Page 84 of Crossing Lines

He nods and I hurry up the stairs to shower. Once I’m clean and comfortable in a sleep shirt, I head backdownstairs. Ten boxes of cereal are on the counter and my heart tumbles at the sight.

He passes me a bowl and I mix three kinds together before sitting at the table. He mixes together the same three as me and takes the chair across from me.

“So…” I say after taking my first bite. “I’m sorry. For not only leaving the presentation but also the house without talking to you first. It was stupid, but I was in shock and then you insinuated that I was setting you up and…” I shrug as if that’s answer enough.

“I’m sorry for assuming that the coincidence was on purpose. I realized in the meeting that not only would you never work with Mick, but that you wouldn’t betray me.”

“Thank God, I was so worried you’d want nothing to do with me and wouldn’t give me a chance to explain.”

“Can you tell me about Mick? What you remember from him?”

“There’s not much to tell. My first memories are of Mom cursing Miguel—that’s his full name—and me for ruining her life. He cut all ties while she was pregnant and made sure she could never contact him.”

“But why? Who does that?”

“You know who he’s married to,” I say. Victoria Mercer, the heir to the Mercer food group. Miguel took her name when they got married, and became the CEO of the Mercer group, but in the end she’s the one with all the money and power.

“He was hiding theinfidelity.”

“That’s my best guess too,” I say, relieved he put it all together without me saying it aloud.

“Shit, Nina, I would’ve never put you in that situation if I’d known.”

“I know you wouldn’t have. It’s my fault. I didn’t keep tabs on his son, preferring to ignore the fact that he had a child he claimed easily.”

He nods in understanding. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I brush off the question for the millionth time in the past many hours.

“Nina…” Evren’s voice is full of warning. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. I’ll not like it, but I’ll respect it. But you don’t get to lie about it.”

Well, shit. Evren’s unwavering gaze demands an answer. My lower lip trembles, as if it wants to spill everything I’m feeling, but I bite it to keep it all in. Evren’s steady presence makes me feel too exposed, too vulnerable. I’m scared to talk, not wanting to make my emotions his responsibility, especially when I’ve been overwhelmed by everything. But even though I try to stop the words from coming out of my mouth, my emotions don’t accept the silence. Instead, they flow from my mouth, tracking a path past my nose, and straight to their destination without my consent. Tears build and I’m tired of trying so hard to be strong all the time.

“I hate,” I say, taking a shuddered breath. “That he has a fancy life with Ben while I struggled my entire life. I hate that seeing them all together makes me question what’s wrong with me for him to abandon me. And mostof all? I hate that I care. I hate that I want him to want me.”

Evren is at my side in an instant and pulls me into his chest. I cry years of pent-up hurt into his shirt, my tears soaking through the fabric as he murmurs soft words in Turkish, his voice a gentle balm against my anguish. It’s a comfort I’ve never known until him. I’ve always kept my emotions locked away, having learned the hard way that vulnerability invites ridicule—like the times Mom would either ignore me or laugh while I cried. But Evren doesn’t flinch; he holds me close, steady and unwavering, as I ride this wave of sorrow. I’ve cried more times in front of Evren in the past month than Elodie’s seen me cry in twenty years.

Eventually, my sobs subside, and Evren says, “He doesn’t know what he’s missing by not knowing you. Mick abandoning you had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”

“Maybe,” I say, because I get that logically, but emotionally? It doesn’t resonate. I sniffle and then pull back. “Sorry for ruining your shirt.”

“I don’t care about my shirt. I care about you.” He winds my hair in his hand and pulls my head back so that I’m looking right at him. “Can you promise you’ll never run from me, from us again? Because I’m all in, Nina.”

“You still want to be with me? To work with me?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I say, “because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Chapter 22

Evren

Islam my lips to Nina’s in a declaration, an imprint, a silent signature that marks the real beginning of an “us”—irrevocable, undeniable, ours.

The day without her was filled with silence, monotony, and loneliness. I missed her presence, her wit, her sharp laugh. I missed everything about her, and I don’t want to be without her again.

I pull back. “We still have a lot to discuss.”

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