The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,85

to rescue herself?”

“Will is very good at understanding what the public wants and giving it to them. They’re drawn to the salacious stories; to the dramatic rescues and the damsels in distress. People might want to be informed when they read the news, but they also want to be entertained. You don’t know what it’s like to spend twelve hours working in a factory somewhere, body aching, worrying about every damn thing. When you read the news, you don’t want to read about every arcane policy disagreement. You want to feel. That’s how you win the people.” He gestures toward Evangelina. “I have a feeling she understands that, too.”

There is something in the manner in which she plays to the crowd even as she seems overwhelmed by the attention, the different versions of her that don’t quite seem to line up.

“People like you and me,” Rafael continues. “We see things for what they are, and we appreciate the simplicity of them. We’re realists. She and Will are made for this in a way.

“For you, truth is the end. You have a firmly seated sense of justice that I imagine is very difficult to shake.” He shrugs. “Problem with that is justice means different things to different people. Same with truth. Will’s learned that and how to use it to his advantage. You’re still grappling with which side of things you want to be on.”

I gape at him, unsure of how to respond. It’s easy to view him through a shallow lens, but I recognize how false that is when he hits on something I hadn’t quite worked out myself.

“The right side, of course,” I reply.

He smiles, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s one of the first people in a long time to truly see me.

“Speaking of—has Will dashed off already?” Rafael asks me, changing subjects. “I thought his French motorcar was out front at Delmonico’s.”

The first of its kind in New York, Hearst’s motorcar is legendary in a city where everyone flaunts their wealth and status for all the world to see.

“He has. Everyone looked a little bewildered by the fact. I think they expected the man who demands fireworks to make a little more of a spectacle of himself.”

Rafael laughs. “Not his style. It’s a shame, though. I was hoping I’d run into him.”

He’s silent for a beat, and then almost as an aside, he says—

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Now I’m quite simply gobsmacked. He’s never paid me such an extravagant compliment before, and considering this dress isn’t particularly fine, I wouldn’t have expected this to be the moment he chose to do it.

“Thank you.” And then because I can’t help myself, I add—“That’s quite a step up from ‘nice.’”

He laughs. “If I’d told you you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, you would have accused me of flattery and dismissed the compliment. Maybe I’m working up to the truth.”

“I thought the truth means different things to different people,” I say, feeling more than a bit faint.

What is happening to me? Why am I flirting with Rafael?

“Are you going to the reception after this?” he asks me, his gaze once again trained to the stage so all I can make out is his profile.

Hearst has reserved the grand ballroom at Delmonico’s at Fifth Avenue and Twenty-Sixth Street for a more intimate and formal event celebrating Evangelina.

“Of course. I’m to document all of this,” I reply, gesturing to my notepad and pen. “Hearst has me working on her life story as well.”

“He told me.”

I never imagined they would talk about me.

“He likes you,” Rafael adds, leaving me further caught off guard in a conversation where I largely feel out to sea. “Says you’re ambitious, that you aren’t afraid to go after what you want. He thinks you’re talented, too. A natural.”

“I never realized. He’s never said.”

Rafael shrugs. “Will isn’t like the rest of us. Sometimes I think he forgets what it feels like to be a mere mortal.”

He’s silent for a moment. “It’s a hard business, isn’t it?”

I nod, beyond mortified by the lump forming in my throat. The fact that Hearst thinks I’m talented, those few words delivered by Rafael, mean more than he can probably ever know. When I first envisioned becoming a reporter, I had glamorous visions of exposing society’s ills for the world to see. The reality is that I exist on tenterhooks, waiting to see if this will be the story that gives me a chance to make a name for myself, or