The last meeting before the trip to Milan was drawing to a close. The execution of the schedule for all points was checked and double-checked. No unforeseen circumstances were expected, and company executives were pleased with the work done.
Only one person threw a tantrum. Having learned that they were not going to take him to Milan, Koray began to demonstrate his proprietary methods of persuasion - sobbing with howls, imitation of a heart attack and unflattering characterization of each of the bosses.
He didn't pass by Tranba either. And he got a "stupid" tail, and voice, and the manner of smiling. Omer and Sinan, accustomed to such performances, only frowned and patiently waited for the end of the show, but the shocked Deniz could not stand it and, not believing what he was talking about, remarked that the photographer in Milan would not be superfluous. Advertising of both companies in the context of such a serious event is a great opportunity to gain a foothold at the Olympus for the Turkish shoe and make a name in Europe. And for this, they need more quality photos.
Koray, like a huge inflatable ball, jumped in place, clapped his hands and dropped a whole waterfall of compliments on Tranba's dazed head. It turned out that the ponytail on the male head is stylish and, in general, the last cry of fashion. And the voice is not squeaky, but noble and refined. And the smile is not idiotic at all, but very charming. The girls at the table, with their hands over their mouths, squealed with laughter, Omer looked at Tranba with incredulous astonishment, and Sinan touched his long-suffering ears, which so often fell into the tongue of the talkative photographer, and asked:
"And if I agree, will you sing praises to me?"
- I will! I will! My big-eared friend!
Everyone except Omer rolled in laughter. He just raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
"You agreed." Then do not cry.
- And-and-and! Koray measured him with a scornful look. "Boring, cold man... skinny girl, how do you live with this bore?"
"I live well, Koray," the laughing Defne looked at her husband. His eyes warmed and sparkled with tenderness.
These glances were liked by Koray. He laid his chin on his fist and looked expectantly at the spouses.
- Well? Come on a kiss or something!
- Koray, stop it! Omer shouted at him. - Go to Derya, let her order a ticket for you. We are flying on Wednesday morning flight.
He did not have to repeat it. The photographer was blown away like a wind. His large body slipped between chairs with unprecedented ease and disappeared behind the door. Omer breathed a sigh of relief and addressed the others:
- And so, Milan is waiting for us. Wednesday - preparation of the stands and shop window. Thursday, Friday and Saturday - a fair where we have to work hard and on Sunday - a big reception at the Grand Hotel. Return tickets are booked on Monday. But Defne and I will stay in Italy for a week. I know that after Milan a huge front of work is planned, but we still have a honeymoon. And this is unfair.
Defne opens her mouth in surprise and shook her head.
- Mmmm honeymoon? She asked stuttering.
Omer gently squeezed her hand and answered:
- Honeymoon. But don't ask about anything now.
She nodded and smiled delightedly in response. Allah is all-merciful! And Koray still asked if she was bored with Omer. Which is boring? She lives in a kaleidoscope of surprises!
Sinan and Seda warmly supported the idea of Omer. Interrupting each other, they chattered that the young family needed to relax and be alone. Iz squinted at Deniz. He smiled broadly and looked very pleased. The girl, expecting to see anger and jealousy, looked away in confusion. What is it that turns out, the man whom she fell in love without looking back and was wildly jealous of the wife of her ex-boyfriend, does not have tender feelings for Defne? But what happened yesterday? And how can she understand this ironic Mr. Temptation? How tired she was of these thoughts! Turn them off ... for an hour at least.
"Another topic," continued Omer. -A new jewelry company. Joint project Passionis and Tranba. I have a preliminary agreement with Ahtem Minibaev. He agrees to make jewelry according to Defne's sketches in his workshop. I think it will be fair if for this he receives his percentage of shares in the new company.
- Ahtem Minibaev? - clarified Sinan. - Is that the Crimean Tatar with whom you studied in Italy?
"Yes, that one." Now he lives and works in Istanbul. He has a workshop in the Sariyer district. So what do you think about his partnership with the new company? Do you agree?
Sinan nodded in the affirmative. Tranba, drumming his fingers on the table, thoughtfully said:
- The production site and the master are good. Enough for the beginning, and then think about expanding and attracting new masters. But there is still a question of personnel. Work on the departments of logistics, accounting, finance, system support can be combined by employees of Tranba and Passionis. But the marketing department, the concept development department and the manager must be their own.
"I would like to take the position of creative director," Seda spoke decisively. She turned to Deniz and, apologizing, shrugged. "I know that my loan is related to Tranba, but I am very interested in this work." Building the image of a new company from scratch is а manager's dream.
"Your loan has been repaid," he answered. - This is my contribution to the charity event. If you want to take up the difficult task of making a name for the new company, then I will not interfere with you. "
Deniz fell silent and scratched his head. Then he spread his hands and mockingly said: - Well, what kind of karma? Again I was left without a creative department.
- But then the winter collection is ready. I'll also draw a spring-summer, - Defne promised.
"And I, until you find me a replacement, will be acting as the creative director of Tranba," Seda said.
"I will hold you for your word," Deniz winked at both.
"As for the purchase, orders and sales department," Omer eagerly interrupted such a sweet dialogue, "I have someone in mind." Madam Mirai, that waitress ... - he fell silent, but everyone understood who he was talking about - she is a certified manager and, I think, can handle purchases and sales. While there will be work to open the new company, she will undergo an internship in the Passionis marketing department.
"Great idea," Defne supported her husband. "By the way, when we walked through the woods yesterday, Kumru told me that her father worked as a manager for almost twenty years." And when she got sick and was in the acute stage of the disease, he was almost inseparably with her. The employer was dissatisfied with this and he had to leave work. Kumru is better now. In the morning, we were with Omer in the hospital. For her and Dila, they are intensely seeking donors. The chances of their recovery are high. Maybe he wants to get back to work?
"Well, I will contact him," Seda said. - He is a great manager and a good person.
"The next question is the office space," said Tranba.
"Sheri's former office is not busy," Omer answered instantly. - I contacted the owner and discussed the rent. It is quite acceptable.
"Do you still want Defne under your wing?" – mocking said, Deniz.
"The understandable desire of a loving husband," said Iz, who was silent for almost the entire meeting.
Tranba's heart in his chest made a somersault. Is the beauty merciful to him?! From the very beginning of the meeting, she acted as if he was an empty place, and such behavior angered him like hell. Deniz looked into her eyes and gave a wry smile:
- It is understandable and right. But the behavior of some, I do not understand at all.
Iz silently turned to the window.
Seda and Defne looked at each other. Omer frowned. And Sinan, according to his peacemaking habit, quickly changed the subject:
- Defne, have you come up with a name for your company?
"Yes," she looked into her husband's eyes. - Sapphire.
- Sapphire? Sinan asked again. - Beautiful name. To the point. But still, why not Emerald or Ruby?
Defne did not answer. She was not up to Sinan. Omer's gaze bathed her in adoration and gratitude, and she bloomed in response with a happy smile.
- Ay-yay! Cried the second boss of Passionis and symbolically covered his eyes with his palm. - Do not shine like that, otherwise, we will go blind! –then parting the index and middle fingers, he looked with one eye at the laughing friend and his wife and, lowering his hand, confidently continued: - Everything is clear! Again, something special, which only these two know about, and it is somehow connected with the gem.
"You are a genius of insight," Omer teased him. - Only one thing was wrong. Sapphire is not a stone.
- And what is? - in one voice, in unison asked Sinan and Seda.
Omer and Defne looked at each other and answered with mysterious smiles.
***
Defne drove up to the jewelry workshop by taxi. Jumping out of the car, she called her husband and reported that she was alive and well on the spot. After hearing the answer, she laughed and sang on the phone:
- I, too!
And again a passerby flew into her. He held her elbow so that she would not fall and apologized. Defne reacted as before, before the attack of Kivanc Talat. She smiled and assured that nothing terrible had happened. And then, serene and proud of herself, she entered the workshop.
Ahtem worked on a thin chain. Hearing the creak of the door, he raised his head and smiled warmly at the guest.
- Madame Defne! Welcome! You brought the sun to my humble workshop.
- Good afternoon, Mr. Ahtem. Last time you promised me another lesson. And I, the impudent and persistent person, seized you offer for lessons. And here I am.
Laughing at the joke, the master stood up and pointed to an old armchair by the oak table.
"Have a seat, Madame Defne, and make yourself at home."
Defne thanked him with a smile and sat down. She put a folder with sketches on the table, and turned to him:
"Please call me Defne."
"I agree," the man returned to his place and picked up a miniature instrument. "Then you call me Ahtem."
"Well, ok" Defne agreed easily and carefully stared at the jeweler's long fingers, like that of a pianist. His movements were measured, accurate to the nearest millimeter.
"I have ten minutes left," the jeweler said cleverly working with a tiny hammer. - And then we will study. Is there something that interests you the most?
Defne looked embarrassedly and admitted:
- I have a whole list. I always record important points so as not to forget. Omer finds this side of my character very amusing.
"Why I wonder," Ahtem smiled. - Planning and expressing your thoughts clearly is a rare quality for a girl. Omer was lucky with his wife. And by the way, where is he?
"He will come a little later," Defne answered, taking out a notebook from her purse. - Today is the sending to Milan samples of shoes and the rest necessary for the design of the stands, things. Omer controls the work. You know him, a perfectionist with confidence problems," Defne smiled softly and her eyes were flooded with tenderness.
"An accurate assessment," Ahtem agreed cheerfully. "He was like that at the academy." Serious, silent, demanding of himself and others. But the girls adored him. Each deep down wanted to melt his ice armor.
- And what were the successes? Defne vividly inquired, to which Ahtem shook his head with mock condemnation and clicked his tongue:
- Uhh! Ah, how bad it is to ask for secrets.
"It is so interesting," she did not repent, and the master laughed again gaily. And then with wisdom, which did not fit at all with his youth, he answered:
"It doesn't matter what happened before ... and who was before." Now Omer has a beautiful wife whom he worships. Only this is important. Only that matters.
Defne blushed with pleasure and nodded embarrassed.
- You're right...
Ahtem laid down the hammer, laid the chain on black velvet and turned to Defne.
- The work is over, and I can answer all your questions. Ask!
Defne opened the notebook and looked at the neat, even lines. Yeah, she had more than one lesson of questions. So do not waste time.
Ahtem turned out to be an excellent teacher. Knowledgeable, broad-minded and creative. He answered every question of Defne in detail. Clearly reinforced the answers, demonstrating techniques for processing precious metals and stones. Defne eagerly swallowed knowledge and laid it on shelves in her smart head. The images took shape. She now clearly understood how to draw her imagination so that it was easier for the master to bring it to life.
Omer, who came to the workshop two hours later, found his wife and friend leaning over a box of gems. Ahtem talked about turquoise, and Defne carefully examined this delicate stone and applied it to an ingot of silver, admiring the amazing combination of the cold, dull glow of the metal and the bright blue of the gem.
The two heads black and bright red, bowed so close, at the first moment aroused jealousy at Omer, but at the next moment, he recalled the recent quarrel and resolutely stopped with the unpleasant feelings. It is foolish to insult Defne because of his jealousy or mistrust. She will always be liked by men. It is a fact. But this does not mean that Defne herself will pay attention to them.
Smiling widely, Omer cheerfully greeted his wife and friend:
- Hello! Workaholics have you looked at the time? It is already six o'clock.
- Look who's talking! - Defne teased him and held out her hand. Omer squeezed it in his, kissed the soft hair of her head and only then shook hands with Ahtem.
"Good to see you, brother!" - He sincerely greeted. - Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?
"I want," Omer answered, sitting down next to his wife. "I was completely worn out today." So, no way without coffee.
"I'll do it now," Ahtem closed the box with minerals, put it in a safe, and went over the coffee machine.
Soon, three cups of fragrant espresso were on the table. Omer out of habit put a piece of sugar in the Defne's cup and stirred. And then, closing his eyes with pleasure, he took a sip from his. Ahtem, who was watching this ritual, smiled sadly and bent over his cup. Once he was stirring sugar in the same way ... was tangling with his fingers in soft hair ... bathed in happiness. And then ... He shook his head and drove so suddenly revived memories into a far corner of consciousness.
"Stay there! Do not come back!" - ordered.
And then, with a petrified face, he drank a long sip of his hot and bitter coffee.
"Ahtem," Omer turned to him, "the idea of a jewelry company takes on more and more real and concrete features." This will be a joint project of two large companies - Passionis and Tranba. Do you agree to become a co-owner and to implement the work of Defne in your workshop?
- Co-owner? Asked the jeweler in surprise.
"Exactly," Omer answered firmly. - Ten percent of the shares and voting rights in all important matters.
Ahtem shook his head and looked at Defne. She did not take her eyes shining with pride from her husband and smiled like a happy child. Omer winked at her with both eyes and gripped her thin fingers more tightly. To become a partner of such bright, honest and talented people - is it not good luck? It is not happiness?
"I agree," he said confidently.
At Iplikci's house, they remembered that they were leaving tomorrow morning, and the suitcases had not yet been packed. After a quick dinner with the pilaf prepared by Zehra, they went up to the dressing room and set to work. The routine was great fun if you did it together. Omer threw more and more new things into Defne's suitcase. She laughed, argued why she had so much, and he only winked cheerfully and did not allow to remove a single dress and not a single subtlest silk shirt.
"I've been dreaming for a year and a half to see you get a seductive nightshirt out of your suitcase and put it on," Omer purred, making his way with his palms under the coral home blouse, while in Defne from his voice and the picture painted with his imagination, sweetly compressed down her stomach and goosebumps ran on her back.
As a result, the overfilled suitcases were closed with great difficulty. Leaning them against the wall in the dressing room, gripped in a playful mood, Omer and Defne returned to the bedroom and for long hours forgot everything except each other.
***
Deniz was waiting for two hours Iz near her house. It got dark on the street, the lanterns lit their golden yellow light, a tedious, drizzling rain began, but she was still gone and the phone did not answer. When it began to seem to him that even a moment and he would explode with anger, she appeared. Swaying, she got out of a bright yellow taxi and began to fumble in her purse.
"What are you looking for there?" He asked rudely.
She raised her head and focused her eyes on him.
"Keys," she answered and reached into her purse again. Deniz came closer and grabbed the stylish little thing from her hands. First to get out her phone. Switched off. Who would doubt that!
- Why did you turn off the phone? His voice was hoarse from anger.
Iz waved her index finger in front of his nose and smugly declared:
- So that all sorts of sexy men with stupid ponytails and a lying mouth would not get me. Hic ...
Damn! Such a speech and hiccups ruined everything. Also, the legs refuse to hold the swinging body. No, what a paradox! The head is empty, and the body is heavy as bricks.
- Are you drunk?
And why is he yelling like that?
Where are these damn keys? Stop! Where's the handbag?
The girl shook her head and squinted. Yes, here it is! In the hands of Mr. Temptation.
She pulled the leather handle, her body swung forward, she swung her nose with a sweep into his chest, covered with an expensive jacket, and fell into nirvana.
- Hey! Aren't you feeling bad? - A worried voice hissed somewhere above her ear.
"I feel good," she answered indistinctly.
- Not sick?
Such a bother! Why would she feel sick? From a couple of glasses of tequila? Is she fifteen years old or what?
"No," it seemed to her that she answered confidently and firmly, but in reality, her voice sounded like the meowing of a kitten and then a measured sniffling was heard.
Deniz, surprised by this sound, lifted her face by the chin and looked into it. Right, she fell asleep. Cursing, he grabbed her under the knees and threw her over his shoulder in no romantic way. Clutching the corner of the purse in his teeth, with his free hand he found the key in it and carried the girl to the house. Hitting her face against his back, she muttered something about heartless bumpkins who seduce naive girls, and themselves dream of others, but the angry Deniz did not smile at all to solve her puzzles. He prayed to get to the apartment safely.
Allah heard his prayers. Entering the entrance hall with his burden, he went straight to the bedroom and threw the girl onto the wide bed. She didn't even open her eyes. Once again cursing under his breath, Deniz pulled off her jacket and shoes. He looked at the tight skirt and tight-fitting blouse sighed and went into the dressing room to look for pajamas.
Iz woke up with a heavy headache. Someone with all the stupidity beat with a fork on a plate, and it seemed to her - in her brain. Opening one eye, she looked around. Her room. Judging by the light pouring through the window - morning. She is wearing pajamas herself. Damn, how did she get home and change clothes? She doesn't remember anything at all. And who is knocking in her kitchen?
Deniz knocked eggs for an omelet and looked at the kitchen door. If after five minutes this drunkard does not appear, he has to go wake her up. Three hours to the plane, and he still needs to call home for his luggage.
He didn't have to go. She appeared herself, pale and holding on to her temples. Gladly looking at the girl tormented by a hangover, he handed her a glass of effervescent liquid. Iz drained it in several sips and put the cold glass on her forehead.
"How did you get into my apartment?" She croaked.
"On foot," he answered with undisguised sarcasm. - Dragging a girl on my shoulder in a state of non-standing.
Iz squinted. God, how embarrassing.
"And? .." she did not know how to ask what happened next.
- What is the "and"? - mimicked Deniz. - Would you like to restore memory failure? - Iz nodded. "Then I put you to bed and changed into pajamas."
- And you? - She looked plaintively, like a beaten dog.
"I lay down beside you and listened to your breath all night," he snapped.
- What for?
- What for? Because I was afraid that you would feel ill! - Deniz shouted and Iz clutched her head.
- Sorry...
"I don't understand," she shook her head.
- Do you not understand? - He came up and, catching hеr by the nape, raised her face to himself. "Remember, you asked who you are for me?"
She nodded bewilderedly and pressed the back of her head into his hand. Deniz's eyes burned through. His face seemed angry and even evil. He ran a thumb over her lower lip and exhaled:
- You are everything.
***
A group of six people entered confidently in the Atatürk Airport building and attracted the close attention of passengers. The hurried passers-by could be understood. Confident, emanating freedom and impeccable style these men and women were an amazing group. Beautiful and elegant, they looked like a party from the fashion magazines set.
A large, tall man with the behavior of a capricious child broke the aura of inaccessibility. He flew into the departure hall like a hurricane. Dragging a suitcase and shoving passengers behind him, he screamed at the top of his lungs:
- Omush! Sinosh! Me! Where without me! They forgot for me! Skinny girl, stop your husband! Or I'll start to cry!
Without slowing down and confirming his threats with sobs and antics, the man finally caught up with the group.
"Sinosh, why didn't you pick me up?" - he came upon the most benevolent and short stature. - I was waiting! I looked out the window and asked: Where is my big-eared friend? And you! Bad! You call yourself my friend! Left me to suffer!
The man theatrically brushed away a non-existent tear and began to sob loudly.
- The taxi driver, bad, asked me to shut up! Me, Koray Sargin! Turned on the radio his Tarkan! And-and-and! Found himself an idol! He drove a star and didn't even recognize it, Koray poured out his grievances, and the people giggled around, holding their hands over their mouths.
- Koray! - Omer interrupted him. - Stop the tantrum and go to the registration. It ends in twenty minutes.
- Aw! He cried out. - How only twenty minutes? I'm running! Let me pass! - he pushed unlucky passengers off the way and managed to scold their sluggishness: - And-and-and! You are stopping my underfoot. Getaway! I'm late for registration!
The group of Passionis and Tranba, eyes wide with amazement, looked after him.
- Who said that a photographer in Milan would not be superfluous? Omer asked mockingly.
"Yeah," said the stunned Tranba. "It seems like we will get fun for days."
In less than fifteen minutes, Koray returned.
- Where is she? He screamed, and, examining the passengers, spinning around in place.
- Who? Sinan asked again.
- This ugly Derya! She ordered me ... Me! To the partner! Owner of two percent of the shares! Booked me a ticket in economy class! - Koray, clutching the lapels of his wonderful cardigan, flapped his elbows like chicken wings and angrily snorted. - Where is she? I will tear her all hair and her forehead will become even larger.
Dragging the suitcase behind him, he threw himself into the thick of passengers to search between Passionis employees leaving for Milan, among whom this nasty criminal Derya must be.
Omer looked after him and calmly remarked:
- It will be necessary to write out a prize for Derya.
Omer, slyly raising an eyebrow and bowing to Defne's ear, repeated the same words on the plane. They sat together in the business class lounge, and around respectable, well-educated fellow travelers who did not stun with their tantrums, did not bore anybody with advice and incessant chattering.
The noisy Koray was traveling in the economy class.
Before taking off, Sinan threatened him with a terrible punishment if he did not calm down and did not leave Omer's assistant alone. Koray sulked offended but did not dare to protest. Sinan, of course, was a good-natured boss and an old friend, but even he has a limit of patience. And on Derya, he still has time to recoup.
The plane took off from the ground and smoothly flew into the air. The stewardess allowed to unfasten the seat belts and rolled out a cart with drinks. Defne, like Omer, took water with lemon. Sipping the refreshing drink, she looked out the window and thought. How strange. She flies to Italy. The very one that she always dreamed of visiting and even studied Italian. To Omer's Italy. To the city of Omer, Milan. How will it meet her? With arrogant neglect or warm hospitality? Omer touched her hand, and she turned her face to him. He looked into her eyes and reassured her.
- Everything will be fine. Italy will fall in love with you like me.
Defne laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Everything will be fine. So said Omer. And he is never wrong.
Milan met them with low clouds hanging over the old cathedrals and the sun shining through. Defne stuck to the taxi window and, examining the music of architecture frozen in stone, only sighed admiringly. Omer, embracing her by the shoulders, spoke in detail about the sights they passed by. His velvet voice, stunning views of the beautiful city, immersed in autumn, the piercing blue of the sky in which flocks of doves soar, made Defne's heart sing with delight.
Taxi, maneuvering through the streets of the city, brought the travelers to the hotel.
The magnificent building, decorated with golden marble, was located a few steps from Cathedral Square and the facade looked at the Victor Emanuel Gallery, in one of the huge halls of which the European shoe fair is planned to open.
Fascinated by the beauty of the city, Defne got out of the taxi and stopped, unable to move.
"So this is, Milan," flashed through her mind. - It is not surprising that Omer so subtly feels beauty and fashion. He absorbs up them with his skin. Here, in this city obsessed with style, it could not be otherwise. "
"Beloved," Omer took her arm, "let's go get settled in the hotel, and then take a walk around the city."
- True? - Defne's eyes lit up with delight and immediately went out. - But what about the design of the stands? Won't you control?
- Derya and Ruya well know what to do and will be able to intelligibly explain everything to employees. Iz and Seda will control the result. I am sure," Omer smiled slyly, "Sinan and Deniz will keep them company." And I have an important matter - to introduce my wife to Milan.
"Cool," Defne exhaled enthusiastically and pulled him toward the hotel. - Let's go faster!
The interior of the hotel was not inferior in elegant luxury to the majestic facade. Defne tried very hard to hide a children's delight, but she did not succeed well. She examined the spacious hall wide-eyed, the ceiling of which was a glass dome. The sun shone through the perfectly washed glass and reflected in a bizarre mosaic of the floor. Emerald-colored sofas indulgently offered their leather seats for a short rest. Defne took a chance. While Omer registered them and took the key to the apartment, she carefully sat on the edge of the sofa and, feeling like a queen in the throne room, lightly ran her hand over the soft skin. Oh, Gods! And when did the girl from the neighborhood break out of her narrow little world and take her rightful place among the rich and famous?
"This is Omer," the inner voice whispered. "It was he who gave you the wings." With his love and faith in you, he performed a miracle. "
Defne looked up. Omer, hiding in his pocket a magnetic key card, went to her. Tall, handsome, in an impeccable gray sweater, dark gray tight trousers, and an unbuttoned black trench coat, he was the very embodiment of elegance and like no one else fitted this place and this moment. People looked back at him. Sleek, arrogant women escorted him with alluring looks. But he did not see anyone except his Defne. She shone like a ray of sunshine in the grand hall. From one glance at her pretty face, on his soul became warmer and brighter and Omer thought for the thousandth time how lucky he was, that fate gave him happiness to love and be loved by this wonderful girl.
Smiling, he held out his hand. She immediately got up and put hers in his palm.
Holding hands, they went up to their floor and entered the room. The valet brought their suitcases and, wishing for a pleasant stay at the hotel, left. And here Defne finally stopped restraining herself and her delight. Throwing off her shoes, and sinking her toes in the fluffy carpet, she wandered through the rooms and admired aloud what she saw — a greenish-beige velvet sofa beneath the window, an old mirror, a painting over the sofa, the huge, staggering imagination king-size bed, a sliding door that led to the terrace. Opening it, Defne came out in the cool of November noon. The floor beneath her feet was laid out with tile and fitted with light wicker furniture. Scarlet begonias flared in the vases and squandered their aroma. Defne walked over to the white curved railing and leaned against it. Her eyes absorbed in the city - the openwork windows of the Cathedral, the vaulted arch of the Victor Emanuel Gallery, the mirror-blue lake of Sempione Park. Everything was so unreal, majestically beautiful that she caught her breath.
Omer, who watched with a smile the enthusiastic fuss of his wife, followed her out onto the terrace and stopped behind her. Hugging her waist, he asked:
- Do you like it?
She pressed her head against his chest and replied:
- Do you ask? I seemed to be in a fairy tale.
- Then let's change into something comfortable and go get acquainted with Milan.
"Come on," the sound of her voice still sounded in the air, and she was already opening the lids of the suitcases inside the room.
Omer, chuckling at such agility, went after her. In the room on the bed lay a cream silk blouse and a light brown knitted cardigan, but Defne was gone. He had not yet had time to wonder where his restless wife had disappeared, as she had called him:
- Omer!
Her amazed voice came from the bathroom. Without ceasing to smile slyly, he headed there. Defne stood in the middle of a room decorated with golden marble and looked dumbfounded from a shower cubicle the size of a small golf course to a bath like a small pool set into the floor. Gilded faucets and handles, elegant lamps, tall vases with fresh flowers and aroma bowls deprived her of speech. Stuttering, she asked:
"Can I wash my hands here?"
"Here you can do whatever you want," Omer answered and run the water into a shining ivory sink. - Come here.
They put their hands under the stream of warm water. Laughing, they lathered their palms with nice smelling soap. They washed it off, touching their fingers, and stroking their wrists. Omer opened a fluffy towel and caught Defne's hands in it. Gently wiped the water and kissed a wet palm.
"I could not even imagine that washing my hands could be so romantic," she said laughingly, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"Anything can be romantic," Omer retorted by the hand leading her into the room. "Any trifle and banality if only here," he stopped, and touched his chest with his palm, "the fire is burning." Is it burning? He asked, and his eyes hypnotized her and lost her mind. She nodded and Omer fell on her lips with a kiss.
He wanted to continue. To forget on everything, to tear off the clothes from Defne, to lay her on this royal bed and get lost in her body. But he promised her a walk-in Milan, and she very much wanted it.
The bed is not going to disappear anywhere. It will be here and wait for their return. And he will be patient and will fulfill the wishes of Defne. And maybe in the evening, having forgotten about her shyness and modesty, she will fulfill a couple of his ... Omer looked up from her sweet lips and looked at the open bathroom door.
They didn't risk kissing anymore, quickly changed their clothes and left the hotel.
Either the stars decided so, or with their happiness they attracted luck, but even the weather on the street changed and became completely unusual for the beginning of November. The clouds broke and the sky smiled bright blue. The wind died down, the sun shone affectionately, the trees dropped bright yellow leaves and covered parkland paths with a fancy carpet. Omer led Defne to the Cathedral Square. It was crowded and noisy. Tourists and residents were in a hurry to enjoy the good weather and the beauties of Milan. Iplikci joined this motley crowd. Cathedral, La Scala, Royal Palace - near each building Defne froze for a long time and only her amber eyes glowed with admiration. And Omer looked at her and took pictures. Defne touches an ancient stucco molding, her head thrown back looks at the statues of Milanese rulers towering above the Royal Palace, feeds pigeons. So he called her, and she smiles at him with a radiant smile, sends a kiss.
Eyes wide in amazement look at the mountain of ravioli on her plate. Throws up fallen leaves in the park and they fly apart and compete with her hair colors. Here she, covering her eyes with pleasure, tastes the famous Italian ice cream ... and then she takes out her phone and photographs him, sitting on a park bench, serene and relaxed with the joy of this day. She settles down nearby and takes a selfie: her sharp chin lies on a wide shoulder, thin hands encircled the man's neck, a gentle cheek is pressed against the dark stubble on his face, red and black hair are mixed, and happy smiles shine on the faces.
They returned to the hotel at sunset. Laughing they ran into the room and closed the door behind. Defne disrespectfully fell on the royal bed, covered with an expensive bedspread, and spread her arms out to the sides. Omer lay down beside her and buried his face in the soft silk of the blouse on her chest. It was bliss. Tired muscles relaxed, and a pleasant languor swept over the body. It was so sweet and balanced on the verge of euphoria. Omer reached for the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse ... and then the phone rang.
"I'm listening," he barked into the receiver.
- OU! What tone? Asked Tranba's voice mockingly. "Am I interfering?"
"No," Omer answered a little softer, and Defne burst out laughing and held a hand over her mouth.
"In any case, it's time for you and Defne to recall your work." We are all invited to dinner.
- By whom? Omer asked, trying to hide his disappointment.
- Head of the chain of stores Ardini - Villermo Ardini. He is interested in our shoes. This is a chance for both firms. So stop relaxing and get ready. At seven in the hotel restaurant. And not ...
Omer did not listen to what Trаnba wanted to tell him and ended the call. Groaning, he sat back and said with regret:
"We are invited on a business dinner," he looked at his watch. - In an hour and a half.
- Then why are we lying? - Defne jerked up in bed. - I'm gonna take a shower!
Having undressed, she entered the spacious booth and turned on the water. Amazingly warm. It poured from a gilded watering can put at the top, the diameter of a large dish. Squeezing shampoo on her hand, she closed her eyes and soaped her hair. The shower door opened almost inaudibly. Her shoulder only for a moment felt the cool air and immediately doused it with a hot breath. Omer removed her hands and put his long fingers into her wet hair.
"What are you doing here?" Defne asked without opening her eyes.
"I save time and water," he purred in her ear and covered her breasts with soapy hands.
His hands glided over her graceful body, made their way into cozy curves, and every cell they touched was lit by fire. Defne threw back her head and groaned. Hot lips pressed to her neck. Omer nibbled her lightly, moving his mouth to her chin and lips.
"Omer, we will be late," Defne groaned, and she mentally prayed that he would not stop. Let time stop, the planet, the universe, but not him!
"We won't be late," he breathed and bit her small ear. Defne arched and turned to face him.
"Crazy," she whispered hoarsely and buried her fingers in the hair on his nape.
"You're driving me crazy ..." he groaned and pressed her against the golden, cool marble of the wall. Hot jets of water run over them and it seemed that they were releasing passion. Frantic and burning passion, it scorched bodies, made them tremble with desire, and her cling feverishly to his broad shoulders with her thin arms and his strong arms, to her slim, flexible body.
Omer grabbed Defne under the buttocks and wrapped her legs around his hips.
"Look at me," he ordered imperiously, and she opened her eyes, full of desire. He looked into their honey depth. His arms tightened and the muscles on his shoulders began to move.
"Hold on tight," ordered and burst into her body...
They were not late. They entered the restaurant at exactly seven o'clock. Beautiful couple, radiating calm dignity and confidence. Omer's black jacket beautifully set off the golden lace of Defne's dress. Her womanly stature next to his slender and strong body seemed more graceful and she - an angel who came down from heaven. Happy, shining with an inner light angel.
Tranba introduced them to Signor Ardini, a handsome Italian of about thirty-five years old. When he scattered in compliments of the beautiful signorina, Omer straightened up and hugged his wife around the waist, showing with this possessive gesture to Ardini and to everyone in the restaurant who owns this golden angel. Defne raised her face to him and smiled only with her eyes. Tension, anger, and jealousy disappeared at that moment and it became easy on his heart.
He again became the charming and charismatic Omer Iplikci, who at dinner enchanted his potential client so much that he was ready to immediately sign any contract if only to get shoes for his stores from the incomparable Omer and Defne Iplikci. And here Sinan and Deniz entered the conversation, and Omer, with a sense of accomplishment, led Defne to dance.
But as soon as they took a few steps, a voice sounded behind their backs:
- Omer?
A chill ran across his back. He looked at Defne and saw a shadow flicker in her eyes. Damn! Why now?
He turned slowly and met with a blue-eyed look of astonishment.