27. Home
HOME
RILEY
The pen hovered over the signature line long enough for the air-conditioning to raise goose bumps along my arms.
Director of Events and Hospitality. Profit share. Independent hiring authority.
Everything I had once pictured from the far side of locked doors sat beneath my hand in clean black type.
"You know," Bianca said from across the conference table, "most people don't make a contract nervous before signing it."
"I only read it twice."
"Three times," Luca corrected.
I looked at him. He leaned against the credenza in a charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, trying—and failing—to look as though my signature mattered less than every investor meeting on his calendar.
"They spelled my name right and everything," I said.
His expression softened. "We spared no expense."
I kicked his shoe beneath the table. Bianca hid a smile behind her coffee.
The joke loosened something in my chest, but not enough. I had spent years taking temporary jobs and introducing myself by whatever title paid that month. Nanny. Assistant. Backup coordinator. The woman called in to fix the disaster, then dismissed before the decisions were made.
Now the room waited for me.
I signed. The scratch of ink sounded absurdly loud.
Bianca reached across first. "Welcome aboard, officially."
"Thank you." My voice came out steady, though my fingers tingled around the pen.
Luca pushed away from the credenza. "One more thing."
He set a small ivory box beside the contract.
Suspicion narrowed my eyes. "You already bought champagne."
"That was for us. This is for you."
I lifted the lid. Inside rested a slim leather card case in deep ocean blue. I lifted it from the box, the leather buttery-soft beneath my thumb.
On the other, stamped in silver:
EVENT DIVISION PARTNER, SANTORO RESORTS
My breath caught.
"Luca."
"The contract gives you the title," he said quietly. "But you helped build this. I thought you should have something that tells the truth."
For one dangerous second, all I could see was every version of myself who had accepted less because asking for more felt greedy.
I slid one of my new business cards from the box.
Riley Brooks
Director of Events and Hospitality
Santoro Resorts
Below it, in smaller type:Event Division Partner.
No one had handed me an identity. I had earned this one, crisis by crisis, choice by choice.
I looked up at Luca. "You realize I'm going to become unbearable."
His smile arrived slow and proud. "I'm counting on it."
I tucked the card into the case and closed my hand around it.
For the first time since coming to Miami, staying didn't feel like choosing someone else's life.
It felt like claiming mine.
By the time we reached the kids' club, Ava had already asked six questions and ignored every adult who tried to answer them.
She stopped beneath the curved wooden sign and pressed both palms to her cheeks.
"This is for me?"
Luca crouched beside her. "It's for every kid who needs a place that feels good."
The room beyond the glass doors glowed without being loud. Soft blue panels lined one wall. A ceiling projector scattered stars across a dim corner filled with floor cushions. There were headphones, textured boards, a climbing nook, and a quiet room with a sliding door Ava could close herself.
Through the windows, I could see the marina—and the empty slip where Luca's boat used to sit.
He had sold it to build this room and keep the resort's payroll intact while the investors held back. The money hadn't solved everything. It had bought them time and a chance to prove this new direction was worth backing.
Luca hadn't mentioned the boat once since the sale. He only watched Ava take her first careful step into the room, as if there had never been any question which one mattered more.
She walked in slowly at first. Then she saw the sensory swing. Her delighted squeal echoed through the room before she ran for it.
I laughed, following with my phone in hand. "Careful, little lady."
"I am careful."
She climbed in, tucked her knees beneath her, and swayed. Luca stood near the doorway, watching her with that stillness he got when happiness scared him more than any crisis.
Ava pointed toward the wall. "Look. The lights don't blink."
"No flashing lights," I said. "Just soft ones."
"And no loud music?"
"Not unless somebody wants it."
She nodded with grave approval, then spotted the basket of weighted lap animals. Five minutes later, she had arranged three across her body and declared herself a "sleepy pancake."
Luca nodded solemnly. "Do sleepy pancakes need syrup?"
"No. That would be sticky and unacceptable."
I filmed her tour because she insisted. She showed the camera the headphones, the picture schedule, the snack station labeled by texture, and the small tent where kids could hide without being told they were rude.
"This room knows when your brain needs a break," she explained.
Behind me, Bianca whispered, "That's the whole campaign."
I lowered the phone. "She said it better."
Luca glanced at me. "She usually does."
We posted the clip before lunch with Ava's approval, keeping her location and personal details out of the caption. By the time we finished the ribbon cutting, Bianca's phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
"Fifty thousand views," she said.
Luca's jaw tightened. "Already?"
"Comments are good." She turned the screen toward us. Parents thanked the resort for creating a space their children could use without apology. A local autism advocacy group had shared it. Even accounts that had dragged Luca during the tabloid mess reposted the video.
Ava tugged my hand. "Are people being nice now?"
I looked at her, then at Luca.
"For today," I said carefully.
She accepted that and ran back to the swing.
The numbers kept climbing, but the relief felt fragile, almost borrowed. I slid my card case into my bag and watched Luca smile at his daughter.
For one morning, the world saw him clearly.
The email arrived while Ava was still arguing that the sensory swing needed a cup holder.
My phone vibrated against the café table. I glanced down, expecting another notification from the video. Instead, the subject line read:
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
A cold dread slid through me before I opened it.
There was no greeting. Just a link, a countdown clock, and one sentence.
Pay, or the rest goes public.
Below it sat three blurred thumbnails. One showed the resort balcony outside Luca's suite.
Another caught Ava in profile near the pool, her small hand tucked into mine.
The third was too dark to make out clearly, but I recognized the line of Luca's shoulder, bare skin, and the amber light outside his bedroom.
"Riley?"
Luca's voice sharpened. I turned the screen toward him.
Whatever warmth had been in his face vanished. He took the phone without touching the link, his thumb hovering over the images.
"They photographed Ava."
The quiet way he said it scared me more than anger would have.
Bianca leaned across the table. "Don't click anything."
"I wasn't going to."
Luca stood so fast his chair scraped the tile. "Donny has her?"
"At the kids' club," I said. "With security."
He was already dialing. His shoulders locked while he confirmed Ava was inside, the doors monitored, no unfamiliar staff nearby.
I wrapped both hands around my coffee, though the cup had gone lukewarm. The new card case pressed against my hip inside my bag. Hours after I'd finally earned my place at the table, someone was already gathering ammunition to prove I didn't belong there.
The clock on the email kept moving.
23:57:41.
23:57:40.
"They want money," Bianca said after Luca ended the call.
"They're not getting it." His answer came immediately.
I looked at him. "Luca, if they have more pictures?—"
"Paying tells them Ava works."
I couldn't argue that.
He crouched beside me, one hand covering mine around the cup. "I'm not gambling with her privacy. I'm bringing in someone who can trace this."
"And if they post before then?"
His jaw flexed. "Then we deal with what's real. We don't let a stranger set the rules in our house."
Our house.
The phrase should have steadied me. Instead, my eyes burned.
"I know someone," I said, already reaching for my contacts. "A mother I used to nanny for. Mara Bennett. She's a cyber-investigator."
Luca looked at me. "You trust her?"
"With this? Completely."
I found Mara's number and sent a message marked urgent. Her reply came less than a minute later, asking me to forward the email through a secure link and call immediately.
Luca stayed beside me while I spoke to her, but Mara directed the questions to me: when the message arrived, whether I had opened the link, what images were visible, and whether the sender had contacted us before.
Luca filled in the resort security details when needed, his answers clipped and precise.
When the call ended, I kept my phone in my hand. Mara had promised to contact me directly as soon as she found anything. Across the room, Ava laughed at something Donny said.
On my screen, the countdown continued.
23:51:08.
For one morning, the world had seen the best of us. Now someone was preparing to sell the rest.
Maddie had arrived that afternoon, as promised, with pajamas in her suitcase and a stuffed dolphin Ava had immediately confiscated.
She stopped inside the entryway.
Ava sat cross-legged on the rug, sorting seashells by size. Luca stood at the kitchen island packing snacks into labeled containers while Donny argued with the espresso machine. My contract folder rested beside a vase of fresh flowers, the embossed card case tucked neatly on top.
Maddie looked from them to me.
"Well," she said. "This is aggressively domestic."
I hugged her before she could say anything worse.
She squeezed me hard, then leaned back. "You look good."
"You sound surprised."
"I've seen your taste in men."
"Should I be offended?" Luca called from the kitchen.
Maddie glanced past me, caught.