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“You could probably sell tickets. Especially if you narrate.”
She flashed me a look. “Don’t make me regret showing it to you.”
I playfully held up my hands in supplication.
We left the chamber, sealing the hidden door behind us, and ascended back to the land of the living. My boss was going to have a field day with that—I halted my thoughts. Suddenly the idea of letting Will in on that little secret room felt—wrong.
Dominika guided me through the lobby, her heeled boots clicking on the marble floor, each step echoing a rhythm of resilience and nostalgia. The grandeur of the space was undeniable, but the subtle signs of wear whispered of a faded era struggling to keep pace with the modern world.
“Back to the daylight. As you can see," she continued, gesturing to the high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, "the hotel still holds a certain charm, a reminder of what it once was. But charm doesn’t always pay the bills, sadly.”
I followed her gaze, noting the delicate balance between elegance and age. "It's beautiful. Like stepping back in time. But I know what you mean. We see this scenario in a lot of properties we acquire.”
“Historic hotels are your specialty, no?”
“That’s right. We aquire boutique hotels with history, and character, and give them a little updated facelift.”
Dominika nodded thoughtfully but didn’t respond. She led me to a corner of the lobby where a series of black and white photographs adorned the wall.
"These are from the early days.” She traced the glass protectively with one finger. “That’s my great-grandparents at the grand opening. That’s my father as a little boy. A lot of ghosts running through these halls.”
Ghosts. The word they all seemed to echo with different sentiments.
We continued our walk, passing by staff who greeted Dominika with a mix of reverence and affection.
“They seem to love you here,” I said.
She chuckled. “I’m less broody than my brothers. They appreciate that. I also hand out the Christmas bonuses.”
Her voice trailed off as we approached a grand staircase, the wood polished to a soft sheen. “Funny detail, but this staircase was my favorite playground as a child. I used to slide down the banisters, much to Mama’s dismay."
I couldn't help but smile at the image, the human element bringing the hotel’s history to life. "It sounds like a wonderful place to grow up.”
"It was.” Her eyes briefly lost focus as if she were reliving those moments. “It was a little strange to live in a hotel, I suppose, but for most of our childhood, we didn’t realize that. It’s not until you’re grown and you look back at your childhood and think, huh?”
I laughed, feeling the absolute truth in that. My Hollywood upbringing wasn’t exactly cookie-cutter.
"It was strange, though, living in a home where strangers constantly passed through. We met people from all corners of the earth, each with stories that stretched beyond the horizon. It was enchanting but also...lonely at times. Our friends were ephemeral, here for a night, gone by morning. Our parents taught us that every person who walked through those doors was a part of our hotel's tapestry. And while they might leave, the threads they wove into our lives remained."
I loved the way she spoke in poetry.
Finally, we our little journey ended in the hotel's vintage bar, its ambiance like a nod to the speakeasies of old.
“Thank you for that,” I said. “You are a wonderful storyteller.”
She smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a backup career as a tour guide.” She spared a glance to the bar. “Care for a drink? I’m thirsty after all that entertainment.”
“I could stand for something strong.”
We stepped into the old-fashioned room and time seemed to fold upon itself, enveloping me in an atmosphere of old-world charm and understated elegance. I paused, allowing my eyes to wander over the rich mahogany paneling that adorned the walls, their glossy surface reflecting the soft glow of vintage chandeliers dangling overhead.
Around me, plush velvet armchairs and tufted leather sofas, dressed in deep burgundy and forest green, beckoned invitingly. Stained glass windows cast the room in a kaleidoscope of muted light. Heavy brocade drapes framed these windows, adding a layer of dramatic luxury to the space.
The bar had a comforting earthy scene, like aged leather and fireplace smoke. Soft piano music filled the room. Paired with the subtle clinking of glassware and the quiet conversations around me, it created a soothing, almost therapeutic background hum.
“Let’s sit at the bar,” Dominika indicated.
We slipped into tall stools.
