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ChapterTwo
I wrapped my coat tighter around myself as I stepped from my taxi onto the outskirts of Prague’s Old Town. The bite of the chilly morning shocked my system. The cold clawed its way through my layers, digging into my bones. But I shook it off. I’d made it through a sixteen-hour journey, including a bleary-eyed layover in Frankfurt, where I munched on day-old sandwiches and tried to remember my name. And here I was, finally.
I wobbled down the cobblestones toward Hotel Novák as I sleepily pulled my suitcase along and tried to catch my bearings. Trans-Atlantic red-eye journeys were no joke.
But, as I turned the corner, I stopped short.
Prague's charm was immediate and palpable. Beneath a watercolor sunrise of oranges and pinks, the city unfolded before me like a hand-drawn page from a storybook. Gothic spires reached for the heavens, cloaked in a blanket of soft, powder-white snow that seemed to hush the world around it. The Vltava River snaked through the city like a silver ribbon, its surface shimmering under the gentle caress of the winter sun, mirroring the clear, blue sky and the pastel facades of the buildings lining its banks.
I had studied countless photographs of this ancient city shrouded in mystery, but no guidebook snapshot could compare to what I saw now.
As a total architecture geek, the cityscape was enough to bring me to tears. The deep history of this place pulsed through every cobblestone, every archway. I felt like I was hurtling through time, each building whispering secrets of a bygone era. The architecture was a patchwork of styles, each more enchanting than the last—from the Baroque flourishes adorning the grand palaces to the Art Nouveau curves gracing the entrances of quaint cafés. Every corner whispered secrets, every narrow alley a mystery to unravel.
The iconic silhouette of Prague Castle loomed in the distance, perched regally atop a hill, surveying its domain with the dignity of a thousand years. The famous wooden stalls throughout Old Town were still sleeping, but I could see the Christmas preparations unfolding. The faint smell of roasting chestnuts wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of strong coffee and the subtle sweetness of something freshly baked as the city slowly woke to the embrace of a new day.
The cold suddenly felt meaningless as I tried to take it all in. There was an undeniable magic in the air, a sense of romance and enchantment that seeped into my very bones.
My phone buzzed with a message, yanking me from my trance. It was from Willow. "Pics or it didn't happen!" I laughed. That didn’t take her long.
But I obliged, snapping a few photos of the sunrise over the fairytale landscape. The phone’s camera did it little justice. I shivered as a gust of icy wind tickled my cheeks.
She wrote back immediately.That is not a real place.
I laughed and stuffed my phone back into my coat pocket. I agreed—you sorta had to see it to believe it. I carried on toward my destination.
One more small turn, and I found myself standing in front of the historic Hotel Novák, its grandeur more imposing in person than any blueprint could convey. It loomed before me, a proud testament to a past era, its facade a canvas of ornate carvings and intricate stonework. My gaze traced the elaborate sculptures adorning the hotel's exterior.
This place was all that had mattered to me for the past month and I had studied every detail I could find. Originally built in the late 19th century as a grand family estate by some distant Habsburg, the hotel exuded an architectural grandeur reminiscent of European palaces of the time. Its ornate exterior, adorned with intricate carvings and statuesque columns, paid homage to the Renaissance revival style. The stately entrance, flanked by polished brass lanterns, welcomed guests into a world where time seemed to pause, inviting them to revel in its timeless elegance.
If I could bring this piece of history into the Arcadia Group’s portfolio, it was going to catapult my career.
I took a breath and tried to stay alert as I opened the heavy glass front doors and stepped inside. I was immediately enveloped in a warmth that made me want to fall right asleep, but I forced my spine straight. The lobby was a splendid exhibition of classic luxury, with its soaring ceilings, majestic crystal chandeliers, and marble floors inlaid with elaborate mosaics. Rich, dark wood paneling lined the walls, complemented by lush Persian rugs that cushioned the footsteps of its distinguished guests.
But as I examined the fine architecture more closely, I could see the subtle cracks and patina. This place needed a little love. Well, that’s why I, on behalf of Arcadia Group, was there. I glanced around for the reception and spotted a sign. It was in Czech—an impossible language Duolingo had shown me—but I pulled out my Google translate and tried. Ah, ok, reception to the left.
I turned into an enclave and was suddenly plunged into a flurry of staff activity, a backstage glimpse of the hotel's inner workings. A young man with a mop of curly black hair wearing a crisp black and white uniform spotted me and rushed over.
“No, no. Staff,” he said in clipped English. I tried to smile through my weariness.
“Right, sorry. Reception?”
He nodded. “This way.” He gently touched my shoulder and steered my weary self in the proper direction. Course corrected, I found myself at the hotel’s front reception, a grand desk of dark wood standing guard before the massive fresco that adorned the back wall. The scene depicted was a pastoral celebration, a timeless idyll captured in a riot of color and movement.
“Ahoj!” an older man with cropped silver hair wearing a similar black and white uniform hustled out from the back.
“Ahoj. mám rezervaci,” I said, feeling like I had marbles in my mouth as I tried to speak the language.
He smiled knowingly and pulled out a large leather book. I raised an eyebrow. If they were operating on a hand-written system, no wonder they were falling behind.
“Yes, reservation. Please sign here, yes?” He said in English.
Then to my relief, he began typing into the computer—even if the model did look terribly out of date. This place desperately needed some modernization.
I glanced down at the book and saw it was simply a sign-in book.
“Welcome to Hotel Novák. Your name?” he asked.
“Sienna Frost. I’m with Arcadia Group.”
