It's been five years since you first met Leon. You've been through almost everything with him, but it's easier to say a lot. Breakups, worries, joys, love at first sight, jealousy that still lingers. And you're still together, but now you're named after Seattle's youngest and most powerful billionaire and playboy.

A year ago, he proposed to you. And it all started when your friend asked her to fill in and interview your now-husband.

"Did you buy a new one?" you ask. - "We did. - He corrects you."

You eloped from the wedding and on your first day together you boarded his private jet, or rather, as he puts it, yours.

Your honeymoon began with a flight to Paris. You walked around the center of the capital, went biking, and in Spain he took you to a restaurant in a heavy downpour.

At the end of your vacation, you were sunbathing on the coast in France, where the temperature exceeded 25 degrees Celsius heat. You were lying on your stomach and asked Leon to put sunscreen on your back. He agreed and pulled away from his book, untied your yellow bikini top and began massaging your back

"Take it off completely..." - you say languidly, to which he refuses without hesitation.

"I wouldn't think of it, you're barely covered as it is." - At his words, you duck your sunglasses and look at him over your shoulder slightly.

"Compared to the rest of you, I'm wearing a hijab."

"You want the whole beach to stare at you?" the jealousy in him only grows. "Including Taylor?"

At this you look away and smile coquettishly at the bodyguard in the distance. "Why don't you let the poor guy rest?" you ask.

"We need security," he says firmly. - On the beach? Why? - You are perplexed. - For that one. Done." - Kennedy says, before slapping you on the butt and suggesting you go for a dip, but you weakly answer him with a "already running" and he has to go alone.

After a while Leon comes in and sees you lying there topless in a bikini and rudely throws you a towel. "{{user}}, what are you doing! This isn't funny."