When We Left Cuba Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  When We Left Cuba

  “Bold, unconventional Beatriz makes a heroine for the ages. . . . A thrilling, thought-provoking read!”

  —Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Alice Network

  “A gorgeously atmospheric homage to a country and a past that vibrates with emotion on every page. Historic events, espionage, and a Kennedy-esque romance make this novel a rich read, but the addition of a formidable heroine truly makes it unputdownable. This is not just historical fiction, but also an unrequited love story for a country and a way of life, as well as a journey of self-discovery for a woman torn between love and the two countries she calls home.”

  —Karen White, New York Times bestselling author of Dreams of Falling

  “Cleeton once again delivers a masterful tale of political intrigue tinged with personal heartbreak. Her ferocity and fearlessness can be found on every page, and Beatriz’s story—one of vengeance, betrayal, and bravery—astonishes and thrills.”

  —Fiona Davis, national bestselling author of The Masterpiece

  “Atmospheric and evocative, When We Left Cuba captivates with its compelling portrayals of the glamorous Cuban-exile community and powerful forbidden love set against the dangerous intrigue of the Cold War. Unforgettable and unputdownable!”

  —Laura Kamoie, New York Times bestselling coauthor of My Dear Hamilton

  “Powerful, emotional, and oh so real. One woman’s fight to reclaim her own country, against all odds and no matter what the cost is intertwined with the real history of our lifetime and creates an unforgettable story.”

  —Rhys Bowen, New York Times and #1 Kindle bestselling author of The Tuscan Child and the Royal Spyness Mysteries

  “Oozing with atmosphere and intrigue, When We Left Cuba is an evocative, powerful, and beautifully written historical novel, which had me completely captivated from the first page to the last. Take a bow, Chanel Cleeton!”

  —Hazel Gaynor, New York Times bestselling author of The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter

  “With a sure hand for historical detail, an impeccable eye for setting, and a heroine who grasps hold of your heart and never lets go, Chanel Cleeton has created another dazzlingly atmospheric and absorbing story of Cuba and its exiles. A beautiful and profoundly affecting novel from a writer whose work belongs on the shelves of every lover of historical fiction.”

  —Jennifer Robson, USA Today bestselling author of The Gown

  “Rich in historic detail, When We Left Cuba has it all—the excitement of a page-turning thriller, the sizzle of a steamy romance, and the elegant prose of a master storyteller.”

  —Renée Rosen, author of Park Avenue Summer

  “Cleeton draws you into the glamour, intrigue, and uncertainty of the Cuban-exile community just after Castro’s coup through a heroine who could give Mata Hari a run for her money. . . . You’ll be rooting for Beatriz to change the course of history—and find her own hard-won happily ever after.”

  —Lauren Willig, New York Times bestselling author of The English Wife

  “A compelling unputdownable story of love—for a man, for a country, for a past ripped away, and a future’s tenuous promise. When We Left Cuba swept me away.”

  —Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling author of Lighthouse Beach

  “By turns a captivating historical novel, a sweeping love story, and a daring tale of espionage—I absolutely adored this gem of a novel.”

  —Jillian Cantor, author of The Lost Letter and In Another Time

  “Scintillating. . . . An intriguing dive into the turbulent Cuban-American history of the 1960s, and the unorthodox choices made by a strong historical woman.”

  —Marie Benedict, author of The Only Woman in the Room

  “With a richly imagined setting and a heroine worth rooting for from the start, When We Left Cuba is thrilling and romantic, and timely to boot.”

  —Michelle Gable, New York Times bestselling author of The Summer I Met Jack

  “Electric and fierce. Beatriz Perez’s romance with a handsome, important senator will sweep you away, but it’s her profound loyalty to Cuba and her formidable determination to be her own woman despite life-and-death odds that will really hold you in thrall.”

  —Kerri Maher, author of The Kennedy Debutante

  “Beatriz Perez’s brand of vintage-Havana glamour dazzles with equal parts intrigue, rebellion, and romance to make for an unforgettable story.”

  —Elise Hooper, author of The Other Alcott

  “A breathtaking book, and it captures what I love best about historical fiction.”

  —Camille Di Maio, author of The Way of Beauty

  “In a tale as tempestuous as Cuba itself, When We Left Cuba is the revolutionary story of one woman’s bold courage and her many sacrifices for her beloved country. An absolutely spectacular read!”

  —Stephanie Marie Thornton, author of American Princess

  “A slow burn in all the right ways, Beatriz’s story is a cohesion of romance, revenge, and loyalty that kept me turning the pages until I learned her ultimate fate. Immersive and stirring!”

  —Jenni L. Walsh, author of Becoming Bonnie

  “An absolute gem of a book.”

  —Sara Ackerman, author of Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers

  “A gorgeously rendered story. . . . Part spy novel, part romance, and part political thriller, readers will no doubt find this book as hard to put down as I did.”

  —Alyssa Palombo, author of The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel

  “Grabs you from the first page. . . . A passionate, patriotic heroine pulled into espionage, a tension-filled era in Cuban-American relations, and a romance that could ruin the political ambitions of a man groomed for power—this book has it all.”

  —Janie Chang, author of Dragon Springs Road

  “A WOW book! Cleeton gives us a heroine to love—conveying in well-crafted prose, the journey of a remarkable woman as she grows in self-assurance and power. When We Left Cuba simply crackles with political and personal tensions!”

  —Sophie Perinot, author of Médicis Daughter

  “An immersive and gorgeously crafted tale of forbidden love, family, loyalty, and intrigue.”

  —Victoria Schade, author of Life on the Leash

  PRAISE FOR

  Next Year in Havana

  “A beautiful novel that’s full of forbidden passions, family secrets, and a lot of courage and sacrifice.”

  —Reese Witherspoon

  “A sweeping love story and tale of courage, and familial and patriotic legacy that spans generations.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “This Cuban-set historical novel is just what you need to get that extra-summery feeling.”

  —Bustle

  “The Ultimate Beach Read.”

  —Real Simple

  “Next Year in Havana reminds us that while love is complicated and occasionally heartbreaking, it’s always worth the risk.”

  —NPR

  “A flat-out stunner of a book, at once a dual-timeline mystery, a passionate romance, and paean to the tragedy and beauty of war-torn Cuba. Simply wonderful!”

  —Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Alice Network

  “Cleeton has penned an atmospheric, politically insightful, and highly hopeful homage to a lost world. Devour Next Year in Havana and you, too, will smell the perfumed groves, taste the ropa vieja, and feel the sun on your face.”

  —Stephanie Dray, New York Times bestselling coauthor of My Dear Hamilton

  “
Don’t miss this smart, moving, and romantic story.”

  —HelloGiggles

  “A vivid, transporting novel. Next Year in Havana is about journeys—into exile, into history, and into questions of home and identity. It’s an engrossing read.”

  —David Ebershoff, author of The Danish Girl and The 19th Wife

  BERKLEY TITLES BY CHANEL CLEETON

  Fly With Me

  Into the Blue

  On Broken Wings

  Next Year in Havana

  When We Left Cuba

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019

  Copyright © 2019 by Chanel Cleeton

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cleeton, Chanel, author.

  Title: When we left Cuba / by Chanel Cleeton.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley, 2019.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018009614| ISBN 9780451490865 (softcover) | ISBN 9780451490872 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Cuban American women—Fiction. | GSAFD: Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.L455445 W48 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018009614

  First Edition: April 2019

  Cover art: Cuba by Pavel Samsonov / Shutterstock; Two women by Karen Radkai / Conde Nast via GettyImages

  Title page art: Floral Border © by IndiPixi / Shutterstock Images

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For the dreams that slip through our fingers.

  May we hold them in our arms one day.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Chanel Cleeton

  Berkley Titles by Chanel Cleeton

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Readers Guide

  About the Author

  prologue

  NOVEMBER 26, 2016

  PALM BEACH

  It arrives just after midnight, in the waning hours of night, those magical haunting hours, bundled in an elegant basket adorned with an exuberant red bow, delivered by an officious man in a somber suit who leaves as quickly as he comes, ferried away from the stately Palm Beach address in a silver Rolls owned by one of the island’s most notorious residents.

  The woman takes the basket, her evening winding down until she unwraps the contents in the sanctuary of the sitting room decked out in vibrant colors, recognition dawning as familiar French words greet her.

  A tear trickles down her cheek.

  The foil is crisp against her palm, the glass a cooling balm on her skin as though it’s been chilled and waiting for her all these years. She lifts the bottle from the basket, carrying the champagne to the bar in the living room, her jewel-clad fingers trembling over the seal, fumbling with the top.

  The defiant pop of the cork breaks the silence of the night. Despite the late hour, it is too important an occasion to be denied, and soon her peace will be disturbed by other noises: the ringing phone, the chatter of friends and family, a celebration of sorts after an interminable war. But for now, there is this—

  The champagne explodes on her tongue. It is the taste of victory and defeat, of love and loss, of nights of revelry and decadence in Havana and days in exile in Palm Beach. She lifts the glass in the air in a silent toast, the sight of her hand—no longer a young woman’s, but something more seasoned—still catching her off guard, the wrinkles no number of trips to the plastic surgeon can erase, a subtle taunt that time is the cruelest thief of them all.

  When did she get so old?

  There is no note in the basket, but then again, there’s no need. Who else would send her such a gift: extravagant, poignant, perfectly her?

  No one but him.

  chapter one

  JANUARY 1960

  PALM BEACH

  The thing about collecting marriage proposals is they’re much like cultivating eccentricities. One is an absolute must for being admired in polite—or slightly less-than-polite—society. Two ensure you’re a sought-after guest at parties, three add a soupçon of mystery, four are a scandal, and five, well, five make you a legend.

  I peer down at the man making a spectacle of himself on bended knee in front of me—what is his name?—his body tipping precariously from an overabundance of champagne and folly. He’s a second cousin to the venerable Preston clan, related by marriage to a former vice president, cousin to a sitting U.S. senator. His tuxedo is elegant, his fortune likely modest if not optimistic for the largesse of a bequest from a deceased aunt, his chin weak from one too many Prestons marrying Prestons.

  Andrew. Maybe Albert. Adam?

  We’ve met a handful of times at parties such as this one in Palm Beach, fetes I once would have ruled over in Havana, to which I now must bow and scrape in order to gain admittance. I likely could do worse than a second cousin to American royalty; after all, beggars can’t be choosers, and exiles even less so. The prudent thing would be to accept his proposal—my auspicious fifth—and to follow my sister Elisa into the sacrament of holy matrimony.

  But where’s the fun in that?

  Whispers brush my gown, my name—Beatriz Perez—on their lips, the weight of curious gazes on my back, words creeping toward me, clawing their way up my skirts, snatching the faux jewels from my neck and casting them to the ground.

  Look at her.

  Haughty. The whole family is. Someone should tell them this isn’t Cuba.


  Those hips. That dress.

  Didn’t they lose everything? Fidel Castro nationalized all those sugar fields her father used to own.

  Has she no shame?

  My smile brightens, flashier than the fake jewels at my neck and just as sincere. I scan the crowd, sweeping past Alexander on his knees looking like a man who hasn’t quite acquired his sea legs, past the Palm Beach guard shooting daggers my way, resting on my sisters Isabel and Elisa standing in the corner, champagne flutes in hand. The sight of them, the reminder to bow to nothing and no one, emboldens me.

  I turn back to Alistair.

  “Thank you, but I must decline.”

  I keep my tone light, as though the whole thing is a jest, and a drunken one at that, which I hope it is. People don’t go falling in love and proposing in one fell swoop, do they? Surely, that’s . . . inconvenient.

  Poor Arthur looks stunned by my answer.

  Perhaps this wasn’t a joke after all.

  Slowly, he recovers, the same easy smile on his face that lingered moments before he fell to his knees returning with a vengeance, restoring his countenance to what is likely its natural state: perpetually pleased with himself and the world he inhabits. He grasps my outstretched hand, his palm clammy against mine, and pulls himself up with an unsteady sway. A grunt escapes his lips.

  His eyes narrow once we’re level—nearly level, at least, given the extra inches my sister Isabel’s borrowed heels provide.

  The glint in Alec’s eyes reminds me of a child whose favorite toy has been taken away and who will make you pay for it later by throwing a spectacularly effective tantrum.

  “Let me guess, you left someone back in Cuba?”

  There’s enough of a bite in his tone to nip at my skin.

  My diamond smile reappears, honed at my mother’s knee and so very useful in situations like these, the edges sharp and brittle, warning the recipient of the perils of coming too close.

  I bite, too.

  “Something like that,” I lie.

  Now that one of their own is back on his feet, no longer prostrate in front of the interloper they’ve been forced to tolerate this social season, the crowd turns their attention from us with a sniff, a sigh, and a flurry of bespoke gowns. We possess just enough money and influence—sugar is nearly as lucrative in America as it is in Cuba—that they can’t afford to cut us directly, but not nearly enough to prevent them from devouring us like a sleek pack of wolves scenting red meat. Fidel Castro has made beggars of all of us, and for that alone, I’d thrust a knife through his heart.