A muscle leaps in his jaw.
My mind is blown. “You’re him.”
His hands flex at his sides.
Wyatt — my Wyatt — wrote my favorite book in the world.
A gorgeous, incredible story of love and hope and heartbreak… written by a gorgeous, incredible man.
My hands grab for the book again, hauling the cover close to my face as though that might somehow illuminate things for me.
“You wrote this. Didn’t you?” I look at him searchingly, and see the truth in his eyes. “You’re the author ofUncharted.”
He still says nothing, neither confirming nor denying my accusation, but I know in my heart that I’m right. In fact, now that I’ve made the leap, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. Details are sliding into place like a camera shifting into focus.
“This is why you had so much sway over casting decisions and filming locations. This is why you’ve been so involved with the adaptation, from beginning to end. It’syourbook being adapted.” I can hear the awe in my own voice. I’ve officially slid into fangirl territory, but I’m too thrilled to be embarrassed.
Wyatt sighs heavily, as though I’ve just accused him of something terrible, and mutters just one word.
“…Yes.”
“I KNEW IT!” I bounce on the balls of my feet, feeling adrenaline surge through me. “This is unbelievable!”
His lips twitch as he watches me jumping up and down like a child.
“But…” A million questions materialize in my head. “Why keep it a secret? Why not tell everyone? Why use a pen name? Why not scream about it from the rooftops every chance you get?” My hands tighten on the precious book in my hands. “Don’t tell me you’re ashamed of it or I will kick your ass from here to Sunday. You may be stronger than me, but I’m scrappy.”
His lips twitch. “Scrappy?”
“Damn straight.” I look back at the book in my hands and the whole world tilts again. “I can’t believe you wrote it. This book…everyoneshould read this book, Wyatt. It’s that good.”
He runs a hand through his hair, still hanging loose around his shoulders. “I don’t know about that. Frankly, I’m still surprised you’d read it before we cast you in the film. It’s not exactly a commercial success.”
“It will be after the movie comes out.” There’s not an ounce of doubt in my voice. “And, anyway why the hell wouldcommercial successeven matter?”
“It might surprise you to know it mattered a great deal to a great many people at my publishing house,” he says wryly. “I barely earned enough to pay back my advance.”
“No offense, Wyatt, but with a trust fund like yours, I sincerely doubt you needed the money.”
“It wasn’t about the money. It was about doing something outside the Hastings name. Proving…” He trails off, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation.
“Proving what?” I prod gently.
“Proving to myself that my worth isn’t purely a side-effect of nepotism and family favors.”
I stare at him for a beat. “Why did you write this story?”
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, Katharine.”
“Bullshit. I don’t care how long it’s been. That’s not the kind of thing that fades.” I take a step toward him — forgetting, in my passion, that we’re at odds, forgetting that I’m here for an entirely different purpose, forgetting that I should stay away from him so he can move on with his life without me. “Tell me why you wrote it.”
“Leave it alone.”
“No.”
“Katharine.”
“Wyatt.”