“Wyatt Quintal Alessi,” I read. “A March baby. Three years, one month, and two days older than me.” I passed the card back. “Thank you.”
He tucked it away in his wallet. “I wasn’t trying to be—”
“Secretive?” I offered.
“I was going to say a jerk.”
I smiled at that, just a little. “You didn’t want me putting two and two together.”
“Have you now?”
“In keeping with the spirit of honesty and openness, I already had, thanks to Theo.”
That took him by surprise. “She knows my full name?”
“I’m pretty sure she knows everything about both of us,” I said.
“Should I be worried?”
I didn’t need time to consider my answer. “Most likely.”
We shared the briefest of smiles before turning our eyes back to the warehouse across the street.
“You thought if I knew about your famous mother, I’d…what?” I asked. “Go all fangirl? Morph into a gold digger?”
He was silent for a moment before responding.
“My mom grew up in Brazil,” he said. “Her family was dirt poor. She got pregnant with me when she was fifteen. Her family knewthat they couldn’t look after me—they were already struggling—so I was given up for adoption.”
My gaze snapped to him. I hadn’t expected that. He kept his eyes trained on the warehouse.
“At the time, my birth mother had no idea that she’d get discovered by an agent and shoot to fame as a supermodel two years after I was born.”
I opened my mouth to say something but then closed it again when words eluded me.
I’d never known Rosângela Quintal’s background. She was just a familiar face I saw in commercials and print ads. She’d enjoyed the height of her fame when I was a kid, but she had her own fashion and cosmetic lines that remained popular to this day.
“An American couple adopted me,” Wyatt continued. “Lorenzo and Emilia Alessi. I grew up in Syracuse in a middle-class neighborhood with a middle-class life. And it was great.”
“I sense a but,” I said quietly.
“Anuntil.”
Even in the waning light, I didn’t miss the shadow of pain that passed across his face.
He stared across the street. “Until my parents were both killed in a car crash when I was fourteen.”
“Oh my God. Wyatt.” My heart broke for him.
He plowed on, as if determined to finish the story. “I ended up in the foster system and bounced around from placement to placement for about three years. Until my birth mother tracked me down. She took me in, and we became close. Became family. I’ve never wanted for money since, but I know what it’s like to lose everything, to have nothing and no one. There’s a lot more to my story than country clubs, cars, and a famous parent. But that’s the stuff people see first, and most don’t bother to look any further.”
“Like me?” I whispered, my regret and heartache mingling together.
“I didn’t mean you,” he said with nothing but kindness in his eyes.
Kindness that I didn’t deserve.
“But I did,” I insisted, turning to face him. “I did judge you. I figured you couldn’t know what it’s like to struggle, to worry about money. I thought a rich guy like you could never truly understand someone like me.” I looked him straight in the eye, hoping to convey the depth and sincerity of my remorse. “I’m sorry, Wyatt.”
