Page 95 of My Lucky Star
“Bravo! We found it!” Melis set down the tea glass with a clatter, clapped her hands and leapt in to adjust my waist and shoulders.
I gently closed my eyes as she fussed over me, attaching pieces of tape that felt cool and strange against my skin. Unlike the previous contenders, this dress let me breathe, but I felt naked.
Once I’d been armed with matching, spiky heels and a tiny golden clutch, Melis grabbed me by the elbow. “Let’s get this signed off before the hairdresser arrives.”
“Do I still have to take this off when she does my hair?” The thought of undressing and dressing one more time made my legs shake.
“No, we’ll throw a towel over you. I think it’s best you get used to this dress and maybe practice walking in those heels?”
How did she know I’d struggle?
I took a teetering step, yawning so widely my jaw clicked. Melis held onto my arm to keep me upright. “Look at you! You’re exhausted. Cem better make this up to you!”
I managed a meek smile. “It’s okay. He flew me to Istanbul.”
“But he’s paying you, right?”
I shook my head a little too hard and felt woozy. “No, I’m helping out as a friend, that’s all.”
“A friend?” Melis stopped us at the doorway and lowered her voice, giving me a stern look. “He looks at you like...” She frowned. “We have a saying;the eyes are the mirror of the heart.”
“The eyes are the windows to the soul?”
“Windows? That’s funny. I can see it in his eyes,” she whispered.
“See what?”
“He looks at you like nobody else exists. Like he looked at Burcu. It’s like being back on set. Nobody could take their eyes off Cem and Burcu. You don’t often see that kind of chemistry. It was magical, even when the cameras weren’t rolling.”
I felt a confusing mix of joy and hollow fear. They’d been so perfect, Burcu and Cem. So perfectly matched. Nobody would ever say that about Cem and me. We were so unlikely. So odd.
Melis marched me into the living room. I gathered the last bit of my energy and did a careful twirl to show off the golden gown.
Not careful enough. As I shifted my balance back on two feet, my heel landed on the edge of the rug and I wobbled, waving my arms like I was about to take flight.
Cem stood up, but I managed to regain my balance before he reached me. Thank God. I didn’t need another ‘catching the falling girl’ incident, this time with an audience. Although my flailing had probably looked bad enough. I noticed Emir frowning at me, the crease between his eyes so deep it could have held spare change. Cem escorted me to the couch, and I collapsed on the orange velvet, mortified.
“I’m sorry. I’m so tired, I think it’s affecting my balance.”
Cem yawned, which made me yawn. “I know. It’s the jet lag. We have a hotel room booked, but Emir thinks we should do this one outing first.”
Emir cleared his throat. “I heard a couple of big names are out at Soho so the paps are already there. We’re all tired but it’s the perfect opportunity.” His thumb moved over his phone screen as he stared at something.
There was a knock on the door. Melis, who was handing me the steaming glass of tea I’d left in the bedroom, straightened up. “The hairdresser is here.”
I took a shaky sip of tea, letting the strong flavor revive me as much as it could. Cem’s hand rested against my lower back, his thumb idly stroking the shiny fabric. Tingling warmth pooled between my thighs and my heart crept to my throat. I liked his touch too much. It didn’t only feel good – it meant something, and that thought made it hard to breathe. I tried to bring my focus back to the tea. I’d make it through this day. Possibly with my heart and body in shatters, but I’d make it through.
“Merhaba!”
The low, gruff voice at the doorway caught my attention. The hairdresser –a man probably in his forties –took a wide stance, heaving his wheelie bag, which looked a lot like an airline carry-on, between his spread legs, leaning on it like a rockstar posing with a guitar. With long, messy curls and rolled up sleeves exposing inked, veiny arms, he looked nothing like any hairdresser I’d ever seen.
Cem acknowledged his presence by standing up and shaking his hand. They spoke for a moment in Turkish, occasionally gesturing at me, never smiling. Although I couldn’t understand a word, I sensed an odd level of animosity, as if they were sizing each other up.
Eventually, the hairdresser shrunk back, throwing one last defiant look at Cem before he turned to me with a smile. “Aria? My name is Savas. Please, come.” The words came out slowly, with great effort and a thick accent.
I glanced at Cem, almost instinctively. He nodded, but followed us to the dining room, where Melis had cleared space around the table and set one chair in the middle for me.
“How long will this take?” I asked, turning to Cem, who’d positioned himself at the doorway, leaning on the frame. “Maybe you can take a nap while he fixes my hair. Then at least one of us will look alive.”
