ONE HUNDRED-ONE

The slow, rhythmic motion of the towel moving through her hair was oddly soothing, grounding her in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Ioannis had asked if she preferred a hand dryer, but she shook her head; somehow, she craved this quiet simplicity instead.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, his voice soft but grounding.

How was she feeling? More conflicted than yesterday, certainly, yet in an inexplicable way…better. “I don’t know,” she replied, the honesty coming naturally. “I’m…confused.”

“Justifiably so,” he remarked, his tone understanding. “But you’ll work through it. Little by little.”

She let out a dry, humorless chuckle, more for herself than for him. “What am I doing? What are we doing?” The question slipped out, directed to herself as much as to him. “I’m leaving soon, so…what is this?”

Satisfied that her hair was mostly dry, Ioannis set the towel aside and gently drew her closer, guiding her to lean back against his chest. His strong arms slipped around her waist, resting lightly on her stomach in a touch that wasn’t meant to be sensual but somehow sent a shiver through her. The warmth of his embrace settled over her, soothing her worries, even if only for a fleeting moment.

“Have you decided where you’ll go from here?” he asked, his voice steady against her ear.

She shook her head. She knew one thing—she couldn’t go back to New York, to the life she’d left behind, but beyond that, everything was still a haze of uncertainty.

“Good,” he murmured. “While you decide, let me take care of you. I’ll be heading to Turkey soon for business, and I’d like you to come with me.”

Turkey? She had considered visiting eventually, but traveling there with him? Her mind reeled with the implications, her ingrained mistrust resurfacing. What if he was hiding something sinister, manipulating her like a predator waiting to strike?

The silence stretched, and he seemed to sense her hesitation. “You don’t trust me enough to come with me, do you?” he asked, his tone neither surprised nor offended.

She cleared her throat, trying to find words that didn’t betray her unease. It felt awkward, vulnerable, as she struggled to reply.

He seemed to understand. “It’s alright,” he said gently. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I’ll conclude my business and join you wherever you decide to be.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, nervously fiddling with each other. The truth was, she didn’t understand why he cared—why he would chase her across the world.

“Why?” she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.

He looked at her intently, his dark eyes softening with a hint of something unguarded. “Because, Yalda, for some twisted reason, I’m drawn to the parts of you that are broken,” he admitted. “I want to help you heal.”

It was a blunt confession, one that both comforted and disturbed her. He wasn’t promising love; he was admitting to a fascination with her pain, an urge to repair her. But was she willing to let herself be rebuilt by someone who might not have true feelings for her, risking her own fragile emotions in the process?

“What happens when you fix me?” she asked quietly, almost fearing the answer.

He let out a soft, genuine chuckle, a sound that held no mockery or judgment. “What do you want to happen?” he replied, studying her with an open expression.

She looked away, uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“Then it’ll be your choice,” he murmured. “Whether you leave or stay with me—no pressure.”

There was a silence, and she realized how closely he was watching her. Slowly, her own question tumbled out. “Would you…would you like it if I stayed?”

“Very much, Yalda,” he replied without hesitation. “I feel like I’ve stumbled upon something rare in you. I’d like to see where we could go together, if you’ll let us.”

Before she could say anything more, a knock on the door announced the arrival of breakfast. His lips brushed a feather-light kiss against her neck, stirring something vulnerable inside her, before he let her go and moved to answer the door.

They ate in companionable silence, and Yalda found herself lost in thought, replaying her life’s choices and all the paths that had brought her here. She could take the familiar road of caution, stay distant, keep her walls firmly up. Or, for once, she could let herself be irrational, take the adventure Ioannis was offering, and embrace whatever came, for better or worse.

Her mind wandered to her friend Riley, and she decided she would text her, just in case, letting her know where she was and with whom she’d be traveling. She wanted the assurance, if only to quiet the voice of suspicion lingering at the edge of her thoughts.

“What are you thinking?” His voice, smooth yet curious, cut through her reverie.

Her eyes met his briefly before she shook her head, offering only a simple reply. “Nothing much.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze probing, as though he was reading her thoughts, peeling back the layers. “You’re a strong woman,” he observed finally. “You’ve clearly dealt with powerful men before.”

The simple comment made her pause, her gaze lowering instinctively. He hadn’t pried into her past, she realized; he hadn’t gone digging to learn her story. It struck her as respectful, a courtesy she hadn’t extended to him.

“What I don’t understand,” he continued gently, “is how you allowed one to break you.” He looked at her with genuine curiosity, not judgment, but his words cut deep, striking a nerve.

She bit her lip, fighting back the rush of emotions, but the mention of her past brought an ache so sharp that tears pricked her eyes. She had been powerless to stop Alexander from breaking her, after all he had made her; he had found her broken and he had pieced her back together until he no longer wanted her.

So she couldn't think of him without crying? How was it that she still loved him so much even after everything?

Without a word, Ioannis set their dishes aside and opened his arms, silently inviting her in. Unable to hold back, she leaned into him, letting his warmth envelop her, a sanctuary from the pain.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, his voice soft against her hair. “We’ll piece you back together, one step at a time. Alright?”

She nodded against him, letting herself relax, her eyes fluttering closed as the calm rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet. She could get used to this—the way he held her, the gentle strength in his embrace, the respect that underlined his touch.

After a moment, she lifted her head just enough to speak. “I’ll go with you to Turkey,” she said, her voice soft but sure.

A warm smile spread across his face, his gaze tender as he looked down at her. He held her for a moment longer, and in that stillness, she felt the first, tentative glimmer of hope—a feeling she’d nearly forgotten how to recognize.