I didn’t finish my sentence, because just then, a man in a striped suit and a straw hat stopped in front of us.
I frowned. He wasn’t a figment, because figments weren’t truly alive and couldn’t interact or react, yet the man stopped in front of us and swept off his hat.
“Welcome, welcome, weary travelers.”
I raised my eyebrows.
The man’s handlebar mustache twitched. “Welcome to our grand hotel. We’re glad you’ve arrived. You?—”
I flinched as his finger swung toward me.
“Yes. You. I saw you admiring the dining piazzas. They seat two thousand. We serve table d'hôte. Only the finest multi-course meals.” He fluttered his hands, and I shook my head.
“No, thank you.”
“Ahh, a lady of discernment. Perhaps you would care for confections?”
“No.” I tugged Finn and tried to edge around the man.
“Then . . . if not refreshment, shall I take you to your room?”
“Room?” Finn paused and half-turned back to the man.
The man’s mustache twitched again. “Of course. The honeymoon suite. Reserved for our newlyweds.”
I glanced at Finn. There was a line between his brow as he frowned at the man.
“Excuse me, who do you think we are?” I asked.
The man swept his straw hat in front of us. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith, lately of Manhattan.”
“And who are you?” Finn asked.
“The concierge.”
“Your name.”
“Concierge.”
I looked at Finn. He was frowning at the concierge. Then he nodded. “All right. Show us our room.”
The man led us through a throng of diners. The music was louder here, as well as the roar of conversation. Fans spun lazily overhead, and gas lights flickered like the stars.
It seemed we’d landed in the middle of summer in the late 1800s, replaying an evening that had happened long ago.
“What do you mean, ‘show us our room’?” I whispered to Finn as we trailed behind the concierge. “Do you want to die?”
He sent me a half-smile.
The concierge called an elevator, and we rode it to the top of one of the towers. Down the hall, past a guard, he pushed open two double doors.
I laughed and stepped into the suite. It was like a fairy tale. The windows were open, and the sea breeze blew through the curtains, carrying the long notes of the orchestra and the sounds of laughter. The room was lit with soft electric lights and was beautifully furnished. The thick carpet padded my footsteps as I stepped inside.
“Can I get you anything?” the concierge asked. “Anything at all. You only have to ask.”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “Anything?”
The man plunked his hat back on his head. “Anything. At this hotel, our guests have everything they desire.” His eyes twinkled. “Honeymoon bliss to last a lifetime, if that’s your desire.”
