Turkish Delights Series (12 page)

The hotel that hosted the party was in an area of the city that had slowly gentrified but still held questionable areas of danger. All she heard was her pounding heart and the click of her shoes on the pavement. At one point she stopped, needing to catch her breath which was tough given the tight bodice of the dress. As she realized her hair and expensive dress were soaked from a rainstorm, a hand gripped her elbow. She shrieked and jumped, but when Levent pulled her to him, she sobbed and melted into his tall body. Her life was over. She had no choices. Her little brave display back there meant absolutely nothing. All she wanted was this man, and she could never have him.

“Shh, my darling, it’s fine, I’m here.” He whispered into her ear, “I love you, my small one, my Vivian. I’m not letting you go, not ever.”

“You lie,” she muttered into his wet shirt-front. “You don’t want me unless I come as a complete package, tied in a bow of approval from my asshole father. But that’s not happening, Levent. So take me home. I’m leaving Turkey. I can’t stand it here anymore.”

He stepped back and ran a long finger down her face. “No. I just want you. I don’t care what your father says or thinks of us. Will you have me? Forever?”

Vivian’s brain tried to process what he was holding in his hand. He went down on one knee. She frowned. “Get up, the street is dirty.” He stayed down, kept holding out his hand. It contained a small blue box. “Levent, I….”

“What, you don’t want me?” He raised an eyebrow. She smiled at him took the box and opened it. A round, brilliant diamond set in a wide gold band nestled in blue velvet.

“How in the world?” She gasped. He took it out, slipped it onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit. “I, oh God.” She rose on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him, breathed him in, and was complete for the first time in her life.

***

Levent jumped up from the bed and stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to find light sources in the still strange space. He rubbed his eyes in the sudden glare. Turning, he saw Vivian leaning on the doorway her hand on the switch placed conveniently by the entrance. Her small, lush body wrapped in a thick towel, her short hair messy and her face looking exactly how he liked it: well fucked. He held her close, kissed her again, and groaned as she gripped his ass in both hands.

“Mine,” she whispered.

He brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Forever.”

She leaned on his chest. He propped his arms on the cold granite counter of his new kitchen in his new apartment overlooking the Bosporus, relishing the sensation of his wife in his arms. Her father had indeed written her off, wouldn’t attend the wedding they’d planned within a few weeks of the Marine Ball, declared her dead to him. But only a small part of him really cared. He had his friends, and his mother who loved the woman like her own daughter already.

Vivian was a stubborn thing and quickly put her imprint on his life, in his space. She brought the servant girl from the Consulate and installed her as “in charge” of the house. The two of them, with Lillian’s help, had decorated, hired more staff, and spent more money than he frankly cared to know about turning the empty cavernous space into a home. The pleasure came with no small measure of pain. His traditional self battled daily with her need to assert her opinions on everything from the cut of his suit to the state of political affairs in his country.

She was taking art lessons and worked at a new gallery in the diplomatic section. He didn’t want her to work, but she insisted. He had quickly learned that Vivian was not to be denied. Their love for each other was vast and without end, and they celebrated every night, every morning. Sometimes in the middle of the day, if he snuck home from the construction site, his manhood stiff and ready for her as if they hadn’t shared love a few hours earlier.

He kissed the top of her head. Tomorrow was Lillian and Burak’s wedding. It would be difficult for her, as Lillian’s parents would be there and remind her of her own missing family. But she’d rally. She always did.

“I’m starving,” she declared, pulling out of his embrace. He leaned back and watched her rummage through the icebox, taking leftovers and cheese out onto the counter. “Open up.” She popped a morsel into his mouth. He smiled and chewed and was happy.

Epilogue

Fifteen Years Later

“Stop!
Dur
! I mean it, Tarkan! You must listen to your mother or I will have to—” Levent put his briefcase down in the foyer and snagged the small form that streaked by with one hand. The boy’s face was covered with something, chocolate, maybe paint or perhaps shit, who knew. He was a whirling dervish of five-year-old trouble wherever he went. Levent kissed his son’s face and lifted him onto his shoulders before wandering into the kitchen.

He stopped, struck dumb at the sight of his wife, the baby at her breast, sitting in the rocker as the last of the day’s sun streaked through the room. Her eyes were closed. Her head leaned back as the girl greedily sucked nutrition from her body. His heart twisted, and his skin prickled. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. They’d wanted children so badly right away. Had nearly given up after ten years of happy marriage starting to spoil around the edges at the lack of fertility.

He winced as Tarkan fisted his hands in his hair and tugged. “
Babba
!
Babba
! Outside! I want to check my fort. I left Emre in charge, but I think the enemy might be attacking, and he will let them!”

“Shush, my son. Your mother is sleeping.” He slid the boy down to the floor. “Go. I’m sure your brother has everything under control there. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Tarkan tiptoed over to the rocking chair. He stared down at his baby sister, put a small hand on her hair. Vivian opened her eyes and smiled at him.

Levent knelt down at her knees. “Did you hear from him?”

He put his hand on the baby’s tiny chest, let his finger brush against his wife’s lush breast. She glared at him and leaned her head toward their son. He just grinned at her. “Yes. He is coming. This weekend. I don’t know what did it.” She sighed and put a hand to Tarkan’s dirty face.

Levent knew. His wife’s father was dying. He had stayed in touch with the house servants and the office staff after the man had moved back to the States, retired from the diplomatic corps. He knew every move the old bastard made. Felt it was his duty in case Vivian ever needed him.

“Dear God, Tarkan, what have you been doing? Eating mud?” The boy grinned up at her but leaned down and kissed his little sister’s cheek, dirt and all.

“Lale.” He muttered. “My tulip sister.”

Levent laid a hand on his son’s head. The boy was never ever still. His twin brother was so calm, liked to sit and read or draw, and was smart as a whip already. They both were. But this one—more than once his nanny had found him clambering down the side of the hill from their building, had to chase him through the streets and retrieve him back with bribes of chocolate and toys. But he would sit and stare at his sister for hours, loved to hold her, she was the one thing that seemed to calm him. While Emre essentially ignored the baby except to complain about her nightly bouts of screaming and crying.

“We will have a feast for your father, my darling.” He leaned up to kiss his wife’s cheek. “It will be perfect. He wants to be a grandfather. We shall welcome him back to us.”

Vivian frowned. “I don’t know, Levent.”

“Nonsense.” He stared at her, trying to make his face stern. “You will listen and obey me on this one thing, wife. This is how it should be. A man can make a mistake but must be allowed to redeem himself. It is destined.”

Vivian’s eyes filled with tears. Tarkan touched her face. “
Anne
, why are you sad? Is Lale ill? I’ll be good I promise. Don’t cry.”

She looked at him as the baby released her nipple and made little sucking motions with her mouth before drifting off into what Levent knew was hard-won sleep. He stood and took the girl from his wife’s arms as she readjusted her breast inside her shirt. Tarkan climbed up into her lap and put his arms around his mother’s neck.

As he walked away, his daughter opened her huge dark eyes and stared at him. Her silent gaze somehow thoughtful as if she already plotted ways to vex him. Levent smiled, crooned to her, promised her he’d treasure her forever. His head and heart remained calm, as it always was in his home. Things were challenging with twin sons, a difficult baby in the house, and the long hours he had to put into making his various businesses successful. But he would never in a million years ask for a different life. Before ascending the stairs to put Lale in her bed, he turned back. Tarkan’s twin, Emre, had joined him on their mother’s lap. They sat, curled around each other as they had been for nine months, mysteriously and frighteningly identical, quiet, as Vivian closed her eyes and slept. The boys looked at him and put their fingers over their lips at the same time. Levent took a moment and praised God for his life. He’d been lucky.

It tempted fate, all these blessings. His own mother had made the sign of the evil eye over the boys. Twins, both born healthy, had once been deemed a curse. No man should be so blessed. But he would do all in his power to make sure his family was happy and safe, forever.

The End

Turkish Delights

Turkish Terms and pronunciation

(Turkish is fairly phonetic)

The Deniz Family (Deniz: Ocean)

Emre (Em-Ray): “eldest brother” “passionate”

Tarkan: “strong, “bold”

Lale (Lah-Lay): “beautiful tulip”. Tulips are indigenous to Turkey. They were imported to Europe via the Silk Road trading routes.

Other words
:

Evet: yes

Yali (yah-luh): house situated right on the edge of the Bosporus

Sevgilim (se-vee-yum): My darling

Erkek arkadas (air-kek ar-ka-dahsh): boyfriend

Chapter One

Elle observed the handsome young man sitting across the table from her, sipping from his tulip-shaped glass of tea. She knew she shouldn’t stare, but his deep mocha skin and black pools of emotion that were his eyes held her captive. Her heart stuttered when he smiled. It seemed as if the entire ancient, beautiful courtyard where they sat contained only the two of them. She smiled back and ducked her head, tucking her hair behind an ear, embarrassed.

Jesus. Cougar much? He’s just a boy.

The feel of his fingers, grazing the hand that clutched her own tea glass startled her, sending needles of pleasure down her spine.

“You okay?” The now-familiar, charming Turkish lilt in his voice and concern in his eyes made Elle blush harder.

Dear Lord what is wrong with me? She’d never felt this way about any member of the opposite sex, not even her one-time fiancé. She sighed and moved her hand out of his reach, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes.

“Yes. I mean, sorry. I was just thinking a how much fun I’ve had these last few weeks with you.” Elle un-crossed and re-crossed her bare legs. She’d tried like hell to stop meeting him. To give up the increasingly frequent tours, lunches, teas. But he was, in a word, addictive. The minute Emre Deniz had raised his deep mocha eyes to hers when she’d stepped into his family’s exclusive rug store three months ago, she’d been a goner.

She obviously needed to get laid. But not by this adorable boy. That was too much even for her to expect. Reaching into her purse, seeking some sort of distraction for a few seconds, her fingertips brushed the folded paper she’d printed that morning and quickly tucked into her bag before heading out for her weekly dose of young Turkish boy/man-lust. His deep laughter, delight at her fasciation with his city’s history, simply his company at their afternoon teas had become the one thing she looked forward to day after day. Not good, Elle. Let it go. She shut her eyes against the black hole of loneliness that threatened after their parting today.

The 1Night Stand dating service had been a leap for her, but she’d taken it, filled out a questionnaire, sent money, and received her invite by return email. She swallowed, berating herself once again for turning forty only that week and celebrating by buying a date. Glancing back up, she met Emre’s calm gaze. They’d spent so much time together the last few weeks, talking about the city and its vast history, and now delving into their own personal lives over tea. She knew it was inappropriate, but she had found herself making excuses to visit his family’s upscale rug shop or even their large spice booth at the massive, tourist-laden Spice Bazaar, just to catch a glimpse of his smile, to hear his voice.

“I miss you already,” Emre said, with his usual candor. “I can’t believe I just met you and now we must part.” He finished his tea and signaled the waiter for another. Before she could lean back, he reached over the tiny table and captured her hand, putting it to his mouth. Elle’s entire body zinged. His lips were gentle, soft but with a firmness that spoke of his potential talents. Exactly as she thought they would be, even if only pressed to her hand. She bit her lip, no longer caring what the gawkers around them thought, as she clenched her thighs together to ease the ache building between them.