Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN AT THE HEAD TABLE
One year after the disastrous dinner with Camille, Emma attended the Moretti Foundation winter benefit again.
Different dress.
Different relationship.
Same room.
Deep blue this time.
Luca did not tell her she looked beautiful immediately.
He waited until they were alone in the elevator.
Emma smiled.
“Why wait?”
He looked at her.
“Judith.”
She laughed.
“My mother has trained a mafia boss.”
“She is terrifying.”
At the ballroom, whispers came.
Of course.
Some had changed.
Some had not.
Emma was now assistant director of hotel operations.
Still plus-size.
Still formerly household staff.
Still Emma.
A woman named Beatrice Lowell approached.
Old money.
Old opinions.
She looked at Emma’s name card at the head table.
Then:
“Oh.”
Emma knew that tone.
“What?”
“I assumed staff managers sat with hotel executives.”
Emma smiled.
“They do.”
Beatrice looked confused.
Emma pointed at Luca.
“I’m also his date.”
“Oh.”
Still unhappy.
Then Beatrice leaned closer.
“This must all feel very new.”
Emma smiled.
“Ballrooms?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’ve cleaned enough of them to know where every bad carpet choice is.”
Luca nearly laughed.
Beatrice walked away.
Emma looked at him.
“You behaved.”
“Barely.”
“Progress.”
Camille arrived later.
Alone.
She had cut ties with Anthony’s faction after his conviction.
Now ran her own art consultancy.
She approached Emma.
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
Camille glanced at Luca.
“You too.”
He nodded.
That was friendship as far as they needed.
Camille said:
“My father still thinks marrying strategically is important.”
Emma raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“I introduced him to boundaries.”
“Did he survive?”
“Unclear.”
They laughed.
Luca watched.
Once, these two women were positioned as rivals because men around them needed a story.
Now they exchanged business cards.
Better.
Teresa gave a speech.
Shorter than feared.
Then unexpectedly:
“This foundation has spent years supporting hospitality scholarships.”
Emma looked up.
Teresa continued.
“This year we are adding a management pathway for domestic and service workers seeking advancement.”
Emma’s face changed.
She looked at Luca.
He looked equally surprised.
Good.
Not his idea.
Teresa continued.
“Because skill should not become invisible simply because it appears in a uniform.”
Emma swallowed.
No name.
No charity case.
Just policy.
Excellent.
After applause, Teresa returned.
Emma hugged her.
Quickly.
Teresa froze.
Then hugged back.
“No crying,” Emma warned.
“I am Italian.”
“That is not a medical condition.”
Later, Luca and Emma stepped onto the terrace.
Cold air.
City lights.
He had something in his pocket.
Emma noticed immediately.
“No.”
He stared.
“What?”
“Whatever is in your pocket.”
“It’s my phone.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He showed it.
Actually phone.
She laughed.
“Trauma.”
“Your own fault.”
“Fair.”
They stood.
Then Luca said:
“Move in with me.”
Emma went still.
No ring.
Different question.
“Which house?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Important.”
“The townhouse.”
Not estate.
Smaller.
His private residence near Brooklyn Heights.
Emma had stayed there before.
“Permanent?”
“Yes.”
“What about my apartment?”
“Keep it until you want not to.”
Good answer.
“Expenses?”
“Shared however you want.”
Better.
“My job?”
“Yours.”
“Security?”
“We discuss.”
Excellent.
Emma looked at him.
“You practiced.”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“Nico.”
She laughed.
Then:
“Yes.”
Luca’s face changed.
“Really?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
He smiled.
They moved in over six weeks.
Not one dramatic suitcase.
Books.
Shoes.
Kitchen things Luca claimed duplicated his.
Emma kept them anyway.
She retained one room as office.
He did not invade it.
Mostly.
One day she came home and found better desk lighting installed.
She stared.
“Luca.”
He appeared.
“You complained.”
“I did not authorize.”
He froze.
She waited.
Then he said:
“I can remove it.”
Emma looked at the lamp.
Actually excellent.
“No.”
He blinked.
“Keep.”
“Good.”
“But next time ask.”
“Yes.”
Relationships become real in stupid details.
Then came the biggest one.
Emma received an offer from a luxury hotel group in Boston.
Director of operations.
Significant promotion.
Serious salary.
She stared at the email for an hour.
Luca came home.
Saw her face.
“What?”
She showed him.
He read.
Then:
“You should interview.”
Emma stared.
“That fast?”
“Yes.”
“Boston.”
“I know geography.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
She watched.
No manipulation.
No sulking.
“You want me to go?”
“I want you to decide.”
There it was.
The thing she had required from the beginning.
Freedom that remained freedom even when inconvenient.
She interviewed.
Got the offer.
Then turned it down.
Luca did not celebrate immediately.
Good.
“Why?”
He asked.
Emma smiled.
“Because I got another offer.”
He frowned.
“Where?”
“Here.”
Halston created a director role.
Equal salary.
She earned it.
No Luca.
No Teresa.
No Moretti strings.
She accepted.
That night, they had dinner at home.
Emma lifted a glass.
“To choosing.”
Luca touched his to hers.
“To asking first.”
She smiled.
Then:
“That sounded like wedding vows.”
He almost choked.
May you like
Emma laughed.
For once, she enjoyed embarrassing him deliberately.
