Page 92 of My Lucky Star
Chapter 32
Cem
IHELD HER HAND ALLthe way to Galata. We spent most of the drive idling in traffic, waiting for another car or motorbike or someone pushing a wooden cart along cobblestones to get out of our way. Istanbul had never felt so crowded. Or ancient.
Emir had called and ordered us to get back a day earlier than planned. Apparently, the stylist he wanted wasn’t available on Saturday. I’d told him to cancel the whole thing, but he’d dangled a carrot, telling me the studio was ready to sign. They only needed to see more of us in the media. One public outing as a doting couple, and my best-paid role yet would be black on white. Enough money to fund everything I wanted. A break from acting. Freedom to travel. I’d take a year off to hang out in New Zealand.
Aria insisted that we follow through. I think she felt like she owed us something, not just me, but Emir. I loved that about her, that sense of duty, always wanting to do the right thing but this didn’t feel right.
We packed up and drove back, picking up Emir from my house in Bebek, then headed to Galata. If my brother suspected we’d veered from the Bursa plan, he didn’t say anything.
Tarik stopped in front of a slow-moving cart, rolled down his window and yelled at the old man to get out of the way. Aria’s eyes widened. She had a lot to learn about my city, if I could get her to stay.
“I told you half of Istanbul is from the 1800s. You love that, don’t you? Crumbling old places?” I nudged her arm, pointing at the end of a steep, narrow cobblestone street giving to Galata tower. “That used to be a prison.”
Her eyes rounded. “That’s too pretty to be a prison.”
“It wasn’t originally built for that, but...” My throat tightened. “Anything can become a prison, I suppose.”
She lifted her gaze, peering right through me. “It doesn’t matter how gorgeous it is if you can’t leave.”
I drew a sharp breath, trying to stop my thumbs from fidgeting. “There was a guy called Çelebi, an Ottoman scientist and inventor who lived in the 1600s. Apparently, he made himself a pair of wooden wings, jumped off the roof of Galata tower and flew all the way to the Asian side.”
“For real?”
I smiled at her stunned expression. “Probably not, but I like to think so.”
“Me too.” She craned her neck as the tower disappeared behind the street corner.
I stared out the window, squeezing her hand. I needed her. She elevated every mundane moment that otherwise passed me by, used me, discarded me. With Aria, time slowed down and details came into focus. Looking at Istanbul through her eyes, its color and vibrancy filled my senses.
The last of the evening sun gilded the sky behind the rooftops. This city was my beautiful prison, a tower where I resided above everyone else. Alone. Disconnected. A pawn in everyone else’s game, with no control of my own destiny.
I tightened my grip on her hand until she yelped.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, easing my hold. “I was imagining myself on the roof, about to fall.”
“You’d never fall. You’d fly.”
