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He froze mid-type. Then he looked up at me. “Oh, yes. Right. We are expecting you. We have a special room just for you.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his pale blue eyes. I didn’t blame him—I probably seemed like the enemy here. The big bad corporate dragon here to burn it all down—even if I was about the size of an overgrown toddler in her mother’s heels.
“I am Berco, the hotel manager and concierge. Please, come. I will take you to your room. You must be very tired.”
“I am, thank you. It’s been a long trip. I’m not even entirely sure what day it is.” I laughed tiredly.
He smiled warmly and led me through the lobby to the elevators. I couldn't help but jot down mental notes as we walked, the consultant in me already whirring with ideas. My eyes roved over the lobby, taking in the faded tapestries and the worn carpets, seeing not disrepair but a canvas awaiting fresh strokes. There was beauty in its imperfection, stories etched in every crack of the plaster and every creak of the floorboards.
We rode the elevator in awkward silence, then turned down the hall and finally reached the corner room at the very end of the hall.
He swiped the key card over the door and opened it. “ThePtákSuite for you.”
“P-tawk?”I tried to pronounce the word.
“Yes, it means bird. The late Mrs. Novák named it because a group of robins always clustered on the sill outside.”
I smiled at the whimsical image.
We stepped into the “bird” suite, and I felt a little flutter, immediately struck by its unique charm. Nestled in the corner of the Hotel, the room offered a panoramic view of the bustling streets of Prague. Large bay windows framed the cityscape, and as promised, a small gathering of robins perched on the sill, adding a fanciful touch to the whole scene.
The suite exuded an old-world luxury with its high ceilings and ornate moldings. The walls were adorned with intricate wallpaper, a pattern of delicate florals that had perhaps been in vogue decades ago. Heavy velvet drapes in a deep burgundy hue hung from the windows, their color rich but faded in places, hinting at the passage of time.
An imposing four-poster bed dominated the center of the bedroom, its dark wood frame intricately carved and polished to a shine, albeit with a few nicks and scratches betraying its age. Though plush and inviting, the bedding sported a dated design of pastels and patterns.
“It’s lovely, thank you,” I said.
Berco nodded with curt satisfaction.
“If you are needing of anything, you may calls the front desk from that phone by the bed. Please, enjoy your stay with us.”
He offered me a proper little bow and then exited.
Once alone in the sanctuary of my room, I approached the window, its panes framing the city like a gallery masterpiece. The view unfolded before me in a breathtaking tapestry of time, each thread woven with centuries of stories, secrets, and silent songs of history—from the cobblestone alleys that snaked through the city to the spires of theKarluv Most, or Charles Bridge, reaching out to the skies like hands in prayer. The Prague Castle sat perched like a crown jewel atop the city, its silhouette starkly contrasted against the morning sky. It was a view so sharply different from LA’s sprawling, electric veins, a city that never seemed to pause for breath. Here in Prague time appeared to take a leisurely stroll, unfurling the past in a gentle waltz with the present. The architectural nerd in me was already salivating.
I took a deep breath, the crisp, wintry air weaving through the slightly ajar window. My reflection stared back at me from the glass, a convergence of the professional woman with a clipboard of strategies and the personal side, the part of me that yearned for stories, depth, and connection.
I turned from the view and set about unpacking. As much as I wanted this to be a carefree vacation, I was here to get things done. And I knew I had my work cut out for me.
ChapterThree
Ondrej Novák stood by the window of the private family suite, the familiar sights of Prague sprawling beneath him. It was a view stitched into the very fabric of his memories, each building, each street carrying fragments of his family's legacy. His little sister Dominika fidgeted with a vintage hotel brochure, its edges worn, a small tribute to the history they all shared. Across the room, his elder brother Pavel flipped through financial documents, his brow furrowed.
The mood was tense, charged with the gravity of the decision before them. Pavel was the first to break the silence. His voice was steady, a pragmatic calm in the storm of emotions.
“It’s a good offer.”
Ondrej did his best to hold back a biting retort, but a guttural sound escaped his mouth anyway. Pavel and Dominika snapped to look at him.
Ondrej sighed. “Good is relative.”
“It’s financial stability for all of us. New beginnings. A chance to break free of this place,” Pavel said.
“You assume we want to be free of it.”
Pavel rolled his eyes in that condescending way older brothers do. “This place is dead. Accept it, Ondrej.”
“Mama and Papa would be in tears to hear you say that,” Ondrej said.
Pavel’s expression and tone were stony when he said, “Mama and Papa are dead. So it doesn’t matter.”
