PLEASE READ NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER
Our flight was around noon, the day following my brief discussion with Zayn. The maids packed my belongings so I didn’t have much to attend to, besides bid Liam farewell. When I tried to find him in the chef’s kitchen, he was nowhere to be seen. I asked one of the assistant chefs, Christopher was his name, about Liam’s whereabouts. Apparently, he had taken the past few days off, sick from a possible seasonal flu. This was news to me, as Liam and I hadn’t spoken in a good while. Instead, I opted to deliver him a letter through Christopher’s hands. I had written it very quickly and with my favorite purple-inked pen. After pondering a few minutes over what to write, I let my brain guide my hand, creating a sort of impromptu note. It was simple and short, reading “I’m sorry I couldn’t say so in person, but bye for the time being. When I’m back, make me another German Chocolate cake, alright?” I signed it as, “your friend, Farah.” I scrutinized over the text, trying to adjust a few of the words here and there, but decided to hell with it and handed the piece of paper to Chris.
We flew first class via Turkish Airlines, a refined airline with flawless airhostesses and an exquisite complimentary meal. The total flight time was only around three hours, thank goodness. With Zayn sitting beside me for the entire duration of the flight, I felt my heart pounding against the cavity in my chest. His presence was a reminder of the potential awkwardness contained within the next seven nights. As usual, however, he seemed relatively nonchalant; he spent the majority of the flight listening to his iPod and reading over Molavi Industry histories via his iPad. He was ferociously tapping his finger against the seat rest the whole time, a mannerism I couldn’t tell what to make of.
Our hotel was breathtaking. Located on the shores of the Bosphorus Strait, this five-star branch of The Four Seasons Hotel was actually an extensively renovated 19th century Ottoman Palace. Complete with a world class, Hammam Ritual, spa, award-winning chef’s kitchen, a restaurant located on the outside terrace and steps away from the indigo waters, an infinity pool, and interior decorations fitting of any Ottoman Palace, The Four Seasons at Bosphorus was unbelievably beautiful.
Upon our arrival, the hotel manager himself came to greet us as Zayn and I climbed out of our limousine. He was a burly, Turkish man of maybe forty-years-old. He extended his hand out for a firm handshake with Zayn while politely nodding at me.
“I extend my fairest greeting from The Four Seasons,” He spoke in a heavy Turkish accent. “Please, follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”
Zayn and I shadowed the tall man as we walked through the lobby. It was magnificent, with tall, embellished ceilings and dangling chandeliers, posh furniture, and windows offering amazing views of the Bosphorus Strait. This was a high quality hotel, one of the finest I had been in. I snuck a peak behind me, just in time to see two bell hopers lugging our large suitcases with them. Turning back to the front, I shuffled into a golden elevator, beside Zayn and the hotel manager. The bell hopers were most likely going to take the next shaft.
“The Bosphorus Palace suite is one of our finest suites,” The man said as the elevator rose. “It is complete with a wonderful view of the water.”
Zayn nodded at his statement, while I nearly tuned him out. I was fixated on an oil painting hanging next to the buttons; an antique piece of art from possibly the Byzantine Empire. Priceless beauty.
Almost immediately, the elevator stopped on the second floor and the doors opened, granted us access to a long hallway with doors on both sides; a standard hotel hallway. The walls were painted a deep gold with maroon detailing, tapestries hanging every three feet. We stopped at the very last door on the right side. On the door were large numbers depicting “270,” and a bronze plaque to its right, reading “Bosphorus Palace Suite.” We waited as the Turkish man pulled a silver card from the pocket of his black dress pants and swiped it through the device connected to the handle. With one swift movement, he pushed the door open.
