Chapter 24
CHRISTINA
Five days. Five days of back roads and locked doors and holding her breath every time she heard footsteps on gravel.
Christina pressed her back against the pantry shelves, Violet warm against her chest, and waited until the knocking stopped. Through the cottage’s front window, she could see him on the porch—dark hair, broad shoulders, that patient stillness that made her want to scream.
Marco didn’t leave right away. He stood there for a long moment, head bowed, before finally turning and walking back toward the lake. She watched until he disappeared around the bend, then let out the breath burning in her lungs.
Violet stirred, making that small questioning sound she always made when she sensed her mother’s tension. Christina pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, breathing in the sweet baby-powder scent of her.
“We’re okay,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”
But they weren’t. Every route through town had become a calculation—where might he be, what time did he walk the lake path, which shops had back doors she could slip through.
Yesterday she’d driven twenty minutes out of her way to avoid Main Street.
This morning she’d sent Ryan to Spilled Milk for diapers before his classes started instead of going herself.
The cottage smelled of the lavender candle her mother had given her, mixed with baby powder and something else—the musty sweetness of autumn leaves drifting through the cracked window.
September had always been her favorite month.
The crisp mornings, the mountains blazing with color, the smell of the world preparing to rest.
Now, it felt like decay. Like everything beautiful was dying around her while she stood frozen.
Another knock. Her whole body went rigid.
“Christina?” Her mother’s voice. “Honey, are you home?”
She nearly sagged with relief. She crossed to the door and pulled it open, finding Tara on the porch with a casserole dish and worried eyes.
“You weren’t at the inn this morning.” Her mother stepped inside, setting the dish on the counter. “Will said he saw you turn around in the parking lot.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Mmm.” Tara didn’t look convinced. She crossed to where Christina stood with Violet and brushed a gentle finger over the baby’s cheek. “She’s getting so big. And her eyes—they’re really starting to change, aren’t they?”
Christina’s stomach dropped. “Mom—”
“I’m not asking.” Tara held up a hand. “I told you I wouldn’t push, and I won’t. But something’s wrong, and I need to know if you’re okay.”
Violet started fussing, her small face scrunching. Christina bounced her automatically, grateful for the distraction.
“There’s a man,” she said finally. “Staying at the inn. He’s been leaving notes.”
Her mother’s expression sharpened. “What kind of notes?”
“He just wants to talk. That’s what they say.
” Christina moved to the kitchen table, where three folded pieces of paper sat in a pile.
She’d meant to throw them away, but hadn’t been able to make herself do it.
“He keeps showing up. At the cottage, on the lake path, everywhere I go. He’s not threatening, just.. . there.”
Tara picked up one of the notes and unfolded it. Christina watched her mother’s face as she read.
I just want to talk. Please. I’m not going anywhere.
“Do you know this man?”
The question hung between them. Christina looked at her daughter—at the dark hair nothing like hers, at the eyes that turned greener every day, at the features that would someday make the connection undeniable.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I know him.”
“Christina.” Her mother’s voice was gentle but firm. “What’s going on?”
The words had been locked inside her for months.
Secrets and fear and worst-case scenarios every time she closed her eyes—lawyers in expensive suits, custody battles dragging through courts, Violet torn away to a world of paparazzi and privilege.
Christina reduced to a footnote. The gold-digger. The one-night stand.
“Can you call everyone?” Her voice cracked. “Ally and Colton, Evan and Emily, Will, Ryan. I need to tell you all something, and I can only say it once.”
Her mother studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded and pulled out her phone.
They gathered in the cottage’s small living room as the afternoon light slanted through the windows.
Ally sat on the loveseat with Colton beside her, their shoulders touching.
Evan and Emily had taken the sofa, Emily holding a drowsy Grace.
Ryan sat cross-legged on the floor near Tara, while Will stood by the fireplace.
Christina sat in the rocking chair, Violet nursing beneath a blanket. The room smelled of her mother’s chili warming on the stove and the coffee Will had started when he arrived.
“Thanks for coming.” Her voice came out steadier than expected. “I know this is strange. I know I’ve been hiding something, and you’ve all been patient. Not asking questions. Giving me space.”
“We’re family.” Ally’s voice was soft. “We don’t need to know everything.”
“But you need to know this.” Christina took a breath. “Violet’s father. I’ve never told any of you who he is.”
The room went still.
“You don’t have to—” Tara started.
“Yes, I do. Because he’s here. In Blueberry Hill. Staying at the inn.”
Ryan straightened. “That guy who keeps coming by? The one who looks like he stepped out of a magazine?”
Christina almost laughed. “Yeah. That guy.”
“Who is he?” Evan’s voice was careful—his business voice, the one he used when assessing a situation.
She looked at her family. The people who had taken her in when everything fell apart, who had helped her through pregnancy and labor and sleepless nights. Who had never once made her feel judged.
Colton stood. “Marco?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re the unforgettable girl from Miami?”
Christina nodded. “Yes. Your friend. Marco Castellano.”
She watched recognition spread across their faces—Ally’s sharp breath, Evan’s eyebrows rising, Emily’s hand tightening on Grace.
“Castellano,” Will repeated slowly. “As in...”
“The fashion empire. Yes.” Christina’s arms tightened around Violet.
“He’s the heir. I didn’t know that when I met him.
We were at a club in Miami, and we agreed—no names, no stories.
Just one night to celebrate my last adventure in Miami before we moved.
I didn’t find out who he was until months later, when I saw his face in a magazine, in an ad with Colton. ”
“And you never told him.” Tara’s voice held no judgment. “About Violet.”
“How could I?” The words came out raw. “I looked him up. The tabloids, the scandals, the women—he goes through supermodels like other people go through coffee. And his family is worth billions. If they found out about Violet, they’d have lawyers on me within hours.
They’d paint me as a gold-digger, try to take her—”
“Hey.” Colton cut through her spiral. “Christina. Breathe.”
She realized she’d been talking faster and faster, chest tight, Violet fussing against her. She forced herself to slow down, to feel the weight of her daughter.
“He recognized me,” she said quieter. “On the lake path. The day after the opening. He saw Violet, did the math, and now he knows. And he won’t stop. He keeps showing up, keeps leaving notes—”
“What do the notes say?” Ally asked.
“That he wants to talk. That he’s not going anywhere. That he just wants—” Her voice broke. “That he just wants a chance to understand.”
Silence filled the room. Outside, leaves rustled against the window, gold and red in the fading light. Violet had stopped fussing, eyes drifting closed.
“Do you want to talk to him?” Ryan’s voice was quieter than usual.
Christina thought about it. Really thought, past the fear and the scenarios and the months of hiding.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m scared of what happens if I do. But I can’t avoid him forever. Not in a town this small.”
“Whatever you decide,” Tara said firmly, “you’re not doing it alone.”
“She’s right.” Evan leaned forward. “And Christina—I’m not defending the guy. But if he had wanted to cause problems, he could have already. He has resources. Lawyers instead of handwritten notes.”
“That’s actually fair,” Will said slowly. “Doesn’t mean you have to trust him. But it means something that he’s choosing this approach.”
Christina looked down at Violet’s peaceful face, at the dark lashes resting against cheeks that held a warmth her own fair skin had never possessed.
“I’m not ready,” she said. “Not yet. But maybe soon.”
“When you’re ready,” Ally said, “we’ll be right here. And if he turns out to be a jerk, Colton knows people.”
“I do not know people.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s my friend.” He looked at Christina. “Yes, he’s a playboy, but underneath it all, he’s a good guy. Maybe hear him out?”
The tension cracked, just slightly. Christina felt something loosen in her chest—not the fear, but the isolation. The weight of carrying this alone.
“Thank you,” she said. “For not being angry that I kept this secret.”
“Honey.” Her mother crossed to her, kneeling beside the rocking chair. “You were protecting your daughter. That’s never something to apologize for.”
The timer went off, and Will moved toward the kitchen while Ryan pulled out bowls, and Emily handed Grace to Evan so she could help.
Life continuing. Family closing ranks. The smell of food and the sound of people she loved filling her space.
Christina looked out at the mountains blazing in the last light. Tomorrow she’d figure out what came next.
“Mom?” she said as Tara stood. “Can you stay tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Of course. As long as you need.”
Violet unlatched and yawned, her tiny mouth forming a perfect O. Christina lifted her to her shoulder, patting her back, and let herself be pulled into the warmth of her family around her.
The notes still sat on the kitchen table. She’d deal with them tomorrow—throw them away or maybe write one back.
But right now, Evan was arguing with Ryan about the proper way to serve chili, with sour cream and cheese or just crackers, and Ally was laughing at something Colton said, and her mother was pressing a kiss to Violet’s head.
Right now, she wasn’t alone anymore.
And tomorrow, she’d have to decide what to do about a man who wouldn’t stop waiting.