Page 76 of My Lucky Star
I ate until I felt like I would split at the seams. Every time I made some headway, Cem’s mom offered me more and my tea glass got refilled. Finally, I took a hint from Cem and placed my teaspoon over my glass. The tea stopped flowing.
As my stomach got heavier, my head became lighter, lolling about on my shoulders. Jet lag and a full stomach were a powerful combination.
Right when I thought I would pass out, Cem helped me up, said something to his family and escorted me out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as we got out of earshot. “You get to rest now, I promise.”
“That’s okay.” I leaned half of my weight against his chest as we walked.
“Do I need to carry you?”
Ugh. I wanted him to carry me. From now on, I’d dream about being carried by him.Thank you for this new craving.
“Gee,” I muttered.
“Gee?”
“It’s what you said a lot at the table, according to the translator. It was like a word you repeat...Allah?”
Cem chuckled. “Allah, Allah. It’s like... oh my God, or my goodness.”
“Or geeee...” I stretched the word, dissolving into such tired, uncontrollable giggles I nearly lost my footing and Cem had to steer me toward the stairs.
“I’ll add it to my everyday vocabulary if it makes you that happy.”
He took me up a curved staircase to another sitting room, which opened out to a wide balcony overlooking the marina. I counted at least three luxury yachts. A steady stream of dog walkers and joggers pounded the concrete walkway. So many people, everywhere. Across the strip of ocean, in the distance, the city continued.
“Is that the Asian side?” I asked, blinking against the daylight. My brain disagreed with the time of day, yet the light felt hazy and soft, not like the daylight back home. Filtered through layers of smoke, maybe.
“Yes. That’s the bridge we drove across.” He pointed to my right. “And here’s the bedroom.”
He opened the door and I gasped. The room was the size of my entire apartment back home. I peeked into the massive marble ensuite, gaping at the freestanding bathtub and two showers, then let my gaze roam across the king bed with a studded velvet headboard and embroidered cushions arranged across a silky, terracotta bed spread. The colors of spices. Curcumin. Chili. Cinnamon. Ginger. Everything in Cem’s house brought tastes on my tongue. Including him.
“What’s behind there?” I pointed at another door by the bed.
“A closet.”
Cem dutifully opened the door and I peered into the generous walk-in wardrobe filled with suits, shirts and pants.
“It’s the temple of shiny shirts!” I grinned, brushing the smooth fabrics.
Cem grabbed me by the wrist. “Stop it! You’ll make them greasy.” His glare lacked commitment, but his tight grip delivered the message. Maybe not the right message, but the sheer force of it shot right to my core.
“It’s not my fault your breakfast was half finger food,” I grumbled, walking into the ensuite to wash my hands.
“You didn’t like it?”
I stepped out of the bathroom and found him looking concerned. I smiled. “I loved it.” I couldn’t lie to him.
“Good.” Cem walked me to the bed and sat me down. I sunk into the soft mattress and couldn’t resist falling on my back. So soft. “This is the world’s most comfortable bed.”
I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. The exhaustion was trying to pull me under but being able to speak freely and be myself felt as heavenly as the bed and part of me wanted to fight a moment longer, to stay with him.
Cem threw himself on the bed next to me. “It cost a fortune. Worth it, though.”
He turned to look at me and I met his gaze, sleepy and victorious. He’d done it. He’d got me into his bed. Probably not in the way he’d envisioned, but it was the kind of bed that inspired commitment. If any of my ex-boyfriends had slept on something like this, I would have quietly moved in. Lockedthemout, maybe, but I would have kept the bed.
I rolled over, relishing how my shoulder sank in without the crunchy rearranging of bones my own mattress delivered. “Can I stay here for the rest of this trip?” I mumbled into a maroon cushion.
