Page 54 of My Turkish Fling
“All what?”
“You know… that miserable fuckwit act.” Aria’s eyes flicked back at the men, busy untangling the ribbons, until Cem simply ripped the thing in half.
I peeked into the oven and decided I liked my muffins a little gooey. Before I met him, I’d known Emir as the side character in Aria’s love story. The heartless manager who had stood in the way of their happiness. But that wasn’t the Emir I knew. They felt like two different people, and I found myself oddly offended on his behalf.
“He’s been in pain,” I said, setting the muffins on the cooling rack.
The middles sank a little. I’d probably have to call them lava cakes. And forfeit the trophy.
A sudden burst of alarmingly loud Turkish made us both turnaround. Cem talked to his brother, his eyes wild. His animated hand gesturing reminded me of road rage incidents I’d witnessed in the Middle East.
My throat squeezed. Had he told his brother about us?
“What are you guys shouting about?” Aria asked, cautiously approaching her fiancé.
Cem blew out a breath, eyes wide. “Just… our parents. Mom called me when she couldn’t get hold of Emir. They’re supposed to be enjoying Lake Tekapo but all she talks about is the wedding.”
“Engagement party,” Aria corrected.
“No, the wedding,” Cem insisted. “She’s having a hard time with… stuff.”
“Hi! I’m Stuff,” Aria raised her hand, eyes cast at the ceiling.
“It’s not you. She likes you. But she keeps asking where we’re going to live and where the grandchildren will grow up and what language they will speak and what religion they’ll be and if they’ll become ‘foreigners’.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s exhausting!”
“Not to mention a little uncomfortable.” Aria winced.
“What did you tell her?” I asked Cem, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Cem shrugged. “I just deflect. I keep reminding them they’ll always have Emir.” He jerked a thumb at his brother. “He might still marry a Turkish lady and have Turkish babies, right?”
Emir glared back, unimpressed.
Aria laced her fingers, leaping forward to theatrically pray to him. “Please, Emir! You’re our only chance. If you let the ladies see that smile of yours, you won’t be single for long. Just makesure you save the smiles for the Turkish ladies.”
Emir scoffed, back to his usual frown. “Why do I have to smile for anyone?”
Aria turned her palms up to the ceiling. “I suppose the Turkish ladies don’t mind. I’ve been watching these Dizis with Cem and there’s this one mafia saga where the guys never smile. So, you’re good. You remind me of the lead actor…”
I turned around to plate the muffins and hid my smile. I couldn’t stop imagining Emir as a Turkish mafioso. He had the looks.
Cem lowered his voice. “Seriously, though, man. We need you to give them some hope. Call Mom. Remind her that you’ll be around, that they’re not losing you and maybe hint that you’re open to dating in Istanbul.”
“Like, a teeny, tiny hint!” Aria chorused. “Five percent chance you’ll someday marry and have babies.”
I took a breath, trying to relax. I was getting a decent ab workout from all the dating and baby mentions. I brought the muffins to the table. “Can I take coffee orders? Emir?”
“I don’t want babies in any country,” he grumbled. “You do it!”
Cem sighed. “I’m not asking you to have a baby. I’m asking you to give them hope, remind them that you’re there for them.”
“Why do I have to be there for them? Can’t you? Split the year in half—summer in Turkey, then summer in New Zealand.”
I held my breath as Emir and Cem entered a staring match. Air sizzled.
“Oh, the joys of international relationships.” I smiled, attempting a light tone I couldn’t quite deliver.
Aria gave me a sad smile, tucking into one of the muffins. “Ahhh. I needed this,” she mumbled, mouth full.
