“It’s okay. I understand.”
“But I’m not a crier. When my parents died, I didn’t cry. When I found out I wasn’t a Bartolini, I didn’t cry. So why am I crying over a stray puppy that’s not even mine?”
“That’s a whole lot to hold inside.”
“I’m strong. I’m a—” She stopped herself from saying she was a Bartolini like her...her father had taught her to say when she was young.
“Even strong people cry,” Ric said.
“You don’t.”
He arched a brow. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “Ah...well, do you?”
They started walking along the beach as the sun set, sending splashes of color over the water. “I’ve cried,” he said. “But I never told anyone because I was a jumble of emotions.”
“What happened?”
Ric was quiet for moment. “It was a long time ago.” His voice was soft as though his thoughts were caught up in the past. “The reason I’m so protective of my uncle and needed to prove he wasn’t your father didn’t have anything to do with his estate.”
“You wanted to save his reputation?”
He nodded. “But more than that I needed to preserve the image that he wasn’t like my mother—that he put other people’s feelings ahead of his own.”
“I take it you and your mother still aren’t close.”
Ric shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in years. She prefers it that way and so do I.”
“Wow. And here I thought I was the only one with parental issues.”
“Trust me. You don’t corner the market on parent problems.”
“I’m here. If you want to talk about it.”
He stopped walking and turned to her. “Has anyone ever told you how easy it is to talk to you?”
“No.” A smile pulled at her lips. “But thanks for saying so.”
Ric started walking again with her hand nestled in his. It felt so natural as though they were always this close. All the while, Gia’s gaze searched their surroundings. She knew finding little Gin in this seaside city was a long shot, but she couldn’t give up.
“My mother shouldn’t have been allowed to have a child. She’d even tell you that herself. I was a mistake—one she reminded me about often.”
Gia gasped. Not even her own mother ever mentioned in her journals that she thought of Gia as a mistake—even if she had been an unintentional result of an affair.
Not having anything positive to say about Ric’s mother, Gia remained silent. This was his tale to tell. She was just here to listen—even though her heart went out to the image in her mind of Ric as a sweet little boy, a young child who didn’t get the love he so rightly deserved.
“My mother wanted an easy life, and she was willing to do whatever it took—even sleeping with every man she thought could give her that lifestyle. And I just happened to be the result.”
“But your father—”
“Didn’t know about me. As I told you before, my mother doesn’t even know who he is—if you can believe her.”
“And you don’t?”
He shrugged. “I think if she does know who it is, she’s never going to tell me.”
“But why wouldn’t she tell you if she knew?”