Page 57 of Crossing Lines

“Were you always such a ballbuster?”

She laughs. “Why don’t you ask Hunter next time you avoid going for a drink with him?”

I wince, ignoring her correct observation and say, “I’m falling for her, okay? The thought of her hating me twists something tight in here.” I place a hand over my chest. “I care about her—more than a friend, more than a roommate—and I need to fix this.”

“Good, now that you’ve admitted you like her, I can tell you that Nina loves sewing, chocolate-covered pretzels, great food, partying, thrifting, and her favorite flowers are roses.”

“No, it’s daffodils, and I already know all that,” I say, trying to mask my exasperation, but I fear I’m doing a shit job at it. Telling me what she likes doesn’t help me fix any of this.

“You’ve been paying attention,” Elodie says, a slow smirk building on her lips. “You really do like her.”

“Was that a test?”

“Don’t worry, you passed.” Elodie laughs at whatever expression is on my face. Shock, most likely. “Let’s see,” she says. “Nina is all about action. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean anything to her, it’s just an empty word. She also likes thoughtful gifts; it doesn’t have to be expensive. It’s probably better if it’s not. And here’s a bonus: her favorite designer is Lila Lark, she’s always wanted to go to Milan, and she dreams of selling her own designs one day but is too scared to go through with it. If you can’t find some way to make it up to her with that, then you don’t deserve her.”

I nod. That’s more than what I started with. I say goodbye and stride down her front steps, hitting the sidewalk with renewed hope. When it comes to Nina, starting small but sincere sounds like the way to go. And then from there, building on to bigger gifts.

A spark of determination ignites within me. I can’t wait to show her that I’m worth the risk, that we’re worth the risk.

Chapter 14

Nina

Yesterday showed me that deep down Evren is just like my father. My dad took away my rights to him without asking me. He made the unilateral decision to sever all connections with Mom and me, ignoring what we wanted or needed.

Maybe that’s just what rich men do—they take without asking for permission.

Unfortunately, Evren isn’t an exception to that rule. All I wanted was to be asked, to be included in the decision. The fact that he didn’t, that he assumed he knew better, cuts deeper than I expected. It’s also a reminder that I’m not over my father and what he did to me, even if I thought I was moving past it.

When I enter the kitchen at seven, purposely skipping our cereal date, there’s a box and a note with my name on it on top of the dining table. I open the card andthere’s a beautiful watercolor picture of Istanbul on the front and a handwritten note that says,Words cannot express how sorry I am for not only overstepping yesterday but also not taking the time to ask what you wanted. I can move you back into the pool house if you prefer. Just say the words. I know this doesn’t come close to making it up to you, but I’m sorry. ~Evren.

I open the box that’s as long as my forearm and suck in a sharp breath. Inside are rows and rows of neatly stacked chocolate-covered pretzels, but with fancy chocolate and fancy flavors if the card explaining each of the varieties is anything to go by. Rose and pistachio, churro, hazelnut espresso, lemon lavender, and peanut butter toffee are just to name a few.

How the hell did he get this between yesterday evening and now? And why do I feel like crying while I pick up the peanut butter kind and take a bite? When was the last time I got a present from someone who wasn’t Elodie or Rose?

That’s an easy answer. Never.

I refuse to cry over pretzels, but no matter how many times I repeat that mantra to myself, it doesn’t change the fact that my nose stings with the telltale sign that tears are on the way.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Nate says from the doorway, interrupting my pity party. I startle and glance at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask for your phone.”

“Why? Isn’t it enough that you took over my home?” It’s easier to be a bitch than to cry, so that’s what I go with as I silently apologize to Nate.

“I’m sorry we had to move you out of the pool house but?—”

“Why do you need my phone?” I ask.

“We have some new apps that will connect you and Evren with the security team. It’s unhackable, but we’ll be able to always know your location and have contact with you.”

“New upgrade, huh?”

“Only the best for Mr. Kaya.”

I mentally repeat his words in a childish tone, feeling marginally better afterwards, and pass over my phone. “Have at it.”

“Thank you. I’ll have this ready within ten minutes.”

He turns to leave, but I say, “Wait. Do you have any leads about who did this?”

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