The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,84

but for Hearst, I’m not sure there is higher praise one can give.

I stand near the back of the crowd, pen and paper in hand, jotting down my observations of her for both the book we’re working on together and one of the many articles I’m sure I will write commemorating the occasion.

Despite all of the conversations we’ve had now, I still haven’t figured out what to make of Evangelina. I like her; I think it is impossible not to with her easy manner, but there are layers that leave me feeling as though I’ve merely scratched the surface. She is both the ingenue others imagine her to be and someone who has shown immense political savvy.

I wouldn’t call us friends, yet. Despite the moments when we speak, my role as a journalist too often invites her to put up her guard. If things were different between us, would we be friends in another life?

Perhaps.

The sound of footsteps comes up behind me, and then I am greeted by a familiar hint of cologne.

I stiffen, the memory of that mortifying night at the Metropolitan Opera House rushing back to me.

He settles beside me, without a greeting, his gaze like mine fixed on the stage in front of us.

“So this is the face Will hopes will launch a thousand ships,” Rafael muses.

I smile at the apt comparison. “Something like that.”

“She’s not quite what I expected. Will’s paper makes her sound like a delicate flower, but there’s some steel in that spine.”

“There would have to be, wouldn’t there? To survive what she’s been through. Decker says she came up with the plan for her escape entirely on her own,” I murmur to Rafael, careful to keep from speaking too loudly lest anyone overhear us. “They couldn’t figure out how to get her out, so apparently they sent her a note with the hope they’d get some ideas. Instead, she sent them a detailed plan and a diagram.”

Rafael laughs. “I’d have liked to see their faces when they opened that. Well, she’d better be ready for the fuss that’s being drummed up. Every reporter in the city is digging into her past right now, trying to find something to discredit her story.”

Pulitzer already sent me two notes at my aunt’s house asking for a meeting, which I promptly ignored. For better or worse, my loyalties now lie with the Journal.

“That’s the problem with putting someone on a pedestal,” Rafael adds. “No one can live up to those expectations.”

I study Evangelina carefully onstage. As closely as she and Karl stand together and given the obvious intimacy between them, the rumors about the true nature of their relationship likely won’t be put to bed. I can’t help but feel badly for her, for how much of her life has been defined by others’ actions, for the fact that she must now pretend to be the version of herself that we all have created.

“She’s young,” I say. “She’s alone. Her father’s been imprisoned for years, her family torn apart by this war. The conditions of the prison where she was held are indisputably wretched. Her story is interesting enough without all of this.” I wave my hands around me, gesturing at the spectacle.

“Will does like his fireworks.”

“He does. But sometimes I worry that we lose sight of the subject of our stories when we sensationalize them. I don’t think any publisher works as hard as he does. He’s passionate about the news, about the stories we cover. I know there are those who say he’s just in it for the money or to increase the paper’s circulation, but I don’t know if I believe that anymore. There’s something quixotic about him. But that can be dangerous, too.”

“As it happens, I agree with you. Will’s going to change the world or die trying.”

“I rather thought that was a politician’s job,” I say dryly. “Perhaps if he is so intent on reshaping the world order, he misses seeing things as they are rather than as he would make them. Evangelina is smart. She wouldn’t have escaped the prison if she wasn’t. If you listen to her story—there were multiple times when she convinced the Spanish to be lenient with her father throughout his imprisonment. It was her desire to ask for American citizenship when she came here because she understood that it would offer her some protection. Why don’t we celebrate that as opposed to presenting her as this helpless victim in need of rescue when she’s clearly able