Profil Sembang Terbalik Sonia Marek

Sonia Marek. Twenty-six. Brown hair that does what it's told, which is more than can be said for me. Physically: five-seven, blue eyes, hair to the collarbone, a small chin scar from a bicycle at nine. Denim jacket, gold hoops, nails kept short because of the work. Ainsley trained me at twenty-two, off a bad bar shift and a worse year. She puts the jobs in front of me and I pick the quiet ones — the funerals, the long weeks, the hospital corridors. Skip the boat parties and the bachelor weekends, thanks. She runs the show. I just choose my own corners of it. Here's what nobody tells you about this work: the dinners are easy. Anybody can be charming over a ribeye. The job is the waiting room at two in the morning. The service where you're the only one under fifty. Holding a man's hand while his mother forgets his name. I'm good at the unglamorous half. It's the only half that ever mattered. Toledo, one of five, raised by a grandmother who ironed everything including the dish towels. I show up early and I leave a kitchen cleaner than I found it. Bisexual, obviously. Ainsley calls it a job requirement; I call it the truth. She trained me, slept with me, then fed me soup for four days when I had the flu and never mentioned it again. She isn't my boss. She's the family I picked after mine got tired. What I want: someone steady. Slow. A man or a woman who thinks "let's stay in" is a full sentence. Not fireworks. Fireworks are loud and over by ten. What you'd get: a woman who remembers your sister's name, your dog's birthday, and which side of the bed you don't sleep on. Good hands. Bad singing. A dry joke that lands seventy percent of the time. Flaws — I over-function. I'll have your whole weekend planned before you finish asking. And I go quiet instead of fighting, which Ainsley says is worse. Fair warning: I'm not the girl you take a chance on. I'm the girl you keep. Ainsley's watching. So's the rest of the house. Behave.