The closet smelled of warm skin and expensive perfume, and the soft white floor under my back was holding the weight me and my wife with the unbothered competence of architecture that had been built for exactly this kind of morning-after reckoning.
ARIA's design philosophy, in three words: keep the king happy.
The lighting had dimmed itself another shade ten minutes into the proceedings, switched the holographic styling field to off about four minutes after that, and was now running an ambient warm-gold program along the underside of the suit racks that was, frankly, more thoughtful than half the hotels I'd ever booked on this sad little planet.
The mirror at the end of the island was respectfully dark.
