Page 17 of My Lucky Star
After a long session of over thinking and second guessing, I managed to pick grey slacks, a dark hoodie and a black T-shirt with a Maori koru pattern surrounding the word ‘mana’. It was probably akin to cultural appropriation by the fashion brand, but the word – the Maori concept of authority, influence and spiritual power – resonated with me.
Approaching the counter, my fingers curled around Cem’s credit card, and my throat tightened. If I used it, I’d be like one of his staff, running an errand for their famous client. A touch of nausea swirled in my belly.
With my heart hammering and thoughts circling in a vortex of irrationality, I pulled out my own credit card, gingerly passing it across the counter. I winced as the digital numbers on the cash register climbed to new heights. But a week or two or five of living on noodles was a small price for my dignity, even if I couldn’t quite articulate how buying a pile of expensive cotton for a stranger was linked to said dignity.
Chapter 7
Cem
AS I RUMMAGED THROUGHthe fridge, I heard the knock on the door. Aria. The thought of seeing her again gave me a jolt of excitement. I glanced at the tray of lasagna, thinking I could share it with her. Maybe she could help me figure out how the oven worked.
Approaching the door, I glanced at my outfit. I’d found the old, maroon velvet robe at the back of a cleaning cupboard and decided to try it on. I didn’t want to hear more comments about the shininess of my shirt. She’d laughed at it like it was something embarrassing, too feminine or too opulent.
I shouldn’t have cared. Millions of people thought I looked hot. Why did I care about her reaction? If anything, she was ultra-casual, hiding her beauty behind the plain and boring. She couldn’t hide it though. She couldn’t hide how much she resembled Burcu, either. It both perplexed and fascinated me.
The door creaked as it opened, and my jaw dropped.
Emir.
My brother held the door for a young man in a hoodie and board shorts, who hauled two suitcases over the threshold. I had to admit I was slightly more excited to see my luggage than my brother. Only slightly.
Emir guided the guy toward the stairs.
“First room on the left.” I pointed upwards.
“No worries.” The guy looked a little startled but took my bag and dragged it up the stairs with two hands.
Emir picked up his own luggage and followed him. I’d never understood his partiality for doing for himself what he paid others to do.
We looked alike but couldn’t have been more different. He had the looks that could have put him on the silver screen. Too bad he hated cameras, smiling, and other people in general. Filming a doe-eyed, romantic scene with someone... I couldn’t even imagine my brother in that scenario. He would have probably self-combusted. However, he was sharp and strategic, which made him a good manager. Excellent in negotiations, terrible at social gatherings, but those were in my arena anyway.
The bags dealt with, Emir returned downstairs, showing the driver out the door with a hefty tip.
He turned to me, his eyebrows raised. “Brother!”
“Hosgeldiniz.” I pulled him into a hug, which he didn’t fight too hard. “How was the flight?”
