Chapter 21 #2
She grabbed a bag of coffee beans and headed toward the magazine rack, thinking she might pick up something light to read this afternoon.
The latest issues of gossip magazines and lifestyle publications sat in neat rows, their bright covers promising celebrity scandals, fashion trends, and home decorating tips.
That’s when she saw it.
A men’s fashion magazine with a cover that made her stop breathing.
Two incredibly handsome men stood against the backdrop of New York’s skyline, their poses casual but clearly professional.
One was Colton—she recognized him immediately from all the times he’d been to family dinners with Ally.
But it was the other man who made her legs nearly give out.
Dark hair. Green eyes. The same devastating smile that had charmed her that one reckless night that had changed everything.
Christina grabbed the magazine with shaking hands, flipping to the article inside.
The pages blurred as she read about Colton’s new modeling career, his partnership with luxury clothing brand Brioni, and his friendship with co-model Marco Castellano, very eligible heir to the Castellano fashion empire.
Marco Castellano. Now she had a name for the father of her child.
The article included several photos of them, both in professional shoots and candid shots from what appeared to be a New York nightclub.
One photo showed Marco laughing at something off-camera, his hands gesturing expressively as he told a story.
Another showed him at what looked like a charity gala, surrounded by beautiful women in evening gowns, a glass of champagne in his hand.
Christina sank onto the small bench near the magazine rack, her heart pounding as she continued reading.
The brief biography mentioned his family’s wealth, his bachelor lifestyle, and his condos in Miami, New York, and Milan.
There were quotes about his “commitment to living life to the fullest” and his belief that “settling down is for people who’ve given up on adventure. ”
The magazine slipped from her numb fingers as the full reality hit her.
The father of her baby wasn’t just some random drop-dead gorgeous guy she’d met at a club.
He was Marco Castellano, heir to a fashion empire, international playboy, the kind of man who probably forgot the names of women he’d slept with before his coffee grew cold the next morning.
“Everything okay, honey?”
Christina looked up to find Evelyn from the pharmacy counter standing over her, concern written across her weathered face.
“Fine,” Christina managed, bending to pick up the magazine. “Just... dizzy for a second.”
“You should sit down more often, especially in your condition though you don’t even look pregnant, you skinny little thing,” she said with the knowing smile of a woman who’d raised five children of her own and was clearly part of the Blueberry Hill grapevine. “How far along are you now?”
“Four months,” she admitted quietly.
“Wonderful! Your mom must be over the moon about becoming a grandmother.” Evelyn’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. “Will the father be moving to Blueberry Hill too?”
The innocent question hit Christina like a physical blow.
She stared down at Marco’s photograph, at his confident smile and designer clothes, trying to imagine him in Blueberry Hill.
The image was so absurd it was almost funny.
Marco Castellano, changing diapers in a cottage by a lake, shopping for baby formula at Spilled Milk, attending PTA meetings at the local elementary school.
“He’s … not in the picture,” Christina said finally.
Evelyn’s expression softened with understanding. “Well, that baby’s lucky to have such a strong mama and a wonderful family here. Sometimes that’s all a child needs.”
After Evelyn returned to the pharmacy, Christina sat alone with the magazine in her lap, staring at Marco’s face until the features blurred together.
She thought about the night they’d met, how he’d seemed genuinely intrigued when she’d insisted on no names, no life stories.
They’d danced for hours, lost in music and attraction and the kind of chemistry that belonged in movies.
She remembered the way he’d laughed when she’d refused to tell him what she did for a living, how he’d said it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t interested in his money or connections.
At the time, she’d thought he was just being modest. Now she understood—he’d been used to women who wanted him for his money and his name.
But what would he think if he knew about the baby? Would he see it as a trap, an attempt to cash in on his family’s fortune? Would he demand a paternity test, accuse her of sleeping around, assume the worst about her motivations?
The thought of his potential reaction made her stomach clench with something that had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. She imagined lawyers, legal documents, custody battles, her child becoming a pawn in some wealthy family’s idea of damage control.
No, she couldn’t risk it. What if they tried to take her baby?
Christina tucked the magazine under her arm and finished her shopping, her mind made up by the time she reached the checkout counter.
Marco Castellano would never know about her baby.
She would raise this child with the love and support of her real family—the one that had chosen to love her despite her mistakes.
As she drove back to the cottage, Christina thought about her mom and Will at Patty’s funeral, honoring a friendship that had survived decades of change and challenge.
She thought about Ryan, building a new life from the ashes of tragedy, and Sam, learning to trust again after years of disappointment.
She thought about Ally, still healing from heartbreak but strong enough to help others plan their happiness.
This was her family. This was her home. And this baby would grow up surrounded by people who understood that love wasn’t about what you could provide—it was about showing up, day after day, no matter what.
The magazine lay on the passenger seat beside her, Marco’s perfect smile hidden beneath a grocery bag that smelled of fresh bread and possibility. Christina pressed her hand to her belly, where their child grew safely hidden from the complications of his world.
“Just you and me, baby,” she whispered. “And the best family anyone could ask for.”
But even as she made the promise, doubt crept in like a cold wind. Secrets had a way of revealing themselves, especially in small towns where everyone knew everyone’s business. And men like Marco Castellano had resources that could find anyone, anywhere, if they really wanted to.