The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,79
at all; he’s looking at me, and there’s a faint smile on his lips as though he knows every single thing Aunt Emma and I were just saying about him.
* * *
—
Despite my numerous attempts to convince Aunt Emma that I’d really rather stay in my seat for the intermission, she won’t take no for an answer, and we mill around with the other guests while she says hello to the odd acquaintance and friend. I asked her once why she only comes out in society a few times a year considering she seems to enjoy it so much when she does, and she told me society was best enjoyed in small doses, an axiom I can’t help but agree with.
“Grace.”
I whirl around at the familiar sound of my name and come face-to-face with Rafael.
He stands in front of me, alone, impeccably attired in evening dress.
“Hello,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush slightly.
He doesn’t respond immediately, but instead, his gaze completes a lazy perusal of my person, from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes, which I belatedly remember are nearly a size too small, a relic from my former life.
“I like the dress,” he says by way of greeting, and I feel my flush deepening. “You look nice,” he adds.
“You flatter me,” I murmur, and he laughs at the hint of sarcasm in my voice.
But really, what woman wants to hear she looks “nice”? I doubt I could think of a more banal compliment, even if the dress hardly merits rhapsodies on how pleasing it is.
“How are you enjoying the opera?” I ask, trying not to glance over his shoulder, to get a better look at his companion.
He shrugs. “Well enough. I don’t have to ask you how you’re enjoying it, though. You wore your emotions on your face throughout the first act.”
I can’t think of a suitable response to that, so instead I say—
“I haven’t seen you in months. Have you been in the city?”
Now that some of the initial surprise in seeing him here has passed, I take the opportunity to study him, much as he did me. He looks well, and his skin is definitely tanner than the last time I saw him, giving the impression that he has spent some time in the sun, in a more tropical climate.
“I’ve been in the city only rarely. I’ve spent some time in other climes.”
So he continues running arms to Cuba.
“I stopped by the Journal offices between one of my trips,” he adds. “I thought I might see you, but I didn’t.”
“I must have been out on a story. No one told me—”
“No. I didn’t imagine they would.” He takes a step closer to me. “Speaking of stories—are you here undercover? Should I have addressed you by another name?”
“No, the secrets of the opera house are safe—for now. There’s little chance of me taking to the stage for some undercover assignment.”
He laughs. “I think I’d pay to see that. If anyone could get to the heart of the opera house’s secrets, it would be you.”
Pleasure fills me even as I protest the veracity of his words. “You give me too much credit.”
“Hardly. Is there such a thing as too much? I must admit, your exposés are the highlight of my day.” He leans closer, a hint of brandy on his breath, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Don’t tell Will, but I was a Times man until you started writing for the Journal.”
I gape at him.
“I—”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Aunt Emma interjects, walking up beside me.
I close my eyes for a moment, hoping she doesn’t embarrass me overly much. I love her dearly, and I know she means well, but she’s comfortable in her own skin in a manner I aspire to yet haven’t fully achieved, and I think it’s difficult for her to understand that when you’re still finding your place in the world, any attention drawn to you can often feel like too much.
“Rafael Harden, this is my aunt, Emma Van Housen.”
“A pleasure,” Rafael says smoothly, taking the outstretched hand she bestows to him like a queen before a courtier. Aunt Emma has an uncanny way of slipping on her position in society like an elegant cloak and then casting it off when she chooses to run with the artistic set.
Her eyes gleam. “So you’re the gentleman who has been escorting Grace home at all hours of the night in that enormous black carriage of yours.”