I showed up to school in a full tuxedo, strictly to save time changing so I could get to my fiancée's place earlier. People made fun of me, of course, but it was mostly harmless teasing. Plus, I was so pumped that their jokes just rolled right off me like water off a duck's back.
Lena congratulated me. I asked if her notification had come through yet, but she said no and claimed she didn't really care—unlike me. It was a shame, though. Looks like she's going to be the sole president of our Bachelor Club now. Honestly, I don't even remember ever agreeing to join a club like that, but I guess it was just another one of her unfunny jokes. I actually felt a little bad for Lena. It's not like she's ugly or anything; plenty of guys should be into her. Maybe she already blew her first assignment? But asking her straight up felt a bit cringe.
My parents told me that back in their generation, people were terrified of going public with serious relationships. They used to pretend they were "just dating" and getting to know each other. But nowadays, public transit literally has designated seating for couples. If you want a seat, you better have your wife right next to you. Couple seats are narrower than standard ones, which lets buses cram in more people. Plus, you're allowed to sit on your spouse's lap—especially handy during rush hour. Finally, I'd get the right to embarrass old ladies at the front of the bus.
Eventually, I made it to Christina's place. Judging by the building's exterior, my fiancée was way richer than me. It was still an apartment, but in a high-end luxury complex. Then again, it made total sense. If she had the luxury of playing the flute, it meant her parents could afford to let her leech off them. I was completely fine with this arrangement; I was planning on working anyway. The only question was whether my paycheck would be enough to support such a high-maintenance wife. But hey, in UKARI we trust—the system knows what it's doing. Maybe her family would throw in a stipend, or maybe she was surprisingly low-maintenance herself.
Whatever. Ten to four. Time to move. I buzzed the intercom, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Hello?" a girl's voice answered. Probably Christina, but protocol is protocol.
"Hi. I'm Alex. Your assigned husband, here for our first meeting."
"Ah," she said. A loud buzz echoed, and the door unlocked. "Come on up."
I took the elevator to the 17th floor—a long, high ride. Her front door was already unlocked and propped open. Crap! I forgot to buy flowers. Oh well, next time. Maybe I should buy her a gift instead? With that thought, I stepped inside.
Christina was waiting for me. To her credit, she looked exactly like her photo: chestnut hair, blue eyes, great body... except she was wearing home capri pants, bare feet in slippers, and an oversized T-shirt printed with a toy airplane pulling off a loop-de-loop and leaving a bright yellow trail behind it.
"Hey," she said, scanning my tuxedo before taking a loud bite of a green apple, not even flinching at the sourness.
Man, I felt doubly awkward. Was I actually at a formal viewing right now? There was no way she'd managed to change out of a nice dress in ten minutes. And then it hit me: Christina was rich. Her parents could easily afford to pay for her second or third UKARI re-roll if she didn't like me.
"You came alone?" she asked between loud, crunchy chews.
"Uh, yeah," I mumbled.
Mom was right. I should've prepared better to make a good first impression and brought a few wingmen to hype me up. Going solo made it look like I was just bragging about myself.
"You like the flute?" Christina asked, squeezing past me to shut the front door.
"I don't know," I said neutrally.
"Did you read my profile?" She started heading down the hallway, gesturing for me to follow.
"Yeah," I replied. "You get good grades too. A 4.7 GPA."
"Does that matter to you?"
"I guess," I said. "I like smart people."
She led me into what was clearly her bedroom: a single bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a full-length wall mirror right opposite a music stand. White wallpaper, laminate flooring, and an arty chandelier overhead with one lightbulb missing.
Christina pulled a flute out of her wardrobe, stepped in front of the mirror, brought it to her lips, pressed down on a few keys, and blew. It sounded like a screeching teakettle. Then she did it again. And again.
"Is that Morse code?" I tried to make sense of the noise.
"Nope. That's just how I play. What do you think?"
"Um..." I hesitated. "Look, my mom told me never to be rude to girls. But if that counts as music," I sat down on her bed without asking, "maybe you should try a different instrument."
Christina immediately covered her face with her hands—flute and all—and began to sob.
"Ah, man, I'm sorry..." I mumbled, though I didn't dare get up to comfort her.
"Whatever." She snapped her hands away from her face and turned to me. Not a single tear in her eyes. "I'm just messing with you."
"You little brat," I muttered, annoyed at how easily she'd played me.
Christina played a little "sad trombone" screech on her flute, closed her eyes, and suddenly launched into a flawless, breathtaking trill.
"So, what do you think?" Christina stopped playing, lowered the flute, and gave me an uncertain smile.
"It was fine," I replied. I didn't get the melody at all—plus, I'm not really into classical music. Give me house or something you can actually dance to any day.
"Will you take me into your orchestra?" Christina beamed, doing a little victory shimmy before tucking the flute behind her back.
"Into my... what?" I froze, blinking fast. "Wait, what do you mean?"
"Your orchestra. Unless you don't want to work with your wife?" Christina frowned, her eyes narrowing.
"I think you've got me mixed up with someone else," I said, a creeping suspicion taking root. So that's why UKARI sent me two notifications.
"Is your name Alex?" Holding the flute in one hand, Christina grabbed her phone off the desk with the other, unlocked it, pulled up my profile, and began comparing my face to the screen. "Yep. That's your photo. What about yours?"
"It's you," I said, pulling out my phone and showing her the match page.
"See? I'm not mixing anything up." She slid the flute back into its velvet case and stowed it in the wardrobe. As she bent over, I tried my best not to stare at her ass.
She whirled back around, looking thoroughly baffled. "Wait... do you conduct a choir instead?"
"You think I'm a conductor?" That's when it hit me what my tuxedo actually made me look like. "Wait, did you even read my profile?"
"Why would I?" Christina hit me with a look that left me speechless, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "I don't care about the details, as long as we play in the same orchestra. I mean, I was kind of stupid—I wrote down that I wanted to marry a conductor without specifying the genre."
She swiped past my photo anyway and started reading my bio out loud, chopping off words and sentences halfway through to jump to the next ones.
"Look," I interrupted gently, trying to break the bad news. "I think UKARI made a technical error."
"Huh?" She looked up at me.
"I think..." I went to my messages and tapped the link from the first text.
(1) In accordance with the National Program for Family Support and Harmonious Social Development, you have been assigned your spouse: Christina. Click the link to register your consent.
Christina No. 1. A blonde with serious, expressionless grey eyes, dressed in a full wedding gown in her profile photo. Preferred activities: None. Willing to engage in her future husband's hobbies. Straight-A student. 4.96 GPA. Body measurements... Holy crap, she was stacked! And judging by the dress, no padding needed. This Christina looked a whole lot more like my actual future wife.
I turned my phone screen toward Christina No. 2. Her eyebrows shot straight up. I laid out the entire situation in detail. Christina No. 2 burst out laughing, clapping a hand over her mouth so I wouldn't stare inside.
"You absolute dork!" She caught her breath.