The Grand Palazzo has been my workplace for two years. A luxury hotel in the heart of Malus, on the banks of the Acheron River. On the fifteenth floor is a boutique spa and beauty salon that caters to the wealthy and well-connected. Despite the affluence of our clientele, the pay isn’t what you’d call generous, but the tips can occasionally make up for it, and I always strive to go above and beyond for my clients.
I take the service elevator up, shaking the last of the rain from my hair, and step out into the familiar hush of the spa.
Even entering through the employee area, it’s a beautiful space. The reception area opens into a wide salon with styling chairs and manicure stations arranged to take advantage of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, the Acheron glitters fifteen stories below, a ribbon of gray silk winding through the city. On clear days, the sky is as wide and blue as the ocean. Today, the rain blurs everything into smudges of light and shadow.
The décor is all soft neutrals and warm wood, designed to soothe you the moment you walk in. Ambient music drifts from hidden speakers. The air smells of eucalyptus and lavender, and the lighting is low and golden.
A hallway leads off from the main salon, lined with doors to the private treatment rooms where I do most of my work, giving hour-long massages and body wraps to our rich clients.
There’s something satisfying about this kind of work. I’m good with my hands. I understand bodies, where they hold tension, how to coax knotted muscles into relaxing. There’s an intimacy to it that I find meaningful. People trust me with their stress and pain. For an hour at a time, I get to make someone feel better. In a world that often feels chaotic and cruel, that’s no small thing.
Today, though, there’s a different energy in the air. I notice it immediately. My fellow staff members are clustered in smallgroups, their voices low but animated. Sara catches my eye from her manicure station and gestures me over with barely contained excitement.
“Did you hear? The hotel’s been sold. There’s a new owner.”
I keep my voice neutral, but the news makes me wary. Change isn’t my favorite experience. “What does that mean for us?”
“Raises.” Sara grins. “Across the board. And new equipment. Gloria said we’re getting heated massage tables, plus a full renovation of the treatment rooms.”
Gloria is the spa manager, a woman in her fifties who’s wound pretty tight considering she works in a place like this. A raise would be welcome, if it’s true, and a better environment for our clients is good for tipping.
“Really? That’s interesting.”
“Really. Whoever bought this place has money to burn.” She leans closer, conspiratorial. “And he’s here today.”
“In the hotel?”
Before she can respond, Gloria appears at my elbow. Her reading glasses are perched on her silver-streaked hair, and there’s even more tension in her shoulders than usual.
“Mina. Good, you’re here.” She takes my arm and steers me away from Sara. “I need you in treatment room three. The new owner is here and has requested a massage from our best massage therapist.” Gloria’s grip tightens. “I need you to make this good, Mina. Better than good. I need you to be exceptional.”
I feel a little affronted. “I always aim to give my clients exceptional experiences.”
“You don’t understand. Our new owner has commissioned a study on the whole hotel, focused on profitability. Our figures have been down for two months in a row. He could rip out this entire spa tomorrow and put in a conference center or a themed bar. Something that he believes will make him more money persquare foot.” Her eyes bore into mine. “It’s up to us to show him that this spa is an asset to the hotel.”
I feel my skin prickle with sweat. The spa is popular, and I felt sure I could count on it. I think of Leon and the rent. The fragile stability I’ve built over the past four years, one paycheck at a time.
“I understand,” I say. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Whatever he wants, Mina. If he wants extra time, give him extra time. If he wants conversation, be charming. If he wants silence, be invisible. Just—” She exhales and forces a smile. “Make him happy. Make him relaxed. Make him want to keep us.”
“I will. I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Gloria nods, some of the tension easing from her face. “Treatment room three. He’s waiting.”
I’m already wearing my uniform, the simple beige pants and fitted white tunic top that all the massage therapists wear, and I check my reflection in the staff bathroom mirror. Hair pulled back in a neat bun. Minimal makeup. Professional. Calm.
The hallway to the treatment rooms is quiet, the ambient music softer, the lighting dimmer. The door to treatment room three is closed. I pause outside it, taking a breath. Then I plaster on my warmest, most professional smile.
When I open the door and enter, I’m vaguely aware of a man sitting on the massage table, but I focus on closing the door with intention. Gloria is very big on intention, saying that chaos and thoughtlessness are stressors.
With intention, I turn around and greet the new owner. “Welcome to the Palazzo Spa. My name is…”
My smile dies on my lips. My voice fades away.
Sitting on the massage table, swathed in a white toweling robe emblazoned with the name of the hotel, is Cristiano.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything except stand there like a deer caught in headlights while the world tilts sideways.
