Chanel Cao Instagram
“Chanel Cao...”the receptionist says again, this time with recognition, her eyes widening. “Oh!” Her smile springs back into place with such speed even my actress friends would be impressed. “Please do forgive me for the inconvenience here, Ms. Chanel Cao. Hotel policy, you understand. The restaurant is on the seventy-third floor. Turn around the corner and take the lift on the farthest left to go straight up. Would you like me to show you there myself? I’ll ask them to prepare some drinksfor you—a mocktail, perhaps? Or something warmer, like our brown sugar and ginger tea?”
“That’s fine, we can head over ourselves,” I say graciously, then turn to the two girls. “Thank you so much—”
“No, no, it’s our pleasure,” Ballgown Girl says. “I’m just so glad we got to meet you in person—”
“I’m glad I got to meet you guys too,” I say, and this goes on for about as long as I would expect from past experience, more compliments passed back and forth, three different attempts to say “We’ll let you go, we know you’re busy,”a quick selfie of us together after finding the best lighting, a promise to tag me once they post it. It’s all very flattering, no matter how many times it happens.
Then I wave goodbye to them and grab Haili’s wrist, pulling her along with me inside the lift, which is better equipped than most actual hotel rooms are. There’s a plush velvet sofa sitting in the corner, a wooden stand offering scented tissues and alcohol wipes and cotton swabs, and a bamboo basket of complimentary tea bags to take to your room. There’s even a gold-framed vanity mirror I’d put to good use under happier circumstances.
“Welcome to QiXing Luxury Hotels,”a lilting, questionably seductive female voice plays overhead as the lift ascends. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Oh god. I was so scared we were going to get kicked out of the hotel,” Haili says.
“The only person who might get kicked out today is Yaozu,” I assure Haili. “Though for your sake, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She swallows. “You think there is still hope? That it might all be okay? That maybe I’m just overthinking it?”
I don’t want to lie to her, so instead I hold out my hand. “Show me the last thing you sent him?”
She fishes out her phone and passes it carefully over to me like it’s a DNA sample from a crime scene. Her WeChat is already open to her old conversations with him. I’ve seen most of the messages before, sent in screenshots from her over the past few weeks, alongside key details about their relationship.
It’s a familiar tragedy. In the beginning,he’sthe one who’s more interested. He adds her on WeChat, asks for her alias, shamelessly comments on how nice her figure looks in her latest posts, invites her out to parties. She humors him with one-word responses, or sometimes straight up ignores him, but that doesn’t stop him from texting again an hour later, with an entirely new conversation starter.
There’s a brief moment in time where they’re both equally into each other, affection almost dripping off the screen, “I like you”exchangedas easily and naturally as breathing.
But of course it doesn’t last, because he senses it. The instant she’s hooked, he starts to pull back. The exclamation marks disappear, and the “good morning”texts taper off, and there’s a vague note of annoyance to his responses when they do eventually come in, eighteen hours later.
And then I land on her most recent messages. They’re hard to miss, because the text basically takes up the entire screen.
can u please call me when u get the chance??
ireally want to talk to u
idk if it’s just me andi’moverthinking likeiusually do but it feels like you’ve beenkindadistant these days? again idkicould be overthinking. it’s just unfairbcyou’re on my mind 24/7 and u make me so sad and angry and confused sometimes andi’veput in all this effort to keep u and open up to u in a wayihaven’t with anyone else before but you never let me in. and then you’ll say something that makes me think u actually like me. but do u actually like me?idon’t even know where this is going or whyi’mthis upset andi’msorry ifi’mbeing super annoyingrnbutineed u to tell me what you’re thinkingbcit’s literally driving me insane....
“I know I sound pathetic,” Haili mumbles. “I tried to control myself, but I couldn’t.”
“You’re not pathetic. You’re just... in love,” I tell her, suppressing a shudder at the very thought of it.Love.By far the worst idea humans have ever come up with, even worse than mesh ballet flats. “Happens to everyone.”
“It doesn’t happen to you, though,” she says quietly.
And thank god for that,I think to myself. Watching yet another one of my beautiful, smart, talented friends fall apart because of some random douchebag just reaffirms my personal motto: You can cry over a stained dress, but you should never cry over a boy. “I just don’t think romance is really my thing,” I tell Haili as the lift doors part with a softding.
The Sky Restaurant has been effectively designed to feel like you’re really dining in the sky. You can see the entirety of the hotel sprawled out below in all its gorgeous, glistening luxury: the traditional gardens and pagodas, the canopied sunbeds, thecurved man-made lake that transitions seamlessly into a swimming pool. Lanterns float over the dark waters, their yellow flames clarifying the shapes of canoes strung to the decks and the lily pads dotting the edges. The rest of the city waits just behind it, the Beijing skyline glowing against the night.
It doesn’t rank anywhere near the top ten restaurants I’ve been to—maybe not even the top fifty—but I suppose it doesmake for a pretty nice venue. Before our school wisely opened up its wallet to hold our annual prom at Rivera Restaurant, making itthemost extravagant, buzzed-about international schoolevent of the season, they used to rent out this place.
It’s also the perfect spot for a romantic dinner—peaceful, scenic, and most important of all, private. Rather than having the tables spread out across the floor, there’s a single narrow corridor that forks off into individual sets of steps, leading down into what are essentially glamorous pits, encircled by ferns and white marble. Each table occupies its own corner, with a sectional sofa and a balcony to lean over; spacious enough to move around and take pretty photos before the appetizers come in, but cozy enough to make out against the satin cushions after dessert.
Most of the diners here are couples, their heads close together in the intimate candlelight, but as I search the area, my eyes land on a tall figure standing alone by the railings. He’s holding an empty glass, his expression alert, as if he’s waiting for something to happen.
I blink in surprise.
Ares Yin.
The new boy at Airington International Boarding School.Dropped like a bomb into our classes at the start of this semester, no warnings given, no further information provided.
