“And his eyes,” Christina said. “They’re starting to change.”
Sophia’s gaze moved to Christina, and something passed between them—not warmth, exactly, but a kind of acknowledgment. Two women sizing each other up, recalibrating.
“I owe you an apology.” Sophia set her teacup down on the table. “When I arrived yesterday, I assumed the worst. I thought—” She stopped, pressed her lips together. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong.”
Christina’s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. “You were protecting your brother. I understand that.”
“Do you?”
“I have a brother. Two of them. I know what it’s like to want to shield someone from getting hurt.”
Sophia nodded slowly. “Then perhaps we understand each other after all.”
The tension in the room shifted—not dissolving entirely, but loosening. Tara moved from the doorway to sit beside Sophia on the sofa, and the gesture felt significant. Perhaps some kind of truce.
“Marco.” Christina’s voice pulled his attention. “Can we talk? Outside?”
He looked down at Violet, still sleeping against his chest. “I can take her?—”
“Let me.” Tara was already rising, crossing to him with practiced ease. She lifted Violet with the confidence of someone who’d raised four children, settling the baby against her shoulder without waking her. “Go on. Sophia and I can get to know each other better.”
The look on Sophia’s face suggested she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that, but she made no protest.
The back porch of the cottage overlooked the lake, the water gray-blue under the late September sky. Leaves were beginning to turn along the far shore—gold and rust bleeding into the green—and the air carried the first real bite of autumn. Christina wrapped her arms around herself, though the chill wasn’t that sharp yet.
“My family. They think—” She stopped, started again. “They think you’ll get bored. That this is just another adventure for you, and when the novelty wears off, you’ll disappear back to your real life.”
The words landed like stones in Marco’s chest. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but he couldn’t. They had every reason to believe exactly that.
“What do you think?” he asked instead.
Christina turned to face him, and in the afternoon light, he could see the exhaustion written in every line of her beautiful face. The sleepless nights, the months of fear, the weight of a secret she’d carried alone.
“I think you’ll be like Colton,” she said quietly. “You’ll miss the excitement. The glamour. The life you had before. And eventually, you’ll leave.”
“Christina—”
“I’m not saying it to be cruel. I’m saying it because I need you to understand what’s at stake.” Her voice cracked. “If you leave, it won’t just be me you’re hurting. It’ll be Violet. And I can survive a lot of things, Marco, but I can’t survive watching my daughter grow up wondering why her father doesn’t want her.”
“Colton came back.” Marco crossed the porch in two strides, stopping just short of touching her. “I’m not going to leave.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He kept his voice steady, willing her to hear the truth in it. “I’ve been looking for something for a long time, Christina. Longer than I even knew. I’ve been to every party, every gala, every red carpet event in the world, and I’ve felt nothing. Empty. Like I was playing a part in someone else’s story. Until that night with you.”
“And now?”
“Now I hold my daughter while she sleeps, and I feel everything.” His throat tightened. “I watch you move through this cottage, and I want to be part of it. Not as a visitor. Not as the guy who shows up with expensive gifts and disappears. As someone who stays.”
Christina’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Pretty words.”
“I know. I’m good with pretty words.” Marco ran a hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m going to show you instead. I talked to Colton this morning. He said I can stay at his place for a while, if it’s okay with you.”
“You’re not going back to the inn?”
“I want to be closer. Not in your space—I know you need room to breathe. But close enough that you can see me. Every day. Proving that I’m not going anywhere.”
Christina was quiet for a long moment. Behind them, through the cottage windows, Marco could hear Tara’s voice and Sophia’s responding, the sounds of two very different women finding common ground.
