Page 63 of A Prague Noel

In one corner, a group of carolers dressed in traditional Czech attire sang a medley of classic Christmas songs, their harmonious voices weaving through the laughter and chatter, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

As I moved through the crowd in my sleeveless champagne sequin number in the highest heels I could manage, the faces of the guests reflected the joy and warmth of the season. There was a sense of togetherness, of shared happiness, that made the evening not just a celebration of Christmas but a celebration of community and new beginnings.

The chime of a glass called for attention, and Ondrej took center stage. He stood tall, his presence commanding yet warm. Not to objectify anyone, but he was absolutely delicious in his tailored black suit. His dark hair had that purposely tousled look, and his eyes looked clearer than I’d ever seen them. His eyes found mine in the crowd, and he flashed me a flirty wink before addressing everyone present.

His voice was clear and warm as he spoke. "To each and every one of you, my deepest gratitude. This hotel has weathered many storms. Faced ups and downs that have tested our resilience. But standing here, amidst you all, I am reminded of the legacy we carry, the future we are building together."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, a tide of shared sentiment.

“Most of you have probably heard, but if you don’t know, the Novák will not be selling. I will be taking over as president of the hotel, running it with my brother and sister as our family would have wanted.”

The crowd cheered.

Ondrej waited a moment, then continued. "Our journey is a testament to the importance of community, of holding fast to tradition while embracing change and adaptation. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, but we also pave the way for those who will follow."

I felt a swell of pride—for Ondrej, for the Novák Hotel, for the part I had played in this chapter of its story. We had created something extraordinary, a symphony of past and future.

As Ondrej concluded his speech, the applause that followed was more than just appreciation; it was a chorus of unity and hope, a sound that echoed through the hotel halls, and I knew, deep in my heart, that the best was yet to come.

I had always thought the term was incredibly cheesy, but at that moment, I understood it. My heart was full. I looked around at what we had accomplished, the miracles, the bonds reinforced. The broken pieces picked back up and glued together into something new.

A tree with deep roots and new branches, right, Magda? I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but I was so proud to have witnessed all of this.

“Well, I think there’s just one thing left to do.”

I spun around and looked up at Ondrej. Even in my towering heels, he was so much taller than me. He made me feel so small but so protected at the same time. He had a little redness in his eyes and a laziness to his smile that suggested he dabbled in the champagne. I didn’t blame him. So had I. So had everybody.

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“To throw your shoe.”

OK, he reallywasdrunk.

He laughed. Then he pulled a red wooden shoe from his pocket. “Your shoe.”

I stared at it and then laughed, remembering the tinker from the market explaining the weird Czech Christmas tradition. I took the shoe in my hand.

“I forgot about this. And what am I supposed to do exactly?”

“Throw it toward the front door. If it points back at you, then you will find love in the new year.”

I shook my head and laughed. “That is the weirdest tradition I have ever heard of.”

“Weirder than your shelf elf?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

He shrugged. “We are weird people, what can I say? Come on.”

Before I could protest, he pulled me toward the doors that opened onto the back terrace.

“I thought it was supposed to be the front doors?”

“I like these doors better. All traditions are meant to be adapted to anyway.” He grinned and took a breath. I closed my eyes and tossed the shoe toward the door. It spun along the marble floor before skidding to a halt. The front of the shoe pointed right back at me.

Ondrej slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me close.

“And what does that shoe position mean?” I asked in a whisper.

He leaned close, lips brushing mine. “That you’re staying in Prague.”

He glanced up, and I followed his gaze. I laughed to see the mistletoe dangling above us.

“Finally,” he said and pressed his lips to mine.

* * *