Page 102 of My Lucky Star
“I don’t mind, thank you. We’re very happy,” I responded politely.
I was lying. I minded so much my skin sizzled.
Aria beamed at him, and he blushed, stumbling backwards as he exited toward the kitchen. He’d bought our relationship. Not that I cared. I craved to see it all blow up, but not in a way that implicated Aria. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape my own life.
We raised our glasses, but our celebration was premature. A young woman in a black cocktail dress approached our table. I saw the gleam in her eyes before she opened her mouth – that crazy, burning look that preceded trouble.
“Cem bey?” She played with her perfectly styled hair. “I can’t believe it’s you!”
Ignoring Aria, she offered her arm for me to sign.
“I don’t have a pen.”
“I do!” She produced one from her clutch.
I signed the woman’s arm and bid her farewell, but she took out her phone.
“One photo of you two,” she cooed, acknowledging Aria for the first time.
We posed for the photo, leaning across the table to get closer to each other.
“I can’t believe you two are back together! So perfect!” She turned to Aria with an inquisitive look.
Aria responded with a regal smile, so perfectly timed that I could have sworn she’d understood every word. But I could tell our eager fan wasn’t convinced.
Her gaze lingered on her for a long time, like a lion stalking its prey. “It’s such a shame about those articles... I can see they’re not true. You look so healthy and vibrant. You’ve put on weight. What would you say to all those people spreading lies?”
Aria tensed, probably reacting to the woman’s viper-like smile. She held her pleasant expression, glancing at me for help.
I shot the woman a warning look. “This is highly inappropriate. We’re not here to give interviews. We’re having dinner.”
“My apologies.” The woman smiled and stepped backwards, not missing a beat.
I’d all but lost my fake smile when she finally moved on. She didn’t go far, though. I could still see her at a nearby table, tapping on her phone, keeping watch.
I felt a little ill. Her fangirl act had started off pitch perfect, but I’d immediately recognized that honeyed tone of prying for a scoop. Who was she? A gossip journalist? An influencer?
She had a glass of water in front of her. A laptop peeked out of the giant handbag she’d lifted on the seat next to her. The man sharing her table didn’t seem like her partner, at least not in the romantic sense. He sat back in his chair, smoking and browsing his phone, displaying no jealousy or bother over her interest in us.
Our food arrived – sea bass with salads. It was a stroke of luck I hadn’t ordered the squid the place was famous for.
“Everything okay?” The waiter asked.
He must have witnessed the photograph session.
I assured him everything was fine. Demanding they remove another customer would cause a scene and not the scene I wanted to cause.
We ate in silence, trying to ignore the long looks from our fellow diners. The food tasted as good as I’d hoped for, and I watched Aria’s face, trying to determine whether she liked it. I couldn’t read her face; not like I was used to. She’d slipped back into character, mostly staring at the twinkling city lights or batting her lashes at me, her face a mask of politeness.
I felt like throwing my dinner into the ocean. I wanted my Aria, not this Burcu-like doll who smiled and nodded and ate like a bird. Yet, I couldn’t stop staring at her, my gaze dipping to her deep cleavage, then returning to her perfectly controlled expression, studying every detail. Strangers might have been fooled, but I could see the difference. Simmering under the act, Aria had so much more life in her, a cheeky, fighting spirit I’d never seen in Burcu. She was unruly in the best way possible.
By the time we finished our meal, I cancelled the desserts and messaged Emir. I felt utterly exhausted, and the unnerving woman hadn’t stopped watching us. She’d ordered a coffee she hadn’t touched, too busy browsing her phone. Whatever she was cooking up, I didn’t want to eat it.
I left a wad of money on the table and gestured for Aria to get up. She must have been reading my mind as she glanced at the suspicious woman, grabbed her clutch and jacket and fell in step with me. We beelined through the restaurant and into the car waiting outside.
“Drive,” I told Tarik.
“You’re on Twitter,” Emir said as the car revved down the alley. “HashtagCemCucu. Well done. I think we could still swing by the Soho House to get you photographed over there. Drinks at the bar, something like that.”
