The next few weeks flew by in a blur of research, planning, and late nights hunched over my laptop. I'd thrown myself into creating a business plan for my art restoration company with the kind of passion I'd never felt for anything else. Every morning, I woke up excited about the work ahead of me.
My desk was covered with sketches, financial projections, and pages of notes about everything from insurance requirements to equipment costs. I'd reached out to several museums in London, attended networking events, and even connected with some of my professors from Spain who gave me invaluable advice about starting in the industry.
"Quinn, sweetheart, you need to eat something," Mrs. Chen said, setting a plate of sandwiches next to my laptop. "You've been working for six hours straight."
"Just five more minutes," I mumbled, adjusting the numbers on my cash flow projection for the tenth time.
"That's what you said two hours ago," she laughed, but her voice was fond. "Your father wants to see you in his study when you're ready."
I saved my work and stretched, my neck stiff from hunching over the computer. Papá's study was my favorite room in the house—dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and that big leather chair where he'd read me bedtime stories when I was little.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked, peeking around the door.
He looked up from his own paperwork and smiled. "Come in, mija. I wanted to talk to you about this business venture of yours."
I sat down across from his desk, suddenly nervous. "Is everything okay?"
"More than okay," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I've been thinking about our conversation last week, and I want you to know that I'm giving you my full support. One hundred percent."
My heart swelled. "Really?"
"Really. I may not understand art the way you do, but I understand passion. I understand what it means to want to build something from nothing." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a checkbook. "I'm investing in your company, Quinn. Consider it seed money from someone who believes in you."
I stared at the check he slid across the desk. It was more money than I'd dared to hope for, enough to cover my equipment, rent for a small studio space, and operating expenses for the first year.
"Papá, I can't take this much—"
"You can and you will," he said firmly. "This is an investment, not charity. I expect you to pay me back when you're successful. And I have no doubt you will be."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Thank you. This means everything to me."
"There's something else," he said with a slight smile. "You might want to consider approaching the Langstons as well. Richard has always been interested in supporting young entrepreneurs, and Margaret has a soft spot for the arts. I think they'd be impressed by your proposal."
The mention of the Langstons made my stomach flutter—partly from excitement at the prospect of more support, and partly from anxiety about potentially seeing Leo again.
"Do you really think they'd be interested?" I asked.
"I'm sure of it. Richard's been looking for good investment opportunities, and this combines business with something meaningful. Plus, you're family to them."
I thought about it for a moment. Uncle Richard had always been kind to me, and Aunt Margaret had supported my artistic interests even when I was little. Maybe this was exactly what I needed.
"I'll call them tomorrow," I decided. "Maybe I can visit them this weekend."
"Perfect. Now, how about we celebrate properly? I'll have Mrs. Chen make your favorite dinner, and we can toast to the future CEO of..." He paused. "What are you calling your company?"
"Rodrigues Art Restoration," I said with a smile. "I want to honor our family name."
His eyes softened. "Your mother would be so proud."
---
Saturday morning arrived crisp and clear, and I felt more nervous than I had in weeks. I'd spent the entire previous day perfecting my presentation, printing out professional copies of my business plan, and practicing my pitch in the mirror until Diego told me I was driving him crazy.
"You're going to do great," he said over breakfast, stealing a piece of my toast. "They've known you since you were in diapers. How hard could it be?"
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, checking my appearance in the hallway mirror for the fifth time. I'd chosen a professional but warm outfit—a cream-colored blouse with a navy blazer and matching skirt. Confident but approachable.
The Langston house was in one of London's most exclusive neighborhoods, a beautiful Georgian townhouse with a red door and flower boxes in the windows. I stood on the doorstep for a moment, taking a deep breath and clutching my portfolio bag.
The door opened before I could even knock, and Margaret's face lit up with pure joy.
"Quinn! Darling!" She pulled me into one of her signature warm hugs. "What a wonderful surprise! Richard, come quickly, Quinn's here!"
"It's so good to see you, Godmother," I said, using the title that had always made her smile.
"And look at you, all professional and grown-up," she said, holding me at arm's length. "You look absolutely radiant. Come in, come in."
Uncle Richard appeared in the hallway, his face breaking into a huge grin. "If it isn't our favorite goddaughter! What brings you to see your old godparents?"
"Godfather," I laughed, hugging him tightly. He still smelled like the same cologne he'd worn when I was little—something woody and comforting.
"Come, let's sit in the living room," Margaret said, linking her arm through mine. "I'll make tea. I want to hear everything about how you're settling back in."
Their living room was exactly as I remembered—elegant but comfortable, with family photos covering every surface and fresh flowers on the coffee table. I settled into the familiar sofa where I'd spent countless afternoons as a child.
"So tell us everything," Margaret said, pouring tea from a delicate china set. "How's your father? And Diego? I can't believe how tall that boy has gotten."
"They're both wonderful," I said, accepting a cup of tea. "Papá's busy with the company as always, and Diego's in his final year of university. He's planning to take over the business after he graduates."
"And what about you, sweetheart?" Richard asked, settling into his favorite armchair. "Any exciting plans for your future?"
This was it. My heart started racing, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Actually, that's part of why I'm here. I wanted to share something with you both."
I reached into my portfolio bag and pulled out the carefully prepared presentation folders. "I'm starting my own business. An art restoration company."
Their faces lit up with interest, and I felt a surge of confidence.
"I've spent the last few weeks putting together a comprehensive business plan," I continued, handing them each a folder. "I want to specialize in restoring historical paintings and artifacts, working with museums, galleries, and private collectors."
Richard opened his folder immediately, his businessman's mind already engaged. Margaret looked through the pages with growing excitement.
"Quinn, this is incredible," she said, looking up at me with shining eyes. "The detail, the research, the passion that comes through in every page—it's remarkable."
"I've always known you were destined for something special in the art world," Richard added, still reading. "These financial projections are solid, your market analysis is thorough, and your vision is clear."
I took a deep breath. "I was hoping... I mean, I would be honored if you would consider being one of my sponsors. I know it's a big ask, but—"
Richard stood up suddenly, and for a moment, I thought he was going to decline. Instead, he walked over to me with a huge smile.
"Consider it done," he said firmly. "Anything for you, dear. This is exactly the kind of investment I've been looking for—something meaningful, something that makes a difference."
I jumped up from the sofa, my heart exploding with joy. "Really? Are you serious?"
"Completely serious," he laughed as I threw my arms around him. "I'm so proud of you for following your dreams."
"Hey, what about me?" Margaret said with mock indignation. "I'm getting jealous over here. I want to help too!"
I spun around to face her, tears of happiness starting to blur my vision. "You want to help too?"
"Of course I do! Now get over here and give your godmother a proper hug," she said, standing up with her arms outstretched.
I rushed into her embrace, and suddenly I was surrounded by both of them, these two people who had been like second parents to me my entire life. The emotions I'd been holding back for weeks suddenly overwhelmed me, and I started crying—not sad tears, but the kind of tears that come from being so grateful and loved that your heart can't contain it all.
"Thank you," I sobbed against Margaret's shoulder. "Thank you for being part of my dream journey. Thank you for all your support, especially since I lost Mama. I don't know what I would have done without you both."
"Oh, sweetheart," Margaret said softly, stroking my hair the way she used to when I was little and had scraped my knee. "Don't cry, darling."
Richard gently wiped a tear from my cheek. "Hey now, no tears. We're one big family, aren't we? Families don't thank each other—they just support each other. That's what we do."
"He's right," Margaret added, her own eyes misty. "You're not just our goddaughter, Quinn. You're the daughter we never had. Supporting your dreams isn't a favor—it's a privilege."
I looked between these two amazing people who had been constants in my life through every major milestone, every triumph, and every tragedy. They'd been there when I graduated high school, when I left for Spain, when I lost my mother, and now they were here for this new beginning.
"I love you both so much," I whispered.
"We love you too, sweetheart," Richard said, pulling both Margaret and me into another group hug. "And we're going to help you build something extraordinary."
"Now," Margaret said, finally pulling back and wiping her own eyes, "let's sit down and talk about the practical things. What do you need first? A space? Equipment? I have some contacts in the art world who might be helpful."
"And I know some excellent lawyers who specialize in business formation," Richard added. "We'll get you set up properly from the beginning."
As we settled back into the living room, now with my business plan spread across the coffee table and both of my godparents leaning in with enthusiasm and ideas, I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the tea.
This was what family felt like. This was what unconditional love and support looked like. And for the first time since coming home, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
"You know," Margaret said thoughtfully, "we should have a proper celebration. I'll call your father and invite him and Diego for dinner next week. We can toast to the future success of Rodrigues Art Restoration."
"That sounds perfect," I agreed, already imagining the joy on Papá's face when he heard about the additional support.
"And maybe," Richard added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "we can convince Leo to join us. He's been working too hard lately. Some family time would do him good."
My heart did that familiar flutter at the mention of Leo's name, but I pushed the feeling aside. Today was about my dreams, my future, and the family that believed in me. Whatever complicated feelings I had about Leo Langston could wait for another day.
Right now, I was exactly where I needed to be—surrounded by love, support, and the exciting promise of building something beautiful from nothing.