Geneva
Demir is out of the bathroom in just a few minutes. He’s changed into some black slacks and a white t-shirt, his hair is wet and tousled and that’s the most casual I have ever seen him. I am curled up on the old couch, my sketchbook and a pencil in my hands, but they are completely forgotten as all I can do is stare with open mouth at my bodyguard who hates me.
“All yours,” he grumbles at me, mistaking my staring for annoyance.
I don’t even nod in recognition. I just leave the sketchbook on the table, grab my things, and lock myself in the small space of the bathroom. It’s all the privacy I am going to get in the upcoming days, but I don’t care about it as I take a quick shower.
When I am finally done, it’s a solid half an hour later and the only sound in the room comes from the
