Isla, Kinsley, and I ride the elevator to the top floor. Isla is as impressed by the old-timey bronzed grates that seal us in as she has been by every other detail since the second we touched down.
True to his word, the bellboy is waiting for us when we reach the top, along with a suited concierge. Both bow as we approach.
“Here you are, sir, madam, and miss,” the concierge says, in the unplaceable accented English of the Swiss. “I hope you will find your new home to your tastes.”
He opens the door with a flourish and gestures us inside.
I let my women go first. Kinsley and Isla walk in, their faces identical masks of amazement. The amount of work I’d put into securing this building all becomes worth it.
The walls ripple with swirling blue wallpaper framed by intricate crown molding.
