The problem is that I’m starting to have some nagging doubts about whether Nathan in particular is as bad as the rich man stereotype I’ve built up in my head.
Shoot, Nathan. He could be back any minute for a new load of begonias. I need to soothe my brother’s fury somehow before that happens. I bend down and pat Juan’s head. “Nathan is only giving me a hand with the plants I bought for Abuelita.” Well, technically Nathan bought them, but I’m not mixing that into our chat. “After that, he’ll be on his way. Besides, he might be different than the average wealthy guy.”
Juan purses his lips. “You’re just saying this because he looks like that hunky man from your favorite telenovela.”
“That’s not true,” I snap, feeling the familiar sensation of blushing spread on my face.
Even though, now that Juan mentioned it, Nathan does bear some resemblance to Wilhelm Cockney, the Duke in Roses and Love. Not only in his looks. In the story, Juliana refuses the Duke because of an old quarrel between their families, but the Duke keeps coming back to her until he proves he’s worthy of her attention.
Nathan returns, and I glance at him.
Oh goodness, Nathan’s grey eyes are far more bewitching than that British actor’s.
Nathan gives us a grin. “First crate is in place. I’ll get the next.” He steps over to his car and this time fetches one from his backseat.
Juan snorts, then shakes his head. Without a further word, he goes back inside.
“Is your brother okay?” Nathan asks.
“Yeah, yeah. He’s just…eager to get back to his computer game.”
Nathan nods. “Oh, I see.” He trudges toward the backyard again.
I exhale loudly.
Well, that didn’t go so great with my brother. Maybe it’s not Señor Moreno’s gossip I should be afraid of. I press a hand to my rumbling stomach. A phrase Nathan said me in the car comes back to me.
You know, people usually are drawn to me because I have money. You seem to flee me for the exact same reason. Isn’t it ironic?
Somehow Juan’s negative reaction makes me feel sorry for Nathan. And also a little guilty, because the hostility my brother showed must’ve been fueled by my teachings. It can’t be easy to live with the stigma of wealth all the time. Perhaps similar to that of poverty? Or that of coming from an immigrant family? In all of these cases, people observe you through a lens that distorts their vision.
A cold fills my chest.
Maybe I should cut Nathan some slack and let him show how he is as a person? Would that be too risky?
A hand on my shoulder makes me whirl around.
Nathan is back. “I’m done. All the begonias are in the garden.”
My eyes flick to the car. Both the trunk and the backseats are empty.
Did he make all the trips without me realizing? More importantly, did he see me standing here, daydreaming about him?
I shrug, hoping to jumpstart my brain. It works halfway. A part of me is still contemplating whether allowing myself some liberty with Nathan could lead to peril or not. “Ah, thanks. So, I hope you can get your car clean.”
Nathan smiles. “Surely. Don’t worry about that. Rather, tell me, where shall we start planting the flowers?”
“What?”
“The begonias. Would you prefer them along the fence or closer to the sidewalk?”
I shake my head. “You’re not planting these with me.”
“Why not?” His face is genuinely surprised.
“Because you’ve already done enough. Also, do you even have a clue about gardening?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I went to a boarding school where my greatest friend was an old gardener. Old Sam. I spent a lot of time helping him out.”
“Your folks sent you to a boarding school? I thought most rich kids are home-schooled.”
Nathan lifts a brow. “Why is that?”
“I don’t even know where I got this idea, either. It’s just what I’ve always pictured. Maybe because, if I had enough money, I’d love to keep my kids at home and get the best teachers. First, to spend time with them between classes and, second, to prevent them from turning into spoiled bullies because they’ve got everything else except parental affection. Oops…”
I clap my hand to my mouth. Too late. By the time I realize how my words sound, they’re already out.
Nathan’s face steels, and a quick spasm runs down below his left eye.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, dropping my glance. “I sometimes have a problem keeping my opinions to myself. I didn’t mean to imply that your parents…”
“No, it’s fine.” Nathan’s mask softens into a weak smile. “You’re not that far off. Even if I don’t think I’m a spoiled bully.”
Then I must be right about the lack of parental affection. I swallow, not knowing what to say. How did we get from begonias to talking about such a somber topic?
Think, say something positive. “At least you’ve had your brother there with you, right?”
“No. Murphy was homeschooled. He was too young when my father died. As a baby, he didn’t have the same problems with my step-father as I did, so Mother never had a reason to send him away.”
Oh, my! So much for enlivening the atmosphere.
I kick a small pebble with my left foot, and it flies toward the open garden door. I dare a fleeting glance at Nathan.
He’s staring right at me.
Has he been watching me all this time?
I don’t know if it’s the effect of his penetrating gaze or my guilt about having assumed that his life has been always peachy, but a confession I don’t usually share with random strangers bubbles up. “I lost my mother. And my father. Well, my step-father. My real father, I never even knew him.”
Nathan’s posture stiffens. “When did you lose them?”
The tone of his voice is warm, and somehow he doesn’t come across as prying. So I decide to answer. “My mom died seven years ago, just after the birth of Esperanza, my little sister.”
“I’m sorry for
