Page 55 of My Turkish Fling
“But you’re the responsible one!” Cem finally cried. “You’re always reminding others… me… It’s not like you’ll ever move away from home. You have the shop, and the… why are you being like this? Stop torturing us! We’re just trying to keep the peace and get through this engagement party and the wedding without Mom losing her mind.”
Emir lifted a shoulder. “Parents cry at weddings, that’s totally normal.”
“You know Mom. She won’t just dab her eyes with a tissue. She’ll bawl and cause a scene.”
“And I’m responsible for her emotional stability?” Emir stared back defiantly.
Cem groaned from frustration. “I swear… You act like a dick most of the time, and I ignore that, and I remind myself of your good qualities. You’re dependable. You’re smart. You’re always there for Mom and Dad. You can turn that stupid shop around. If it was up to me, I’d sell that shit, but you know what it means to Dad. Are you saying I can’t count on you anymore? That we can’t count on you?” He glanced at Aria, drawing strength from their union.
Aria took another bite of the muffin, opting for silent chewing. A wise choice.
Emir looked away, twisting a paper ribbon around his finger until it was as fat as a toilet paper roll. “I’m just… considering my options. Am I not allowed to have options? Only Cem the movie star can take off and fall in love and change the course of his life?”He looked up, jutting his chin forward, voice cracking a little.
The hurt and confusion on Cem and Aria’s faces made me feel ill.
Emir’s gaze landed on me.
Not now. Please. I don’t want to be the reason. They’ll hate me.
“I’ll make coffee,” I announced brightly, skipping to the kitchen.
On the way out, I grabbed one of the muffins, and grimaced as my teeth hit the gooey middle. Not just gooey. Undercooked. Why was I so impatient? Was that why I’d slept with Emir? Because I couldn’t wait until the chemical imbalance in my brain settled and good sense prevailed. And now I’d caused this drift between him and his brother, and probably his parents.
How could we ever tell them about us? Did we have to? A hundred years from now, all this would be irrelevant.
Solid logic, Janie.
Emir followed me a beat later and stood by the coffee maker. I knew he was waiting until I had the milk steamer hissing to disguise our voices.
When the rhythmic whistling filled the room, he leaned in. “We need to tell them. They’ll just keep pushing, expecting us to play along and… I don’t want to have babies in Istanbul!”
“No,” I hissed over the steamer. “They’re stressed about the engagement party and the wedding. If we tell them, they’ll be even more stressed. They’re already worried about how your parents will take it. Imagine what they’ll say…”
“My parents will wail and moan no matter what. I’m not sacrificing—”
“This party is not about us and I’m not going to make it about us.I can’t do that to Aria.” I gestured at the dining table.
Aria babbled about creating some sort of backdrop and garlands to hang outside on the morning of the party. I could tell how nervous she was, but also excited. Maybe she’d be one of the lucky ones who only did this once and lived happily ever after. Either way, this was about her and Cem. I’d make sure we stayed in the background, much like those streamers hanging on the wall.
Emir sighed. “Okay. We won’t tell them, yet. But after the party…”
He trailed off, looking even more distraught. Because we both knew that was our deadline. He’d fly back the next day.
“I’d change my flights but there’s a fee, and Mom and Dad will need help—”
“Please take these.” I handed him two coffees. “I’ll make two more for us and then we’ll devote our time to party decorations. Okay?”
He took the coffees, grumbling something under his breath.
I sighed, watching his receding back. He was tough. Proud. Obstinate. Yet, I knew he’d heard me. He would do as I asked. He’d respect my wishes. A dangerous warmth poured through my entire body, and I shivered. Damn it, Emir! He was supposed to be a disagreeable, miserable sod, who happened to be hot. He was an incredible lover—perfect fling material. Yet everything else about him had caught me off guard, and I already knew one thing. This was going to hurt.
Chapter 25
Emir
I was not a crafty person. Fixing fences, wiring electronics, or even repairing antique radios, sure. But ask me to weave fragile strips of paper, and things got ugly. Thankfully, my brother was even worse, and more vocal about it, so we were soon excused from the world of streamers.
“You can help me install the new deadbolt,” I told Cem, taking the bag of supplies he’d picked up from the hardware store.
