Page 30 of My Lucky Star
“What if it’s giving up the dream that’s killing you?” I asked. “You should never stop dreaming.”
Her sigh was heavy. “What do you dream of?”
I scratched my neck. “Maybe doing my own stunts, working outside of Turkey, but I have an accent, so I doubt Hollywood would want me.”
“Oh, they would. Anyone would.” She was looking at me with sad sincerity, as if she saw something in me. Something undeniable.
I felt a little squeeze in my chest, so sudden and unexpected I almost mistook it for indigestion, but as the warmth spread through my belly, I knew she’d put it there. How, I wasn’t sure. It’s not like I hadn’t heard comments about my looks or talent. That’s all I heard, every time we posted something on social media. I was adored and objectified so much it had become almost meaningless. Almost. Only the stats meant something – the number of likes, the number of comments, the engagement. I’d become simultaneously addicted to and immune to praise.
The warm feeling lingered and I held her gaze, afraid to shatter the moment. “Very few people really see me. When you’re successful, people don’t really want you. They want what you can do for them.”
She looked down, her cheeks blotchy pink. “You mean, like people who want the hotel you’re staying in—”
“No. I’m not talking about you. In fact, you’re the first person to really see me in a long time. You look at me as if I’m a person, not... an object.”
Aria looked up, horrified. “Cem. That’s... wow. I can’t even imagine.” She shook her head, a wild look in her eyes.
I found myself moving closer to her, not to touch, only to feel her breath and the heat of her body, hoping to extend the unsettling yet delicious sensation. The sun sizzled hot on my neck, but the air felt cool, filled with fine mist. Everything smelled like rain and growth. Earth and sky. It didn’t feel like anything I’d experienced with Burcu. There was the same desire to kiss her, and take her, but with an unfamiliar level of uncertainty, even fear. I had no script. She could slip out of my hands at any moment.
Aria’s hair had curled around her face, the damp strands licking her cheeks. It made her look untamed, and I loved it. If we were going to capture something different, something that hadn’t featured on my Instagram in years, this was it. Aria, like this, looking at me as if she couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or push me off the rock.
I watched closely for any cracks in her armor, that spark I’d seen hiding right under the surface. If only I could get her to relax.
I raised my hand to swipe a strand of hair from her face, but she recoiled, losing her balance. My heart leapt into my throat as her foot stumbled on the slippery surface, fighting for purchase.
My body reacted faster than my brain, catching her by the waist, like I’d caught many actresses in similar scenes, although I’d never seen any of them flailing their arms like this. Nor had any of their faces ever displayed the terror that registered on Aria’s.
She felt light and tense, like touching a live wire. I wanted to hold on to her, keep holding until she softened into my touch, but I had no excuse. Nobody was filming us in slow motion. So, I brought her back upright and reluctantly let go. “This is dangerous. I need you to relax, Aria.”
She nodded, panting from shock. “I know. I’m sorry. It just... feelswrong. I keep telling myself it’s an acting job, but Burcu is not a fictional character. She’s a real person.” Aria blew a shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t have watched your show! Now I’m overthinking it. The way she moves, the way she acts around you...” Her eyes burned.
She’d watched the show?
“How does she act around me?” I carefully helped her off the rock. “You mean when she does that nasty look over her shoulder?”
I spun on the grass, casting a menacing look over my shoulder, imitating Burcu’s signature move. I knew I looked ridiculous, and it worked. Aria laughed and copied my move, but with far more conviction.
Her performance was so perfect, including the slight thrust of her chin, that I felt my lungs flattening.
Burcu. It was Burcu.
Aria didn’t notice my reaction. She thrust her fists to her sides and shouted ‘Oof!’ – a reaction I immediately recognized.
“That’s perfect!”
Buoyed by my praise, she launched into an animated burst of fake Turkish, her eyes wide, hands gesturing with passion. Her speech had the right intonation and rhythm but made absolutely no sense.
I held my breath, watching her in awe. Almost instinctively, I slipped my hands around her waist, a move that might have followed in the same scene if we’d been on set, going through the rehearsed motions. Her arms pressed against my chest and she lifted her chin, eyes defiant, yet filled with desire and the inner conflict I’d witnessed my co-star pull off to perfection. Was it intentional?
“You saidseviyorum seni,” I said. “It means ‘I love you.’"
Her eyes burned. “No! I was talking gibberish. I love how your language sounds.”
“Yes, you did,” I insisted. “You confessed your love and told me you hate how much you want to kiss me right now.”
Her eyes widened for half a second before she called my bluff. “Oh, come on!” She shoved my chest, laughing. She was standing far too close to put any weight behind it, and I held her even tighter.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Stay in character. Show me what Burcu does when I hold her like this.”
