Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Her mother’s ashes still sat in that plain box from the council’s crematorium, tucked on the mantle beside her secondhand books. No headstone. No proper resting place. Just a peeling sticker with a name and two dates that encompassed an entire life reduced to powder.
When the car crested a hill, Daisy’s breath caught. A building rose from the landscape, flanked in towers of white marble and glittering with glass against the darkening sky. Crystalline cathedrals pierced the clouds like something from Oz, only instead of emerald it was a city of ivory.
High above them, a sign announced the building’s name in letters that flowed and curved like the necks of swans, rendered in gold leaf—THE WHITE SWAN.
The car glided to a stop beneath a portico supported by columns carved to resemble bundled, blooming lilies. Daisy didn’t move. She felt like a creature from another world, some burrowing animal that had accidentally tunneled into a realm of light and impossible beauty.
A uniformed man opened her door and stood at attention, his livery as pristine and white as the building behind him. “Welcome to The White Swan. We’ve been expecting you.” His voice was cultured, neutral, neither warm nor cold.
She blinked at the usher, her manners escaping her.
“May I?” He held out a white-gloved hand.
Daisy glanced at the driver, who met her gaze in the rearview mirror. He gave a slight nod, silently instructing her to go.
With a swoop of nerves rushing from the pit of her belly, she let the usher guide her onto a pathway of white stone that glowed faintly in the diminishing light.
Two men appeared with a gold trolley. “Your belongings will be brought to your suite.”
“Oh, I can carry—”
“No, no.” He ushered her toward the entrance before she could retrieve her lone bag. “We insist. The Steward will see that your personal belongings are delivered to your suite as soon as we complete the registry.”
“The Steward?”
“Our resident concierge.”
The air of the foyer was the freshest she’d ever breathed, softly perfumed by fresh flowers exploding from vases standing taller than most men. The hushed lobby stretched vast and white, its marble floors veined with pale gold and ceiling painted with soft, drifting clouds. Massive panels of etched glass depicting swans in various poses covered every wall. Soft music chimed delicately through the atmosphere like petals falling to a still pond.
At the reception area, another uniformed gentleman slid a white tablet across the marble countertop.
“Your name, please.”
“Dais—”
“No, no. You only need to type it. From here on, your anonymity is protected.”
“Oh.” She awkwardly entered her name.
“Room nineteen twenty-two.” The clerk set a key in the usher’s gloved hand.
1922?
That number was starting to follow her like a shadow.
“This way, miss.” The usher led her to a lift paneled in mirrors and mother-of-pearl. Classical music softly followed, stirring visions of golden harps. They rose in silence and, for a moment, Daisy wondered if this was heaven.
The doors opened onto a corridor of soft white carpet. Paintings of swans adorned the walls, divided by glossy, white doors distinguished only by numbers etched in gold.
“Here we are, Nineteen Twenty-Two.” He pressed the key against the digital box, and the lock clicked.
Her bag, as promised, waited on a small ivory table by the door.
“The Steward will be with you shortly.” He dipped forward in a slight bow, then he was gone, leaving Daisy standing alone in what was easily the nicest room she’d ever stood in.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered in awe of her surroundings.
The suite was a temple to elegance. Ivory walls, marble furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows draped in pristine sheer curtains that drifted in some artificial breeze. The sitting area alone was larger than her entire flat, furnished with sofas upholstered in velvet shades of pearl.
A white granite fireplace created a stunning centerpiece on the far wall. She half-expected someone to come rushing in, declaring some mistake had been made, and escort her out the back door away from this real-life palace.
She never felt so out of place in her life. A stain on silk.
A soft knock at the door made her flinch. The door opened before she said a word.
“Good evening,” came the woman’s soft, musical greeting as a stunning woman draped in cashmere crossed the threshold. Her long strawberry blonde hair flowed over her shoulders like ripples under a golden sunset. “I’m Aunt Vanessa.”
She was so striking, her age was difficult to discern, maybe thirty-five or perhaps forty. Her voice carried a trace of an accent. Armenian, possibly. Immaculate, aside from one contrasting scar on her lip, a single flaw on an otherwise flawless canvas—proof she was actually human.
“Most of the girls call me Aunt V.” She smiled, the expression only enhancing her radiance. “May I come in?”
She was already inside the suite, but Daisy didn’t mind. Her unguarded attitude put her at ease. So natural, like a flower that had every right to grow wherever it wanted in a field.