Sophie had never stayed in a room this luxurious before. The softest cotton sheets, a giant bed, several elegantly furnished chambers. Furniture of polished redwood, a vast terrace with a private pool—it all spoke of wealth and privilege.
A quick tour left her with no doubt: she and her "husband" were rich. The fact of marriage was confirmed as well—her documents now bore the name Miller.
But what unsettled her wasn't the fortune or the new surname. It was the wardrobe. She could hardly imagine herself wearing such clothes in any universe. And David—certainly not. She wouldn't call it youthful fashion, because not even teenagers back home dressed like this. Perhaps this was just how things were done here...
Neon colors, bizarre cutouts, feathers, rhinestones, asymmetrical pockets that held nothing, handbags encrusted with gemstones, gowns impossible to walk in—only to pose for photographers. Common sense told her no one could wear such impractical clothes in daily life. This was haute couture, fit only for celebrities.
Sophie soon tired of rummaging through the closet and flopped onto a white sofa on the terrace, basking in the eternal light of two suns. That's where her husband found her.
"How are you, love?" he asked, stepping outside in a silk robe. The robe, at least, was perfect—Sophie thought she could happily wear one like that everywhere, even to work.
"I confirmed that we're really married," she said. "And I also confirmed that we have nothing to wear. A closet full of clothes, yet all of it ridiculous and utterly unwearable. What exactly are we in this world, to have so much money and such a strange wardrobe? I'm very curious."
"I fear we'll find out soon enough," David sighed. "But before we get swept up in the madness of local life, perhaps we should bathe and eat."
"I've already showered," Sophie replied. "I think I'll swim instead. You should try the outdoor tub—it's divine. There's another one inside, too."
She slipped out of her soft skirt and T-shirt (the only decent, comfortable items she had managed to dig up from the closet), and, completely naked, slid into the cool water of the pool. David dropped his robe, savoring the breeze on his bare skin as he waited for the bath to fill.
Sophie couldn't help but admire him—the elegant profile, the long legs, the perfectly sculpted backside (too perfect for a bookworm who scorned exercise). His thick hair, so dark indoors, glimmered golden under the suns. She stared at him and almost envied herself.
She knew very well: if not for her relentless determination to win this man, he would never have been hers. Alone, she wouldn't have stood out, though she was beautiful and intelligent—there was no shortage of women like her. But David—he was extraordinary. She had never met anyone so brilliant, so sensitive, so principled and noble.
Her gaze returned to him. Yes, he'd been blessed with good genes. Having such a body while ignoring sports—an unattainable dream for many. Then again, she scolded herself, perhaps it was just her infatuation talking. Objectively, he was simply tall and lean, not particularly muscular. After all, how could he be, in his forties, with no training?
Sophie herself loved physical activity. She biked and swam often, mostly for fun, but yoga was her true discipline—years of daily practice had turned it into a necessity. Without it, she felt weak, and now, after four days without, that weakness weighed on her.
She was convinced of sport's value but never tried to drag David into it. Who was she to dictate how he should live? He appreciated that. Just as he never pressured her into academia, though he believed nothing was more exciting than science—and that she had a knack for it.
Watching clouds drift and savoring the chill of the water, Sophie decided life was, for the moment, beautiful. A good morning, she thought, despite the lingering weakness and faint nausea. Far below, the metropolis pulsed with life.
The idyll broke when a phone rang just as Sophie climbed out of the pool. David, soaking in the outdoor bath with a book, didn't hear the music. She set off in search of the source—a quest in these palatial rooms.
She found the device in the study. The caller ID read Max Dimitrov. Sophie smiled with sudden joy. What luck—he existed in this reality! David would be ecstatic. She picked up.
"Sophie, how are you two doing? David's not answering my messages. Tell him the show is confirmed—the mayor will be there. So get ready, I'll come by soon."
"Of course," Sophie replied, a little dazed. "We'll be ready. Max…" she added softly, "I'm so glad to hear your voice."
Max chuckled in surprise before they hung up.
Looking at the screen, she realized it must be David's phone—her photo was the wallpaper.
"Professor Miller, I have a delightful surprise for you," she said, stepping back onto the terrace and kissing her husband. "Max called. Dimitrov. He's coming to pick us up soon."
David's face lit with one of his most charming smiles.
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. You've truly made me happy. But in this reality, I doubt I'm a professor. Professors don't earn this kind of money."
"Well, maybe it's me who earned it," she teased. "Or maybe, here, philosophers are filthy rich. We'll figure it out. Now let's get dressed quickly. Breakfast will have to wait."