of people make you feel special.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere's that smile again. \"That they do,\" he acknowledges.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shift until we stand shoulder to shoulder, gazing out at the moonlit sky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shoots me a sidelong look. \"I imagine it's true, then?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What's true?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"They say you ruled like a queen in Havana.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"There are no queens in Havana. Only a tyrant who aims to be king.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I take it you aren't a fan of the revolutionaries?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"It depends on the revolutionaries to whom you refer. Some had their uses. Fidel and his ilk are little more than vultures feasting on the carrion that has become Cuba.\" I walk forward, sidestepping him so the full skirt of my dress swishes against his elegant tuxedo pants. I feel him behind me, his breath on my nape, but I don't look back. \"President Batista needed to be eliminated. In that, they succeeded. Now if only we could rid ourselves of the victors.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI turn, facing him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis gaze has sharpened from an indolent gleam to something far more interesting. \"And replace them with who, exactly?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"A leader who cares about Cubans, about their future. Who is willing to remove the island from the Americans' yoke.\" I care little for the fact that he is an American; I am not one of them and have no desire to pretend to be. \"A leader who will reduce sugar's influence,\" I add, my words a break from my family's position. Despite the fortune it has brought us, it's impossible to deny the destructive influence the industry has had on our island no matter how much our father attempts to do so. \"One who will bring us true democracy and freedom.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe's silent, his gaze appraising once again, and I'm not sure if it's a result of the wind, or his breath against my neck, but goose bumps rise over my skin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"You're a dangerous woman, Beatriz Perez.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy lips curve. I tilt my head to the side, studying him, trying desperately to fight the faint prick of pleasure at the phrase \"dangerous woman\" and the fact that he knows my name.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Dangerous for who?\" I tease.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe doesn't answer, but then again, he doesn't have to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnother smile. Another dent in his cheeks. \"I'll bet you left a trail of broken hearts behind you.\"\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303419138277,"sku":"NP9780451490865","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451490865.jpg?v=1767744001","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/when-we-left-cuba-isbn-9780451490865","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}