The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes - 13

Boston

1900

“You’re in a good mood today,” Dolores commented from across the room they shared.

Eva glanced at her reflection in the mirror on the little vanity, running the brush through her hair one more time. She could see a telltale flush rising in her cheeks.

“Am I?”

“Oh, come on, you know you are. You’re fairly vibrating with…something. I would say it’s excitement, but it’s a little too nervous to be that. You’re like a champagne bottle right after someone has released the cork.”

Eva laughed. “I’m not sure what to say to that. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a beverage before, and if so, certainly not champagne.”

“Not to mention, you’ve taken far longer getting ready than you ever have before. Why, when we went to the dance, I practically had to put a ribbon in your hair myself.”

“Perhaps I just decided to borrow a page out of your book and take ages getting ready,” Eva teased.

“Very funny. Come on. There’s a rule against withholding secrets from roommates. You’ve certainly heard my escapades.”

She had. Dolores had fallen in love one and a half times since they’d arrived at Harvard, and Eva would be lying if she didn’t admit that she almost enjoyed living vicariously through Dolores’s adventures more than she probably would if they had happened to her. Her roommate was tremendous fun.

Eva set the brush down on the vanity top and turned toward Dolores. “It’s not a secret, I suppose. I’m meeting someone.”

Dolores’s eyes widened. “You have a date.”

“Not a date. Not officially, at least.” Or maybe it was? What did she know of these sorts of things? “He asked me to go to the beach with him.”

Dolores rose from her bed and walked to the edge of Eva’s, sitting down right in front of her, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “You must tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell, really.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. I know that look in your eyes. I’ve had that look in your eyes a time or two or three. Who is he?”

Eva hesitated. She’d never experienced this before—a friend with whom she shared parts of her life like this. Before her mother had died, she’d at least had that relationship in her life, but it wasn’t the same as sharing her feelings with someone her own age. It was like the conversations she’d heard among her students, like the ones she wrote in her book that she’d never lived herself.

“He’s a writer. I met him the other night at the dance at the gymnasium.”

“I knew it! You didn’t seem like yourself that night.”

“What do you mean?” Eva asked.

“You were thoughtful in a different way than you normally are. Not like you were writing that book of yours in your head, but as if you were working something out for yourself. I didn’t see you talking to anyone, though. And despite my best efforts to encourage you, I didn’t see you dancing with anyone, either.”

It was a strange sensation to feel so known by someone, especially when you were used to living entirely on your own. There was an intimacy to having a roommate that Eva hadn’t experienced since her mother died. It had taken some getting used to in the beginning—sharing so much of her space and life with another—but a pleasant routine had developed between them, and she found herself looking forward to the time she and Dolores spent together in their little shared room. She’d never had a sister, but she’d always imagined it would feel something like this.

“I went outside to get some fresh air. He just happened to be standing there as well.”

“Did you dance with him in the moonlight?”

“No.” Eva laughed at the disappointment that flashed across Dolores’s face. “I told you—I’m not one for dancing. Although, I’ll admit that it does sound terribly romantic when you describe it like that.”

“And if he’d asked you?”

She’d thought about it. In her more fanciful moments, she’d even imagined that he did ask her to dance, and she’d said yes.

“I might have,” Eva admitted.

“Do you know how to dance? Should we practice?”

Eva laughed. “I do know how to dance. I’ve taught my students to do so. Let’s just say that I wasn’t hired for my dancing instruction.”

“Except that you said that you considered doing so with him.”

“The occasion didn’t present itself, but if it had—I don’t know. I would have been tempted, surely. He has a way about him. A manner that puts you at ease. It’s comfortable being around him. And not,” Eva added.

Dolores cast her a knowing grin. “You like him.”

“I might. I don’t know. I barely know him. We’ve only spoken twice—at the dance, and then last night when I was writing at the library.”

“And yet, he asked you out—to the beach no less. Sounds romantic.”

“I don’t know how romantic it will be. I don’t exactly have a great deal of experience in these sorts of situations. I’ve never been in this situation before. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. He must like you—how could he not? You’re wonderful. Anyone would be lucky to be in your company.” Dolores hesitated. “Go out. Enjoy yourself. But Eva—just be careful. I’m sure he’s every bit as lovely as you make him sound, but men can be complicated. Sometimes you think they’re a decent fellow, but they can surprise you. For your sake, I hope he’s one of the good ones. You deserve nothing less.”

“Sailing?”

James grinned. “You should see the expression on your face. Yes, sailing.”

“You said we were going to the beach.” Eva studied the boat in front of her, trying to gauge how the little vessel would possibly navigate the water. It seemed like the ocean could simply swallow it up. Not to mention, it was hardly spacious, and they would likely be pressed against each other.

When James had pulled up in front of the yacht club, she’d assumed that they were here for the beach access, but instead, he’d led her down to the dock where a little white boat was tied up waiting for them.

“It’s the perfect day for it,” James countered. “Have you ever been sailing before?”

She shook her head, her gaze glued to the little boat.

“You’ll love it. There’s nothing like being on the water. I come out here when I’m stuck, when I’m looking for inspiration. It never fails.”

“Do you sail often?”

Somehow, she hadn’t quite pictured that side of him. It hadn’t escaped her notice that most of the young men at Harvard seemed to be the wealthy sons of some of America’s grandest families. But James didn’t have the same look about him—his clothes were a bit worn, the fit not quite impeccably tailored. He carried himself differently, too—there was an earnestness about him she didn’t see on some of the other students.

“My cousins have a summer house on Buzzards Bay. I grew up sailing with them.” He gestured toward the boat. “This one belongs to my cousin Ethan. He lets me take her out whenever she’s free.”

Eva studied him for a moment, trying to decide if she was ready to take this leap. It was completely out of character for her, but this entire summer was an exercise in doing things she’d never done before, in new experiences.

In all their interactions, James had conducted himself as a gentleman. Eva liked to consider herself to be a good judge of character, considering how much she was forced to rely on herself in the world, and she wanted to believe that she could trust him. After all, they had been alone together outside the gymnasium and he could have acted inappropriately then, and he had not.

If word got out that she had gone sailing alone with a man, there would be whispers, but she was no longer a young girl with marriage in mind and a reputation to protect. She had been on her own for a long time now, and if the world saw fit to have her responsible for her own well-being, then she wasn’t going to be hemmed in by propriety, either. If society wanted to treat her as though she was a delicate creature by virtue of her sex, then they shouldn’t have created a world that was a never-ending fight for survival.

James must have seen the decision in her eyes because he held his hand out to her.

She placed her palm in his.

The boat wobbled a bit as she stepped in, and Eva quickly made her way to the long bench seat, tucking her skirts around her.

She watched as James made short work of the various ropes tying the boat to the dock, his movements confident and quick. It was clear that he’d done this so frequently that the motions came to him as naturally as breathing, and after a beat, the nerves inside her settled.

She could swim—her uncle had taught her when she was a little girl—albeit not as well as she would like if they ended up tipping over into the bay.

“You should see your face,” James said, pausing in his work. “I promise you, I will return you to this dock in an hour’s time and you will be dry and unharmed.”

Eva flushed. “Up until the voyage from Havana, I’d only ever been on a boat when I was very young—too young to remember it. This is a far different experience from being on board one of your mighty warships.”

“Did you enjoy it—the sea crossing?”

“I did. I was surprised by how much. The novelty of it was exhilarating.”

“I promise you, then: You will love this. I’ll take you for ice cream after. Trust me?”

Eva hesitated for a moment. He was asking for more than just trusting in him to ferry her back to the dock safely. There was a question in his expression that had nothing to do with sailing and everything to do with the undercurrent that existed between them.

After so many years of only having herself to rely on, it was hard to know how to trust in someone else.

Dolores was right—Eva did like him. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man who interested her and made her feel the sort of flutters she’d only previously read about in books. It was unlikely that it would go further than the remaining summer that they had together, considering her life was in Havana and his was in Boston, but she didn’t want to return to Cuba and regret that she had let go of this feeling inside her because she was afraid.

If this was her one shot at romance, she wanted to enjoy herself so when she returned to her quiet life, she could look back on this adventure with fondness and remember that she had dared to take a chance, to open her heart to someone.

“I trust you.”

She said it so quietly, the wind nearly carried her words away, but the heat in his gaze told her he’d heard her.

When he’d finished his preparations, they cast off, James tucked beside her on the sailboat’s seat.

He was right—it was a beautiful day to be on the water. There were other boats in the distance, their sails like white flags floating across the sea. The scene before her was so picturesque, so idyllic, as though it had been plucked from a painting, the day covered in cerulean brushstrokes.

A gust of wind kicked up the wide brim of her straw hat, and Eva lurched forward, grabbing it just before it blew overboard. The water tipped up toward the edge of the boat, a splash of salt and sea hitting her square in the face as the vessel rocked on.

She startled, James’s hands immediately at her waist, steadying her as the boat listed.

Eva sank back down onto her seat, grateful for the stability.

James smiled, his fingers lingering at her waist for a moment before he returned his attention back to the boat. “Do you like it?”

Eva leaned back and laughed, overcome with the moment, with the feel of the sun on her face and the exhilaration that pumped through her veins.

“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

They sailed on, going farther into the bay until the dock became a speck in the distance, the other sailboats occasionally peppering the landscape as they all spread out to their little corner of the sea.

“What do you think of the summer school?” he asked her once he had settled down again. It was fascinating watching him sail, responding to hidden cues only he could see, adjusting their course with ease. “Honestly. Not the diplomatic answer you give because you’re here representing your country, but the truth.”

“How do you know my diplomatic answer isn’t the truth?”

“Because you have this way about you—it’s like you slip on a mask when you go out into the world. Occasionally, though, when we talk, you give me glimpses of what you really think, who you really are. I find myself eager for more.”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him that he was being preposterous for suggesting such a thing, when truthfully, the whole point of a mask was that no one was supposed to be able to strip it away from you. It was an armor of sorts, necessary when you were a woman these days, and she’d grown quite fond of hers. But he’d disarmed her now, and she had vowed to be brave today, to indulge in this one adventure, so she gave him the truth instead.

“I was skeptical at first,” she admitted. “In Cuba, we’re still acclimating to this new relationship we have with your country. To have spent decades fighting for independence from Spain only to end up under the control of a foreign power once more has been disheartening. It’s not personal to the Americans; it’s just a product of not having the freedom we desperately crave.

“But now that I’m here—I feel like there is an understanding growing between us and the Americans. This exchange has given us the opportunity to learn from each other, to see each other as equals, to develop a true friendship. It feels—promising. Hopeful, even. My entire life has been defined by conflict. It is nice to see another side of things, to be part of a diplomatic endeavor that builds bonds between countries especially when the stakes are as high as they are here.

“I hope this is just the beginning of these types of opportunities. Perhaps one day a contingent of American teachers will travel to the University of Havana to learn from their Cuban counterparts. It seems that if we are to get along, to listen, and to respect each other’s opinions, then it is best accomplished when we can interact not just on an academic level, but also as human beings. I’ll admit that I wasn’t looking forward to the dances, but now that I see how they loosen people up, how the act of having fun together, learning each other’s dances can eradicate barriers, I understand how effective they are.”

“Are they just effective or have you been enjoying them yourself?” he teased, even as she could guess at the hint in his voice, the unspoken question there.

“I suppose I have enjoyed them,” she replied truthfully, still too nervous to fully play the coquette even though she could see the hint of jealousy in his gaze that sent a thrill through her for the novelty of the experience.

“You must have received many invitations to dance.”

He said it softly, testing, and for a moment she indulged in the notion, in the possibility that she was the sort of woman like Dolores who fended off suitors.

“Not too many,” she replied, her voice just as light.

She turned her head, looking out at the water, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Surely, he had to know, could sense her inexperience. For all that she was a mature woman in her twenties, this was outside of her depth.

Silence descended between them, stretching far longer than a natural conversational pause.

She heard James move beside her, the soft brush of his linen trousers as he shifted on the wooden seat.

She could smell the scent of his cologne, could feel the heat coming off his body.

Eva glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on his arm braced next to her. He’d shucked his ivory-colored linen jacket before they’d boarded the boat and had rolled the sleeves of his worn white shirt up, exposing slim pale wrists covered in a sprinkling of fine hair. His skin was far paler than hers, faint freckles spread across his forearm. His cuff was ink-smudged once more. Had he worked on his novel this morning before he picked her up?

The question was on her lips, but it died in her throat as she looked up and their gazes locked.

James reached out, the hand she had just been admiring grazing her cheek before reaching to the side of her face, his fingers ghosting across her skin as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

Was she?

She wasn’t sure she could feel her body anymore. She was suspended, hovering on the precipice of something she didn’t have the words to name.

Eva opened her mouth to offer some response, but before she could formulate a thought, he moved, his head lowering to meet hers, or perhaps she gravitated forward as well, reaching out to grasp his biceps for purchase as she tumbled headfirst into something she was wholly unprepared for.

There was a hint of mint on his breath, like he’d had one of those peppermint sticks earlier, and then his lips whispered across hers and the unbearable sweetness of it, the intimacy of it, struck her to her core.

Eva might not know what to do, but it was clear that James did, because as soon as he began, from that first introductory brushing of lips, he began laying waste to any misgivings she might have had. She didn’t understand how she was equipped to judge such things, but she knew on some instinctual level that he was an excellent kisser right about the time she lost her head—and quite possibly, her heart.