Chapter 27 Marco #2
Marco held. His shoulders ached from an hour of this work, muscles he didn’t know he had protesting the unfamiliar strain. At home—at any of his homes—he had people for this. Contractors, decorators, staff who handled the physical labor while he signed checks and approved designs.
Here, he was just another pair of hands.
“You’re doing well.” Will stepped back, examining the trim. “Lots of guys your age don’t know which end of a hammer to hold.”
“I had a summer job in college. Construction crew in the Hamptons.” Marco adjusted his grip on the level. “My father thought manual labor would teach me humility.”
“Did it?”
“It taught me that I prefer air conditioning.”
Will laughed, a warm sound that filled the half-finished room. Through the window, Marco could see the lake, its surface rippled by the afternoon breeze. Leaves spiraled down from the trees along the shore, gold and red against the gray water.
“Tara says you’re staying at Colton’s.”
Marco’s hands tightened on the level. “News travels fast.”
“Small town.” Will pulled a nail from between his lips, positioned it against the trim. “Christina told her this morning. Tara told me. That’s how it works around here.”
“Is that a warning?”
“Just information.” Will drove the nail home with three precise strokes. “People here look out for each other. That includes looking out for Christina and that baby.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Will set down his hammer, met Marco’s eyes directly. “Because the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can be part of this community—really part of it, not just passing through—or you can be the outsider who broke Christina’s heart. There’s no middle ground.”
Marco thought about the shortcuts he’d taken his entire life—money smoothing every rough edge, connections opening every door, the Castellano name parting crowds. None of that worked here. None of that mattered to people who measured worth in a different currency.
“I want to be part of it,” he said. “I just don’t know how.”
Will picked up another nail. “You’re holding that level pretty steady. That’s a start.”
* * *
The dog was faster than Marco expected.
Angus—a brown mutt of indeterminate breed—shot down the lakeside path like he’d been launched from a cannon, his leash nearly yanking Marco off his feet. Beside him, Ryan laughed and broke into a jog to keep up.
“He does that when he smells squirrels,” Ryan said. “Just plant your feet and hold on.”
Marco planted his feet. His Italian leather boots—the second pair he’d ruined since he’d been here—sank into the soft earth of the path. Guess it was time to get some hiking boots after all.
“Here, give me the leash.” Ryan took it smoothly, shortening his grip, and Angus’s mad dash became a manageable trot. “You have to show him who’s in charge.”
“And who is in charge?”
“Angus.” Ryan grinned. “Always Angus. But we let him think otherwise.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the path winding along the lake’s edge. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the water. Somewhere nearby, a bird called—a sound Marco couldn’t identify, though Ryan probably could.
“Christina says you’re staying at Colton’s place,” Ryan said eventually.
“Word really does travel fast here.”
“It’s not gossip. It’s just—people care. She’s my sister.” Ryan kicked a stone off the path. “Colton’s cool. He taught me to throw a curveball last summer.”
“He mentioned you have a good arm.”
“He’s being nice. I’m better at video games.” Ryan’s voice held no self-pity, just honest assessment. “But I like the baseball stuff. It’s different from screens, you know?”
Marco thought about his own life—how much of it had been lived through screens, through cameras, through the filtered lens of public perception.
“Real is good,” he said.
“Yeah.” Ryan was quiet for a moment. “Violet’s lucky, you know. Having you around. I mean, if you actually stick around.”
“I’m going to.”
“That’s what they all say.” The words weren’t bitter, just matter-of-fact. Ryan had his own history with fathers who disappeared.
“I know I have to prove it,” Marco said. “Not just say it.”
Ryan shrugged, but there was something in his expression that might have been approval. “That’s usually how it works.”
* * *
The video call connected on the third ring.
Marco sat in the chair in Colton’s guest room, the house quiet around him. Through the window, he could see the mountains in the distance, their peaks catching the last of the evening light. His mother’s face filled his phone screen, her expression shifting from concern to hope.
“Marco? You look tired. But different. Good different.”
“I feel different, Mama.” He adjusted the phone, making sure the camera captured his face clearly. “I spent the afternoon at the cottage. Holding Violet.”
“Tell me everything.” Isabella leaned closer to the screen, her eyes bright. “Does she have our eyes? Does she look like you did as a baby?”
“She’s starting to. She looks like Sophia did as a baby. The eyes are changing—green coming through the blue.” Marco’s voice softened. “She fell asleep on my chest today. Just... trusted me. Even though she barely knows me.”
“Babies know.” His mother’s voice was thick with emotion. “They know who loves them.”
“I’m staying at Colton’s place for now. Giving Christina space, but staying close.” He paused. “It’s not what I expected, Mama. Any of it. I thought I’d hate it here—this tiny town, no nightlife, no—” He laughed. “No anything, really. But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like...”
“Like what?”
“Like somewhere I could belong.” The admission surprised him even as he said it. “I helped Will with trim work at the inn today. Manual labor. And I walked a dog with a fifteen-year-old kid, and I had dinner at a farmhouse table with people who don’t care about the Castellano name at all.”
Isabella was crying now, tears tracking silently down her face. But she was smiling too.
“This is what I’ve wanted for you,” she said. “Not the parties, not the campaigns. This. Something real.”
“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it.”
“You found it. That’s what matters.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Now—when can I come? I need to hold my granddaughter.”
“Soon. Let me get things settled first. Christina’s still—”
“Adjusting. I understand.” Isabella nodded firmly. “But Marco? Don’t wait too long. Life is short, and that baby won’t stay small forever.”
“I know, Mama.”
“And Marco?” Her voice softened. “I’m proud of you. Your father will come around eventually, but I’m proud of you now. For choosing this.”
After they hung up, Marco sat in the quiet of the guest room, watching the last light fade from the mountains.
Tomorrow he’d go back to the cottage, hold his daughter again, try to earn another fraction of Christina’s trust. He’d help Will with whatever needed doing at the inn.
He’d walk Angus and talk to Ryan and eat whatever Tara put in front of him.
Small things. Real things.
His phone buzzed with a text from Christina.
Violet’s asking for you. (She’s not actually asking, she’s just making noises, but I’m choosing to interpret them as “where’s Papa”)
Marco smiled—a real smile, the kind he’d almost forgotten how to make—and started typing his reply.