Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ROMAN
I decide to go ahead and do something I've been avoiding like the plague - review my father's proposal for the eco-resort project.
The thick manila folder sits on my glass desk, its edges worn from where his hands touched it.
When I finally crack it open, the business plan inside is immaculate - crisp white pages with precise charts and projections.
While I'm not shocked that my father remembers how to put together a proposal - he ran Kensington Pictures' international distribution with an iron fist before he vanished into the misty English countryside to milk Holsteins and down pints with ruddy-faced farmers for twenty-two years - I’m caught off guard by how meticulously he's thought through every detail.
I call Cameron, my phone pressed between ear and shoulder as I flip through the glossy appendices. "Cam," I say, my voice echoing in my cavernous office. "I read Dad's proposal. It's actually quite good. I'm thinking I'll test some concepts at the Verde, see if they hold water. No pun intended.”
"That's great, Rome," Cameron says, his voice warm through the speaker. "You should call Dad and meet with him."
"Not quite ready for that," I reply, mentally noting the "quite" slipping into my vocabulary - a hairline crack in my resolve.
For the next two weeks, I implement Dad's ideas at the Verde, after lengthy consultations with my sustainability team - three earnest engineers with identical wire-rimmed glasses.
And throughout those two weeks overseeing the resort's eco-friendly renovations, Lilith keeps slipping into my thoughts. She wouldn't know the first thing about sustainable HVAC systems or gray water recycling, yet I find myself wanting to tell her about every solar panel we install. I catch myself imagining her smile when I mention I’m taking Dad’s proposal so seriously.
Or how her eyes would light up hearing that Max convinced me to sign up for the Ironman after my MMA tournament wraps.
The timing works perfectly—I need this muscle mass for the cage, but distance training will strip me down to something leaner, more efficient. Different bodies for different battles.
She hasn’t been at the resort in weeks. Miranda tells me she’s taken some time off. I remember Jack telling me about Lilith taking some time off for a retreat in Big Sur, so that’s probably where she is.
But I can't take another day of this. Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm behind the wheel of my Range Rover, cutting through Venice Beach traffic toward Mystic Tides.
The steering wheel feels slick beneath my grip.
What the hell am I doing? We haven't spoken in a month, yet here I am, desperate to loop her into every detail of this project like she's already mine.
She might not even be at Mystic Tides yet—might still be on the winding coastal drive back from Big Sur. But I need to see her. Need to hear her voice, before I lose my goddamn mind.
The great Roman Kensington, racing through the streets because some tarot-reading hippie hasn't called him in a month. My brothers would never let me live this down.