The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,75
Mr. Hearst also thought the proceeds of the book sales should go to you. The money might help you in your new life here.”
Truthfully, everything about the past few years of my life has felt so insurmountable that I’ve done little more than look to my daily needs and challenges. The notion of starting over here now that I have nothing is a terrifying one. Money is certainly a pressing concern, but it is hardly the only one.
Where will I live? When will I return home? This book seems like a godsend if it will give me the financial means to support myself, and still, I can’t help but wonder—
“Do you really think people will be interested in reading a book about me? Even after all of the pieces that have been written about me? Isn’t everyone tired of me by now?”
“I do think they’re interested,” Grace answers. “The public has truly related to your story in a way that I admit, even I didn’t anticipate. But I think there are many people who know what it feels like to be terribly abused, to be put in an unfair and desperate situation, and in you and your story they see hope.”
Does it fill them with hope? What a strange thought. Given all I have lost, I suppose it’s a bit difficult to see that side of the story. Even harder when I’ve spent so long defending myself. It’s hard to know if I am truly among friends, if I am to be believed. I asked the hotel staff for copies of the other newspapers, and I’ve seen what they’re writing about me, the articles questioning what happened to me.
Does Grace believe that Berriz attacked me, that I am the victim in all of this, or is she simply acting at the behest of her employer, writing this story because she has been directed to do so?
I wish I knew who I could trust.
“I wish I could be the heroine the people seem to want me to be. I wish I could have done more for Cuba. For my family.”
“You must miss them very much.”
I open my mouth to say something, but a sob escapes instead, the force of the emotion surprising me. For so long, I’ve been focused on surviving, my strength reserved for enduring Recogidas, that now I am overwhelmed by all of the emotions I haven’t dared face since this all began.
“I’m sorry—I—”
I don’t know how to explain to her what it’s like to have to pretend to be what everyone expects you to be when your insides are eaten with fear or worry. I am happy to be free, but there is so much uncertainty before me.
“My father—” I try again. “I miss him. And my sisters. Terribly.”
Grace reaches out, taking my hand and squeezing it gently.
“You must feel very alone at times. Having come all this way, being so far from home, away from your friends and those you love. Especially after all you’ve been through.”
“I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see them again,” I admit. “My greatest fear is that after all of this, to have come this far, I won’t be able to go home, to see the people I love.”
“I heard you left your fiancé back in Cuba. Is that true?”
“Emilio Betancourt. Yes. We were engaged shortly after I arrived at the Isle of Pines.”
“You must miss him a great deal.”
“I did. Once. Now I can’t remember what he looks like—It’s such a small thing, but I loved him for so long, and now it’s almost like he’s a stranger. I remember pieces of his face—his mustache, his eyes. I remember the butterflies I used to feel in my stomach when he would walk in front of the house where I lived with my father and Carmen. We used to talk through the window gratings of our homes when he was courting me on the Isle of Pines.”
“Was he a prisoner there, too?”
“He was. He hoped that he would be pardoned, and when he was free, we would be able to marry.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was there that night I was attacked by Berriz. He was among the group that tried to save me. He was punished and arrested like all of my rescuers.”
The hurt is still there, when I speak of his betrayal. “I learned later from the Marquis de Cervera that Emilio was among the men who agreed to cooperate with the Spanish and testify against me in exchange