M.J. stood under the sweeping branches of an acacia tree, Samuel standing behind her, right hand resting on her waist, as they stared directly at the camera lens. Lifting her chin slightly, she smiled as a bright flash, followed by a puff of smoke, captured the excitement shimmering in her dark eyes.
The photographer nodded and she turned to Samuel, her smile still in place. “Thankfully that’s over.”
They’d spent more than an hour posing for wedding pictures. The photographer had taken frames of them outside the cathedral as they were showered with rice and orange blossoms, with their respective parents, then several with Jose Luis and Belinda, Samuel with Cesar, M.J. with Ivonne, and the wedding party.
Anchoring a forefinger under her chin, Samuel kissed her mouth. “Let’s go inside.” He was hot, thirsty and hungry.
Gloria had had her cook prepare a monstrous breakfast, but he hadn’t been able to eat anything when doubt attacked him without warning. Five hours before he was to be married he struggled with the uncertainty of whether he could be a good husband and father. And it wasn’t as if he’d had the best teacher: Charles Cole.
He’d sworn an oath that he would never berate his wife or whip his children, but the what-ifs lingered along the fringes of his mind. What if his United Fruit Company venture failed? What if his quest to become a millionaire never materialized? What if he couldn’t give M.J. the comfortable lifestyle she was accustomed to? As much as he tried dismissing the apprehension as premarital jitters, it persisted.
Samuel escorted M.J. into the grand ballroom and they were met with a rousing, deafening applause. Hundreds of lights from two massive chandeliers twinkled like stars as a string quartet played softly in a corner. They were led to a long table while waiters escorted wedding guests to round tables with seating for ten.
M.J. smiled at her father, who was sitting beside Belinda at the bridal table. Samuel seated her, then sat down. Ivonne and Cesar were on his left.
Gloria had hired two well-known Havana chefs to prepare everything from appetizers to main courses, and a plethora of desserts. White-jacketed waiters were busy filling glasses with chilled wines and champagne as waitresses with crisp white aprons set out platters of empanadas, mariquitas de plantanos, yucca, crab and black-eyed pea fritters with the ubiquitous sauces: mojo vinegreta and mojo criollo.
M.J. removed her veil, handing it to Ivonne. Smiling at her younger cousin, she said, “Save it for your wedding.” She would wrap the vintage wedding gown in tissue paper and save it for the daughter she hoped to have. She placed her hand over Samuel’s, catching his attention.
“Yes, darling?”
Angling her head closer to his, she said, “There’s something we have to talk about.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Here?”
M.J. hesitated. “Well…yes.”
Samuel reversed their hands, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “What is it?”
A blush found its way up the high neckline of white lace to her midnight-black hair. “Babies,” she whispered.
A hint of a smile played at the corners of Samuel’s wide mouth. “What about them?”
Her embarrassment escalated, and she chided herself for broaching the subject. “Do you want them?”
Samuel stared at his wife, wondering why she would ask him such a preposterous question. Wasn’t that why people married? So they could start a family?
“Of course I want children. Why would you ask me that?”
“Because,” M.J. said in a hushed tone, “we’ve never talked about it.”
“We don’t have to talk about everything, baby,” he said softly, shaking his head.
“I don’t want you to think of me as presumptuous.”
“That will never happen. And to let you know how much I want you to be the mother of our children, would you mind if we start tonight?”
“No,” she whispered, “I don’t mind at all.”
She glanced away as the heat in her face moved downward, settling between her legs. Gloria had spoken to her at length about what to expect on her wedding night, showing her drawings of men and women in various sexual positions. Her aunt told her that she would probably endure some pain the first time, but if she learned to relax she would experience pleasure so intense that it would leave her breathless.
When M.J. asked her aunt why she hadn’t married or become a mother, the older woman said she did not have the proclivity to be a faithful wife, so therefore she chose to remain single.
Samuel saw a becoming blush stain M.J.’s cheeks. December 27, 1924, was to become a day of milestones for Marguerite-Josefina Isabel Diaz Cole: her twentieth birthday, wedding day, and the day she would offer her virginity to her husband.
The strains of a waltz grew louder and he pushed back his chair and eased M.J. to her feet. He bowed from the waist. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Cole?”
She tilted her head back and a wealth of curls grazed her hips. “Yes, you may, Mr. Cole.”
A swollen hush fell over the assembled guests as they watched Samuel lead his wife to the middle of the marble floor. He twirled her around and around, the tails of his cutaway coat lifting with the motion. Tiny petals from the flowers pinned in her curls floated to the floor as Samuel and M.J. moved smoothly together as if gliding on ice.
Jose Luis rose to his feet, offering his hand to Belinda. Tall and silver-haired, they made their way onto the dance floor and joined their children. Belinda was stunning in pale gray—a tabard of antique beaded lace over a satin slip dress. She’d had her hair straightened and styled into an elaborate chignon on the nape of her long, smooth neck.
“Our parents look nice together,” M.J. said, smiling up at Samuel.
“True, but my mother will never marry again.”
“Neither will my father, but perhaps they will become friends.”
Samuel pulled her closer to his body. “Matchmaking, darling?”
“No. It’s just that we’re so happy, so why can’t everyone else be?”
“Because it’s just not that way.” His voice had taken on the tone one used when speaking to a child. “People have to find their own happiness. I can’t give you what you need to make you happy, or vice versa.”
Her smooth brow furrowed in confusion. “But you do make me happy, Samuel.”
“I make you happy because I happen to be what you were looking for in a husband. And you make me happy because you have everything I want in a wife. And because you are who you are I thank God for making me a man.”
M.J. rested her forehead on his shoulder as he spun her around and around until others joined the two couples on the dance floor.
The silent, efficient waiters served course after course, while premium champagne flowed like water. The sumptuous banquet ended with cake and delicate confectionaries and cups of strong Cuban coffee. The reveling continued well into the night as the guests left the ballroom and gathered in the courtyard and gardens for dancing under the stars. The soft strains of the waltz gave way to a band playing the African-inspired samba.
Samuel stood near the acacia tree, watching his wife as she lifted the hem of her gown and danced in wild abandon with a step-close-step, then dipped and sprang upward with each beat of the drums. Only a few flower petals and curls were left in her hair as she lost herself in the hypnotic rhythm. The music had reached inside her, connecting her with her African ancestors.
“Your wife is very spirited.”
Samuel glanced down at Gloria. He hadn’t heard her approach. “I see that.”
“Whatever you do, Samuel, promise me you won’t break her spirit.”
He felt the pounding of the drums in his ears and in his chest, feeling what M.J. felt. The sensations were powerful, frightening in their power to transport him across an ocean to a continent where his ancestors lived for centuries before outsiders began carving up their homeland.
He met Gloria’s challenging stare, eyes gleaming like glassy volcanic rock. “I promise.”
“Good.” She rested a hand on his sleeve. “I came to tell you that your driver is waiting in the courtyard to take you and your wife to the pier where a yacht will take you to Cayo Largo del Sur.”
The yacht belonged to a Boston financier who’d begun wintering in the Caribbean after the war. A widowed grandfather, he and Gloria had conducted a liaison spanning a decade.
“How can M.J. and I thank you for your generosity?”
Gloria patted his arm. Her dark eyes misted. “You can thank me by making my niece happy. Now go and change. I’ll get Marguerite-Josefina.”
Samuel searched the garden for his mother. He wanted to tell her he was leaving for his honeymoon. He found her in the ballroom, sitting at one of the round tables talking quietly with Jose Luis.
Bending over, he kissed her forehead. “We’re leaving now. I’ll see you after we’re settled.”
Touching his cheek, Belinda smiled. “God bless you, son.”
Jose Luis stood up, extending his hand. “I’ll see that your mother gets home safely.” He shook Samuel’s hand. “Bendicion, mi hijo.”
Samuel nodded. “Thank you.” He walked out of the ballroom, feeling two pairs of eyes boring into his back. His mother was scheduled to sail back to the States New Year’s Eve because she wanted to celebrate the New Year on American soil. Jose Luis and Gloria had promised him they would look after Belinda until the time of her departure.
He and M.J. would honeymoon on Cayo Largo del Sur for a week before returning to Pinar del Rio. Two days later they would leave Cuba for Florida to begin to live out their lives as husband and wife in the United States.
The ship’s captain greeted Samuel and M.J. with a snappy salute, his sky-blue gaze lingering on Mrs. Cole. Her rose-pink traveling suit enhanced the olive undertones in her tanned face. Several strands of black hair lifted and touched her cheek in the sea breezes sweeping over the deck of the yacht.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Cole. I’m Captain McLaughlin. We’ll be sailing with a small crew, who are here to see to your every need.” His Irish brogue sounded like music.
Samuel inclined his head, smiling. “Thank you, Captain. When do you expect to drop anchor at Cayo Largo del Sur?”
“Sometime after sunrise. Will you and your missus be wanting breakfast in your cabin?”
Samuel met M.J.’s questioning gaze. He hadn’t expected them to spend their wedding night aboard a ship. “Yes.”
Captain McLaughlin snapped his fingers at a skinny, barefoot boy. “Take these bags below.” He turned back to Samuel. “If you and your missus follow Bobby, he’ll show you to your cabin.”
Samuel gathered M.J. in his arms, carried her down the narrow stairway and into a cabin reeking of extravagance so opulent he felt slightly nauseated. A bed covered in gold silk and large enough for four took up more than half the space. Soft yellow light from wall sconces illuminated African mahogany walls, Persian rugs and a Cluny tapestry wall hanging. A sterling tea set, a crystal bowl filled with ice, and a bottle of champagne sat on an antique rosewood table with two pull-up chairs. Delicate bone china, crystal stemware and decanters of liquors filled a massive china cabinet. The cabin had all of the amenities of a room at any luxury hotel.
Waiting until the cabin boy placed their luggage on a padded bench and walked out, closing the door behind him, M.J. wrinkled her delicate nose. “What do you think?” she asked, seeing a glint of amusement in her husband’s eyes.
“It’s a little showy for my tastes,” Samuel admitted.
Tightening her grip around his neck, she brushed her mouth over his. “I think ostentatious is a better word, don’t you think?”
Samuel went completely still. Nothing moved, not even his chest as he held his breath. He’d found it hard to believe that the woman in his arms was his; she belonged to him to love and cherish forever. And there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make her as happy as she appeared now.
“I think you’re perfect.”
M.J.’s lashes fluttered wildly as she anticipated what she would come to share with the man holding her to his heart: her life, selfless love and virginal body.
She closed her eyes against his intense stare. “I love you.”
Making his way to the bed, Samuel placed M.J. gently on the silk coverlet, his body following hers down. Cradling her face between his hands, he caressed her mouth until her lips parted. Slowly, tentatively, he eased his tongue into her mouth; she opened wider to permit him full possession. His splayed fingers tunneled through strands of ebony silk spread out over gold silk.
M.J. reveled in the tongue exploring the roof of her mouth, the ridge of her teeth and the inside of her cheek before it curled around hers. It evoked sensations that were new and exciting. She’d thought kissing was the touching of lips, but this was different, electrifying.
She caught the tip of Samuel’s tongue between her teeth, suckling it gently until he moaned as if in pain. She released his tongue, replacing it with his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth. His hardness surged against her middle, and she arched.
Go easy with her, because it’s her first time. The litany played over and over in Samuel’s head; he forced himself to slow down as his fingers tightened in her unbound hair. He didn’t know how long he could continue to kiss her and not explode.
Rolling off her body, he left the bed. “I’m going up on deck,” he said, slipping out of his jacket and tie. “As soon as we’re under way I’ll be back.” Samuel leaned over and ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Don’t run away.”
M.J. smiled. “That’s something you don’t ever have to worry about. I will never leave you.”
Samuel gave his wife a long, penetrating look. “Nor I you, Marguerite-Josefina.” Turning on his heel, he left the cabin, closing the door.
Minutes later he found himself on deck, watching the crew as they prepared to sail away from Cuba’s mainland for the tiny piece of land dotted with palm trees, lush vegetation, caves and lagoons.
He sat on a deck chair, staring up at the darkened sky. The smell of the sea and Cuba wafted in his nostrils. He never would’ve imagined when he’d come to the Caribbean island two months before that he would fall in love with a woman and the country of her birth. He’d told Arturo Moreno that he had no intention of living in Cuba. But what he hadn’t known at the time was that he would come back again and again because of his wife.
He would give M.J. time to get into bed before joining her.
M.J. tossed back a small amount of brandy, grimacing as heat settled in her chest. Placing the snifter on a table, she climbed into bed and pulled a sheet over her. The rustle of her silk nightgown against the satin sheets reminded her of the sound lizards made whenever they scurried into the bushes for safety. She was exhausted from eating, drinking, dancing and celebrating her birthday and wedding.
It was a day she would never forget.
Samuel walked into the cabin, encountering darkness. M.J. had extinguished all of the lights. Feeling his way, he managed to make it to the tiny bathroom without falling or knocking something over.
The smell of M.J. permeated the space. A shelf held bottles and vials of lotion, creams and perfume. He smiled. She’d unpacked his toiletry bag and placed his grooming supplies on a lower shelf.
He brushed his teeth, stepped into the cramped shower stall and turned on the hot water faucet. “Shit!” The curse slipped out as a stream of ice-cold water pelted his body. M.J. had used up all the hot water. The next time, either he would shower first or they would shower together.
“What’s the matter?”
Samuel peered over a low wooden door. M.J. stood in the bathroom, eyes wide with fright.
The light from a lamp on the vanity showed the outline of her body under a diaphanous white, lace-trimmed nightgown. His stunned gaze lingered on the soft curve of her hips, slim thighs and long legs.
“Nothing. Go back to bed.”
“Why were you cursing?”
Samuel
swallowed another expletive. His penis had hardened so quickly that he feared spilling his passions in the shower. He held his engorged flesh tightly, struggling to stop the flow of semen straining for release.
“It’s nothing, M.J. Please go back to bed.” He was pleading with her, and didn’t care if she knew it.
There was a moment of silence. “Okay, Samuel.”
She left the bathroom, yet her sensual image lingered. He washed his hair and body in record time. Pushing open the louvered door, he reached for a towel. He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking until he peered into the mirror to blot the moisture from his hair.
He’d slept with women whose faces or names he couldn’t remember, yet a slip of a woman-girl he’d claimed as his wife had him close to losing control.
Even when Charles Cole whipped him, Samuel never cried. He would’ve forfeited his life before he’d permit his father to control him. He loved M.J., but she was never to know that she’d come close to controlling him.
Walking on bare feet, he left the bathroom and made out the bed. M.J. had opened the curtain covering a porthole. He slipped into bed and pulled her close to his body. She was trembling.
Samuel kissed her forehead. “Baby, we don’t have to do anything tonight. I’ll give you all of the time you need to get used to sleeping with me.”
M.J. shifted, burying her face against his chest. She wrinkled her nose, smiling. The hair on his chest tickled her nose. “I’m okay, Sammy.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Are you sure, baby?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then kiss me.”
She obeyed; pressing her lips to his, she inhaled his breath, his scent.
Samuel smiled. “Good.”
Waiting until her trembling subsided, he swept back the sheet and removed her nightgown. Supporting his weight on his arms, he began at her hairline, trailing kisses over her forehead, the end of her nose, mouth, jawline, throat, breasts, belly, thighs, legs and feet before reversing a path over the expanse of her velvety, fragrant skin.
Best Kept Secrets Page 11
