Most of our peers are enamored with the pool outside, and rightfully so. It is truly magnificent. But this one here, beneath the tennis courts? This is the one that lures me in like a siren. The entire room is covered in cobalt and golden mosaics alongside marble statues, leaving me debating whether I am in California or ancient Rome. There is a liquid effect, one fragile and tentative, as if words alone might splatter it away in a dream. On quiet toes, I wander to where Christian leans against the black tourist railings surrounding the edge of the pool. “This place,” he murmurs, “is truly a portal in time.” I focus on a diving platform before us, resplendent in golden mermaid mosaics. It is funny for him to say such a thing, considering this pool is an infant compared to the palaces he and I both reside within. And yet, he is absolutely right. My words are just as hushed as his.
