to remind them what’s at stake.”
“And your interests in Cuba? Do you intend to go back?”
“I have business there, of course—the hotel and casino. You would like to visit your family. You will miss them.”
There’s no need to pose it as a question; he has a very good sense of how much my family means to me and how far I am willing to go to protect them. My father wanted me to marry Anthony, and so I did, because following my family’s wishes without protest is what I have been raised to do.
I envy men the freedom to choose their own spouses. They snap us up as though they are purchasing a piece of fruit at the market, and we are expected to have no say in the matter.
Anthony’s speaking of the house where we are to spend our honeymoon, and while I sit there, watching his full lips move, I cannot really hear anything, am able to do little more than nod as though I understand, as though I am here with him, when really I am out to sea, drowning, lifting my arms in the air, asking someone to save me while people pass me by.
“Does that suit?” Anthony asks, and I jerk my head like a marionette.
How will I survive this strange marriage?
Three
Elizabeth
“Call me Eliza,” I purr. “All my close friends do.”
This is not strictly true—I am Elizabeth in all circles, most frequently Elizabeth Anne Preston when my mother is vexed, which she often is. It hardly matters, though; on this train, I can be Eliza if I like. Besides, the line does the trick as I’d hoped. The college boy sitting across from me on the Florida East Coast Railway train flushes as I lean back in my seat, the pale curve of my leg flashing his way before I cross my ankles again, his attention momentarily drawn away from my face.
Who said the trip to Key West had to be boring?
For much of the over-fifteen-hundred-mile journey since I boarded the train in Penn Station, it was one small, depressing, no-name town after another, the view offering little to recommend it. Finally, the scenery changed. Brown and gray became aquamarine and sapphire, Mr. Flagler’s railroad eventually living up to its vaunted reputation. Flagler and my grandfather were friends of a sort in their lifetimes—well, acquaintances, if I’m being truthful. No matter how much my mother wishes it were otherwise, even in our heyday we didn’t have Standard Oil money. The last name Preston might mean something in this country, but the value is diminished considerably when you’re a mere cousin to greatness, your family status relegated to invitations to the odd wedding and funeral, a reunion every few years.
College Boy and I have been doing this dance for five states, at least. He’s traveling home, on break from some fancy university in Connecticut, and I’m, well, more than a little antsy for the journey to be over.
We started our flirtation when the train left Penn Station in New York City, my unease over the length of the trip mollified by the sight of his broad shoulders and elegant suit. We exchanged pleasantries, engaging in the familiar game of which families we had in common, boys in his fraternity whom I’ve known throughout the years. The car is busier than anticipated, likely due to the Labor Day holiday weekend and the sale the railroad is advertising to entice business, but we’ve sought out each other like two magnets drawn together, sharing cigarettes and a flask of whiskey as the train rolled down the tracks.
At Key Largo, I allow him a peek at the barest hint of cleavage, my dress several seasons past fashionable, hardly the only castoff in my closet.
There are those who would say I should endeavor to not draw attention to myself, but I’ve never been much for what other people say, which I suppose is part of the problem. So a red dress it is to match my hair and lips, the color attracting the regard of every man in the carriage save one.
The man in the gray suit.
I noticed him when he boarded the train in Miami and slid into the seat across from mine with little fanfare. I noticed him even more when he proceeded to not notice me back for the next several hours while I conjured up in my mind all the possibilities of who he could be.
Unlike the other passengers, who began looking out the window as soon