His honesty seemed to disarm her. “Why now?” she asked. “You’re rich, famous. You don’t need this.”
“I have money, Estela. But I am poor in everything else. When I saw you on that stage, speaking with such passion… I realized I’ve spent my life accumulating things that won’t hold my hand when I die. I’m not looking for an heir. I’m not looking to clear my conscience. I’m just looking for…” his eyes grew wet, “the chance to know the person who carries my blood and who is infinitely better than I am.”
Eduardo pulled the small package from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This belonged to my father. Your grandfather, Alejandro. He always said time was the only asset you can’t recover. I lost twenty-two years of yours. I can’t give them back, but I promise I won’t waste a single second of the future, if you’ll let me be in it.”
Estela opened the box. It was a silver pocket watch, antique and beautiful. She stroked it with her thumb. “I don’t need your money, Eduardo,” she said softly, using his name for the first time. “Or your last name. I like being a Baloa.”
“And you should be proud to be one.”