The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,111

though our time together is running out, and I can’t help but wonder what might have bloomed between us if we’d had the time for the affection between us to grow.

“No, not yet,” he replies.

Relief fills me. “You scared me. You seem so serious. I was worried something had happened.”

He flashes me a rueful smile. “I suppose I am serious today. I have something important that I’d like to discuss with you. A question I’d like to ask you. Perhaps the most important question I’ll ever ask anyone.”

My heart pounds.

He takes my hand and leads me farther into the garden.

I’ve been in this position once before when it was Emilio Betancourt taking my hand, when I was little more than a young girl who knew nothing of the world, flattered by the attention being shown to me, so this time I am ready for what comes next.

It only takes me seconds to know my answer. He is an honorable man—kind, intelligent, respectful. I believe he is the sort of man who will protect the people and things he cares for. Most importantly, perhaps, with him I feel as though I am at home.

Carlos gets down on one knee in front of me, my hand in his.

“Will you marry me?” he asks.

It is fast, but then again, considering all we’ve been through together, we have experienced more than many couples have. Is that enough to build a life upon? I’m not entirely certain. We have a friendship between us, which seems like an important characteristic for a successful marriage. We certainly have common interests and dreams. And he is kind and intelligent. He has already proven himself to be loyal and honorable. I believe I know his character and I am growing to know his heart. I have been many people in my life so far, and I cannot help but think that I will be happy as Mrs. Carlos Carbonell, that I will be happy in the life we build together, the children we’ll have. That I’ll be safe.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

* * *

—

We marry in Baltimore, Maryland. Carlos wears his American military uniform, my dress far less formal than the one I donned when I was presented to New York society like a bride being led to the altar. Mrs. Logan and her daughter serve as our witnesses, but our wedding is a simple affair, largely absent from the spectacle that has dogged me these past several months.

In that aspect, it is exactly as I wished it.

Despite the simplicity of the affair, and Carlos’s wishes that our engagement remain private, the Journal publishes the news of our marriage, for the first time identifying Carlos’s role in my escape, but even with that tidbit of information, the frenzy that has followed my life this past year is largely absent. The focus is on the war with Spain, and I am a private citizen once more.

I always envisioned being surrounded by my family when I married, my father walking me down the aisle, my sisters by my side. Instead, I am alone as I place my future in Carlos’s hands and promise to love him for the rest of my life.

We have a short reception at the Hotel Rennert and then as a married couple we head to Florida where Carlos joins the U.S. Seventh Army Corps and works with Consul General Lee while we wait to return to Cuba.

Thirty-Nine

Grace

At the beginning of May, the United States wins its first engagement when a naval squadron defeats the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay in the Philippines. We’ve heard nothing yet of fighting in Cuba, and I’ve had no news of Rafael’s whereabouts, but the newsroom is in a celebratory mood when we learn of Commodore Dewey’s victory.

“Maybe it’ll all be over quickly,” someone shouts. “Spain doesn’t stand a chance against American military might.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be over too quickly,” another person yells. “At least, not before we can write about it.”

We’re putting the finishing touches on the front page, the victory in Manila the major story.

“Let’s add something below the masthead,” Hearst calls out, a gleam in his eye.

I look down to see what he’s written for them to add.

I begin to laugh.

In true form, and in perfect rejoinder to the criticism that was so recently levied against us, Hearst has added the words, “How do you like the Journal’s War?”

Hearst is in his element, leading the newsroom as though he is a general commanding an army. It’s clear, though, that