Page 11 of Petal

I walk up to the window and study the greenery, the roof of cabanas below, and the azure waters that are splayed like a blanket in the distance. No, this doesn’t look like prison.

There is a soft knock at the door, and a maid walks in. “Is everything to your liking? Would you like breakfast?”

Katura looks at me wide-eyed. “Can we?”

“Sure. Just contact guest services.”

Katura flicks a glance at me. “Guests. See?” Then turns to the maid again. “We need to talk to Archer Crone.”

The maid blinks in confusion. “There is a directory on the desk phone, miss.”

“Will the guards be more helpful than you?” Katura smirks.

“What guards, miss?”

“Outside.”

“There is no one outside, miss.”

Katura and I exchange suspicious looks. And when she ushers the maid out, she sticks her head outside, then closes the door and flashes a smile at me in confirmation. “No guards.”

Five minutes later, we walk out and take one of the stone staircases down the hill.

I have no idea where we are going or how to come back to this place, but Katura leads the way like she’s lived here all her life.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Exploring,” Katura says assertively, walking too fast, skipping steps, as I try to keep up. “Then we’ll talk to Archer.”

This place is a mix of elegant white Mykonos and tropical Seychelles with a multilevel landscape of huts, cabanas, and villas that cascade from the jungle on top of the hill with zigzagging staircases, paths, and observation decks down to the beach. Blooming bushes and trees manicured to perfection, palm trees towering above us, birds chirping and butterflies flitting around makes the place feel like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. I guess, this place is called Zion for a reason.

There are myriads of little stone paths on every level as we walk down the shaded stairs. They lead to other bungalows and villas and cabanas, voices coming from some of them.

This is outrageous luxury and chic. Especially after coming from the Eastside.

We pause on one of the flights of stairs and look in the direction of the loud cheers that come from a villa half-hidden by lush greenery. A group of young people surround a pool. It’s too early, but one of the guys holds a champagne bottle in his hand—the party must still be going from the night before. He stands only in his trunks on the edge of the pool and takes a big swig, then notices us on the stairs, lowers his sunglasses to his nose, and studies us until I nudge Katura to keep going.

“This place is like spring break frozen in time,” Katura says with mild fascination in her voice.

“Many of these people have enough money to never work,” I say, feeling ashamed right away about my reproachful tone.

Soft Zen music comes from one of the villas as we pass by. A wide wooden deck is lined with yoga mats and a dozen young people sitting in lotus position, their eyes closed.

Katura looks around with a smile. “Ayana Resort is divided into four parts. We must be at the very southern end, coming on the beach front.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

Katura’s head doesn’t stop turning as we walk. She takes in every detail. “Research.” She winks at me. “We’ll have a better view from the beach.”

There is no visible security anywhere around but plenty of personal. They are all in light-blue uniforms—maids, cleaning people, gardeners.

My legs will give up before I ever make it back to the top, I think as we finally step down onto the wooden boardwalk and onto a sugary-white beach stretch.

A collective “ha” comes from a group of people in white pants and jackets lined up in the distance.

“Taekwondo,” Katura explains.

Boat docks lined with boats cut right into the center of a mile-long beach. Several yachts loom in the distance, music trickling from one of them.

---