Page 117 of My Lucky Star
Anger flashed inside me like an explosion, blurring my vision. I shoved his chest with all my strength. “No, it wasn’t!”
He didn’t budge, but as I went for another hit, he caught my wrists, locking me on to him.
“Aria,” he whispered.
Powerful cries shook my body. “Nobody throws away an opportunity like that! I can’t be responsible—”
I felt his hot breath on my forehead. “You’re not. It’s my life. My mistakes. My choices.”
“But you chose her. The beautiful, skinny one. I’m the ugly, fat copy.” The words sputtered like hot bubbles from a boiling jug.
Cem squeezed my wrists. “No, I didn’t and I’m sorry about what Burcu said. Turkish people are weird. We comment on everyone’s weight, but it’s not mean spirited, it’s a cultural thing. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“But I saw you out there, smoking together. She was touching you... it looked so right. Like you belonged together.”
Cem winced. “Is that why you left?”
I gave him a wobbly nod. “I didn’t want to make it awkward for you if you wanted to go with her. For your career and everything. You guys make sense. Unlike us.” I’d been repeating that line, willing myself to believe it.
He shook his head. “I don’t care what it looks like. Nothing makes sense without you.”
“But Emir said—"
“I fired him.”
“You did what?” I looked up, blinking away hot tears, my breath escaping in shuddering bursts.
Cem smiled. “I’m managing myself now. It feels good.”
The exasperation in my chest spilled over and words flew out. “I was just getting over you!” I bit my lower lip. It tasted like lipstick, then blood. “I’ve tried so hard.”
He let go of my wrists but pulled me to his chest. “Don’t try so hard.”
I banged his chest with powerless fists that bounced off the hard muscle. He held me tighter.
“You broke my heart,” I whispered into his dungarees. They smelled vaguely of hay. So not like him. But he pressed me against his warm chest, I detected his familiar scent, and it shot straight to my heart. Istanbul.
“And you broke mine,” he whispered into my hair. “We did what we set out to do, but I couldn’t let you go.”
My whole body shook as he squeezed me to his chest, my insides rearranging themselves and the world once again turning upside down. He was here. He was real. He was holding me.
Harriet appeared behind us. “First positions!”
I wiped my eyes, sucked in several deep breaths and we followed her to the reception area where our characters had their first scene together, one where Eloise tells Ali that the hotel has no vacancies and graciously turns him down as a romantic prospect.
I gathered all my strength and waited for the makeup artist to reapply the lipstick I’d eaten, staring at my short but somewhat tidy nails. I couldn’t let Cem’s presence distract me. Maybe he had so many opportunities he could throw them away like candy wrappers, but I only had this one shot. I couldn’t risk blowing it.
But when I glanced at Cem, I noticed he looked serious. His attention on the director, he went over his lines, blocking the scene with the camera. I was the one standing behind the desk with minimal stage direction. I clung to the edge of the wooden tabletop, an antique piece of furniture the set designer had sourced from somewhere.
My nerves vibrated like I was hovering on a knife’s edge. Would he distract me? Would I blow this scene?
As we took the first positions, I witnessed another miracle. Before my eyes, Cem transformed into someone else. I felt like I watched his ego shrink, revealing an awkward vulnerability that held me spellbound. Cem was no longer Cem. He’d turned into a poor horse breeder looking for a room in a fully booked town. He took off his hat as he approached the desk, casting me a look I’d never seen before. With every movement and gesture, he handed over his authority, elevating me, supporting the role I was meant to play.
We had a script. I knew the story. Yet, I felt like we were improvising. Dancing. He was leading me into the spotlight and stepping into the shadows. My world had flipped on its axis. Fire coursed through every fiber of my being, and I let the moment sweep me away.
After the first take, the director gave me a thumbs-up and asked Cem to play his part even more awkwardly. He did. I relaxed further, inserting a bit of playfulness into my own performance, shooting down his advances with grace and a hint of amusement.
When Lars called ‘cut’ on the fifth take and announced he was happy to move on, I released a deep sigh. My body flooded with a strange mix of endorphins and nerves. I’d played a scene with Cem and nailed it.
