Page 83 of Pomegranates and Olive

I giggle at his unease. “Pish, posh. We just wanted to dress up, that’s all.”

He points to Deniz who is walking across the grass wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans and a bleached blonde on each arm as accessories. “But at least I went to the effort of putting a shirt on.”

Yes, I know full well Luca is pointing out that Deniz has passed me over yet again in favour of these two women, rather than the fact that he isn’t actually wearing a shirt.

To prove that I’m not jealous at all I yell over to him, “Oi! No shoes, no shirt, no service!”

Deniz laughs and joins us, introducing his twofriends, Elif and Dilan, who are purportedly distant relatives. They settle themselves at the far end of the table with a bottle ofrakiand talk amongst themselves in Turkish. Apparently, they have alotto catch up on!

Burak has set up a barbeque beside our table. It’s win-win as far as I’m concerned because it’s getting decidedly chilly plus, being Australian, I absolutely love the sound and smell of meat… or chicken… or even a damn prawn on the barbie.

Soon enough, platters of barbequed chicken and chargrilled vegetables are on the table along with balloon bread, mezes and salads. “Afiyet olsen.”

It all looks delicious. The chicken is barbequed and seasoned exquisitely and I find myself savouring every bite, moaning almost silently as I add tomatoes, peppers and zucchini which have been cooked to perfection to each forkful. There’s also enough mezes (all the delicious side dishes that a proper Turkish table is set with) to feed a small army and lots of salads, including my pomegranate and olive salad that Aydin prepared for me on my first night in Bodrum.

With a full belly and the late hour, I sink into a bored, sullen silence. I find myself watching this group of people who, as Luca so crudely put it this morning, would never have come together if it weren’t for my recent meltdown.

Ginny and Aydin are sitting close together, whispering to each other as Aydin gently rubs her belly. Kat, Aricia and Rosie have become fast friends and are now dancing on the beach while Luca, who may or may not have had one too many bourbons, is busy explaining the finer points of cricket to poor Burak.

I peek beneath my lashes so I can discreetly watch Deniz at the other end of the table. He is nodding at something the blonde on his left has said but his eyes are fixed solidly on me, watching every move I make.

Blondie number one leans towards him, and whispers in his ear. His eyebrows shoot up and drags his eyes away from me to turn to her in surprise. Although I have no idea what she has said to him I’m beginning to question the validity of the distant relative scenario. She shoots a triumphant smile as she snuggles against him, her eyes loaded with hunger. I really have to fight every instinct to stop from walking down there and scratching both of their eyes out. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds considering I’m sitting beside Luca, who is busy pouring himself yet another bourbon, rather than making any attempt at civil conversation with me.

Soon, we’re all sipping coffee when Luca hisses at me. “Could you make it any more obvious that you’re jealous?”

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy…”

Luca shakes his head as he mumbles under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“Quoting Shakespeare all the time makes you seem like a bitch!”

“Is that right?”

“A pretentious bitch! Everyone says so!”

“Do they? Wow! And that only took you fifteen years to admit to me!” I scowl at him. “Any other bad habits I should know about?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, I actually think it does matter, it matters a lot! What else is there about me that irritates you? Fifteen years is quite long enough for you to have endured me. Out with it!”

Luca makes a sound that might have been a snort. “Non importa, principessa.”

Although we both grew up speaking Italian at home, we rarely converse in the language together. But when Luca reverts to his mother tongue it’s usually because he’s about to blow a gasket.

Knowing it will irritate him, I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve been called a lot worse, so thank you, I guess.”

He sculls down the last of his drink and glares across the table at Deniz who has just invited Rosie and the blonde bimbos to go clubbing.

Always ready for a party, Rosie is immediately on her feet. “Definitely!”

I already know that Luca hates that idea and I hold my breath and wait for his inevitable objection.

---