25. The Future Conversation
THE FUTURE CONVERSATION
RILEY
The folder hit the terrace table hard enough to make the candle flames jump.
I stared at it, then at Luca. "That dramatic, huh?"
His mouth almost moved, but the expression never became a smile. Beyond him, the resort glowed against the black sweep of the water, every balcony lit, every palm wrapped in soft white lights. From here, it looked untouchable.
Apparently, it wasn't.
Luca pulled out the chair across from me. "We're bleeding faster than I thought."
The words stripped the warmth from the night.
I sat slowly, the hem of my dress brushing my knees. "How bad?"
He opened the folder and turned the first page toward me. Columns of numbers blurred beneath the candlelight, but the red figures didn't need translation.
"Bad enough that one weak season puts us in trouble," he said. "Bad enough that Victor knows exactly where to press."
My stomach tightened at the name.
Luca tapped the projections. "The resort was built for luxury travelers and corporate retreats. That market isn't enough anymore. Not with the cancellations, the legal costs, and the damage he's already done."
"And your solution is?"
His eyes lifted to mine. Steady. Intent.
"You."
A startled laugh escaped me. "That's not a business plan."
"No." He slid a second set of pages from the folder. "This is."
Preliminary concept renderings filled the page: a possible event wing opening toward the gardens, private family suites, flexible reception spaces, and quiet rooms tucked away from the ballroom.
I leaned closer despite myself.
"Luxury events designed around families," Luca said. "Weddings, retreats, milestone weekends. High-end service without treating children like inconveniences. Sensory-aware spaces. Trained staff. Custom schedules. Quiet access."
My pulse stumbled.
It was the gap I had spent years pointing out—the families luxury venues claimed to welcome, then expected to make themselves smaller. It was what I wanted to build someday, once I had enough money, credibility, and permission.
"You remembered," I said.
"I listened."
The quiet certainty in his answer reached deeper than anything rehearsed could have.
He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. "I don't want you to take this job because Ava loves you. Or because I do."
The candle between us flickered.
"I'm asking you to help me save this place," he said. "And build something that should've existed already."
For one dangerous second, I let myself see it.
My name on an office door. My ideas built into something permanent. Families walking into a space designed by me and feeling understood before they ever had to ask.
Then the rest of the picture sharpened.
Luca owned the resort. Luca had the money, the staff, the lawyers, the power to make one conversation become blueprints.
I would be stepping into his business while sleeping in his bed and helping raise his daughter.
Three parts of my life tied to one man—and I was supposed to believe the lines between them would never blur.
I pushed the renderings back toward him.
His expression tightened. "You hate it."
"I love it." The admission scraped on the way out. "That's the problem."
He went still.
I stood and crossed to the terrace railing, needing the ocean in front of me instead of the future he had spread across the table. Salt clung to the humid air. Below us, waves folded against the private beach with maddening calm.
"I came to Miami because I was tired of waiting for somebody to decide I was worth taking seriously," I said. "I took every job I could. I smiled through people calling this a hobby. I kept telling myself I'd build something that belonged to me."
"This would belong to you."
"Would it?" I turned. "Or would I become your girlfriend who's apparently good with events?"
Luca flinched, barely, but I saw it.
"That isn't what I'm offering."
"I know. Your version comes with renderings and enough paperwork to frighten a small government."
His mouth tightened, but this time I caught the beginning of a smile. "I wanted to be thorough."
"You brought architecture to a relationship conversation, Luca. Thorough surrendered ten pages ago."
My fingers closed around the railing. "But what happens the first time we disagree and your money is paying for all of it?
What happens if this falls apart between us?
You keep the resort. You keep the wing. You keep the life I helped build, and I leave with nothing but the knowledge that love wasn't enough to protect me. "
His chair scraped softly as he rose, but he didn't come closer.
"I'm not them, Riley."
"I know." My voice cracked anyway. "That's what makes this worse."
Because I loved him enough to want everything he was offering. Luca. Ava. Work that mattered. A place that felt like home. Somewhere along the way, I had started believing that the moment I wanted love, family, and ambition at the same time, one of them would demand the rest as payment.
"I don't know how to choose this life without making my ambition smaller," I whispered. "And I don't know how to choose myself without losing you both."
A small voice drifted through the open terrace doors.
"Riley?"
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Ava stood just inside, barefoot and rumpled from bed, her curls flattened on one side. She clutched something in both hands, colorful beads looped over her fingers.
Luca's entire face changed. The hard lines softened, but worry stayed in his eyes. "You're supposed to be asleep, piccola."
"I was." She looked at me instead of him. "Then I remembered."
"Remembered what?" I asked.
She crossed the terrace slowly, concentrating on the bracelet as if the steps required careful planning. When she reached me, she held it out.
White beads. Pink beads. Gold letters.
RILEY COMES BACK.
My breath caught so sharply it hurt.
"I made it today at camp," she said. "A counselor helped with the knot because mine kept coming loose."
Luca turned his head, staring out toward the water. The movement was small, but his jaw flexed.
"Ava." I crouched in front of her. "This is beautiful."
"You can wear it when you go places," she said. "So you remember what happens next."
The terrace blurred around the edges.
This wasn't fair. Not because Ava had done anything wrong, but because she had found the exact fear I kept hidden and offered me the opposite of it with a handful of plastic beads.
"I always come back," I whispered.
Her forehead creased. "But are you staying?"
Behind her, Luca said nothing.
I looked up at him. He wasn't using Ava to persuade me. If anything, guilt hollowed his expression, like he wanted to protect me from the question as much as he wanted my answer.
I slid the bracelet over my wrist. It fit too loosely, knocking softly against my watch.
"I'm trying to figure that out," I told her.
Ava considered this, then wrapped both arms around my neck. "I vote yes."
A laugh broke through the ache in my chest. "Noted. Very impartial."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means you're excellent at campaigning."
Over her shoulder, Luca met my eyes.
The choice wasn't only between love and work anymore.
It had a child's arms around my neck, a future drawn in blueprints, and two people waiting to see whether I believed I could belong without disappearing.
Luca carried Ava back to bed himself.
I stayed on the terrace until his footsteps disappeared down the hall, staring at the bracelet sliding against my wrist. When he returned, the candles had burned lower and the ocean had gone black.
"Come with me," he said.
There was no pressure in it. Somehow, that made following him harder.
He led me into the private study off the main suite. Dark shelves lined the walls, and a brass lamp cast a warm circle over the desk, where another folder waited.
I stopped in the doorway. "How many folders are involved in this future?"
"The important ones."
He pulled out a chair, then sat beside me instead of positioning himself across the desk.
That mattered.
Luca opened the folder and turned the first contract toward me. My name appeared at the top in bold print.
Riley Brooks, Events and Hospitality Director.
Not assistant. Not consultant. Not Luca Santoro's anything.
My excitement snagged on a familiar name. "What about Bianca?"
"I spoke to her before I had these drafted."
My eyebrows lifted. "You told Bianca before you told me?"
"I asked how this would affect her contract. I didn't tell her you'd accepted."
Because I hadn't. Because he hadn't assumed.
"Bianca's contract was always project-based. She has other clients, and she intends to keep them. She agreed the resort needs someone here full-time, but she still wants to consult on select events—if you want her."
"She wanted me for her company."
"She still does." A hint of amusement touched his mouth. "She made that extremely clear."
That sounded like Bianca.
"She also gave me permission to tell you she'd stay available as an outside consultant," he continued. "On your terms. If you want her."
Relief loosened something in my chest. I wouldn't be taking Bianca's place or pushing aside the woman who had first taken my ambition seriously. I would be building on the opportunity she had already offered me, with her beside me when I needed her.
I read on: salary, benefits, a percentage of the new wing's profits, final authority over event programming, vendor selection, and every sensory-accessibility standard.
My gaze snagged on one paragraph. "Independent legal counsel?"
"Paid by the resort. Chosen by you."
He slid a second document beside the first. "This creates the division as its own entity. You'd have an ownership stake. Not a promise. Ownership."
My fingers tightened around the page.
"There's a separation clause," he continued. "If we end personally, your position and profit share stay protected. If you leave, the resort buys out your interest at an independently assessed value."
The room went quiet.
"You did all this before tonight?"