Defne acutely felt that she was alive. Her hearing was cut from an eerie cry of a dozen voices. It stank of burnt rubber. Her fingers frantically clung to Omer's neck, and the button of his coat painfully pressed into her chest. She heard how the heartbeats and how the air enters the lungs. As blood jerks through the veins and a cold wind freeze the neck. Omer clasped his hands convulsively and her fragile bones cracked with the pressure of his strength, but Defne was glad of this pain.
She is alive!
The baby is alive!
And then, the memory of a push in the back and a thud, lightning pierced the brain, and she tried to look around. But Omer grabbed her head with large palm and wheezed:
- Do not look there...
She heard the clatter of feet, agitated voices, a woman's scream, and dull groans.
- Who? She looked into Omer's blackened face. He hesitated, and she cried out: "Who?"
- Fikret ...
Defne put her hands on his chest and demanded:
- Omer let go!
He slowly unclenched his hands, and she looked around. Turning across the road stood an eerily huge SUV. Near the front wheel, clutching his head with his hands, a young guy sat and whined. A little further away a small crowd gathered. They had surrounded something that Defne could not see. Seda, Iz, and Laura cried. Deniz yelled into the phone demanding an ambulance to go faster. Sinan was kneeling. Defne, as in a dream, moved toward them.
A broken doll lay on the pavement. Her legs were unnaturally curved her head thrown back, and her eyes ... transparent, the blue eyes of Fikret looked into the sky. She tried to say something, but the red foam protruding on her lips prevented her. Sinan pressed a hand to her neck and blood oozed between his fingers.
Omer grabbed Defne's elbow and stopped her. He took off his coat, wrapped her up, and then led her to Laura, who embraced the girl trembling with horror.
"Look after her," he asked and bowed to his wife's face. Looking into her eyes, he asked: - Try to calm down, okay? For the baby.
She nodded her head and Omer went to Fikret. He knelt next to Sinan and leaned toward her. She saw him. Her face brightened.
- Om .. er, - fell off her blue lips, - take ... my ... hand.
He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Fikret smiled and the next moment the blue eyes became motionless. The last breath, with a wheeze, escaped from her chest, and she calmed down.
- Fikret !!! - Defne cried out and huddled in Laura's hands. - Not!!!
The howling of sirens became louder and faster, and after it, the police drove up to the scene of the accident.
Doctors pushed the men. One of them examined the girl motionless on the ground, looked at the second, and said:
- There is no sense in reanimating. Injuries are incompatible with life.
Omer went to his wife and hid her in his arms.
They returned home around midnight, broken and depressed. The meticulous questions of the police took away their last strength. They were released only when Omer lost his temper and said sharply to the senior investigator that they had already answered all questions seventy-seven times. His pregnant wife was tired, cold, and barely able to stand on her feet. He apologized but warned that if necessary he would call them to the polis station.
Defne was shivering. Even Omer's coat and his strong, warm hands did not save from the inner cold. At home, turning on the heating at full power, he led her under a hot shower. Hugging, they stood for a long time, under the water jets. Defne was crying, and Omer was trembling. The shock that paralyzed feelings and thoughts gave way to the realization of what almost happened a few hours ago. Chilling horror and panic covered his head and only the warm, lively body of his wife in his arms prevented him from falling into hysteria.
"It is impossible! I must not! I must not! He repeated to himself. "Now Defne needs me calm and strong!"
"Let's go out, love," he said hoarsely and kissed her pale cheek. "Get dressed and I'll make you tea."
"Let's," she answered hoarsely.
They sat in the kitchen in front of large cups of tea. Defne embraced hers with both hands and begged to gods for warmth to warm not only her hands but also her soul.
"I wanted her to disappear from our lives ... but not like that." Not this way! - She covered her face with her hands.
"Hush, my soul," Omer hugged her and pressed his cheek to her temple. - The drunken moron who got behind the wheel is to blame for what happened. What happened is an unfortunate combination of circumstances.
"No," Defne dropped her hands and shook her head. - So it would be if I got under the wheels. But Fikret made a choice. Instinctively or consciously - we will never know this, but she saved my life.
"And mine," Omer said, looking into her eyes.
***
Stiffened like a statue in an armchair, the old woman sat in the dark living room and looked at the ashes in the fireplace. It was close to midnight, and Fikret had still not returned from a charity evening. Unclear anxiety stirred in her chest, but she drove it away.
A doorbell pushed her out of her brooding state. Deciding that this was the granddaughter who had forgotten the keys, she went to open it. But on the threshold stood not Fikret, but two policemen. Peering into emotionless faces, she stepped back and invited them in.
Further, everything resembled a nightmare. One of the policemen clearly said that her granddaughter, Fikret Galo, had got under a car and received injuries from which she died on the spot. She swayed, the policeman held out his hand to support her, but the old woman straightened up and refused the help.
The policeman said something about a drunk driver, who was driving a massive SUV at high speed, and that Fikret was in his way, but the old woman heard his voice as if through a layer of cotton wool.
- Where's she? - asked in a colorless voice.
"In the city morgue," the policeman answered.
In the morgue. She is cold and scared there.
"Please go away," she asked.
The men said goodbye and went out the door. She slowly, like a somnambulist, went upstairs and entered Fikret's room. On the table by the bed lay Melissa's diary. She took it, pressed it to her chest, and fell to her knees. A long howl cut through the dead silence of the house.
***
Defne, she thought that she could not sleep at all, but fatigue took its toll. She fell in disturbing sleep. Omer lay nearby and looked into the darkness. Thoughts and feelings circled in a frenzied whirlpool. He either began to warmly thank the Almighty for saving the life of Defne, then cursed the bastard who sat behind the wheel drunk, then repented that he spoke and thought badly about Fikret. But she changed so much that at the cost of her life she saved three others - Defne, baby's and his own. Because Omer knew one thing for sure - if something happened to Defne, he would die. Without her, he will not be able to live. There is no him without her.
He carefully pulled his hand from under her head and got out of bed. Silently stepping he went down and took out a bottle of whiskey from the bar. Splashing a generous portion into the glass, he drank it in one gulp and closed his eyes. Alcohol began to act. The lump in the solar plexus area weakened, and he was able to breathe deeply. He needs to go back to bed and try to sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.
***
Fikret was buried next to her father and mother in an old cemetery blown by all the winds, in one of the nearby villages. It was cold and gray. Crows were circling in the sky, and the soul shook from their cries. An icy wind made its way under the clothes and forced those who came to say goodbye to wrap themselves tightly in their coats. Defne, holding a handkerchief near her chin, cast compassion glances at the old woman in black - the grandmother of Fikret. She recognized her as soon as she saw her. It was exactly the old woman who scared her on the evening of the presentation of the Passionis collection.
Her strange words still sounded in her head. Now she was as if carved from stone. Straight, gray, mute. She did not cry. Only her eyes screamed of the pain that was tearing her heart to pieces. But she hid them behind heavy from the age brows. Defne felt sorry for her. The old woman buried the last dear person, and she remained to live on. What for? For whom? What will be her future life? Grief and remorse or a heavy burden? Will she find comfort in anything, or will she ask the Almighty for death every minute?
The mullah finished reading the prayer and Defne, following the others, ran her hands over her face. The coffin was lowered into the ground and the men, passing each other a shovel, began to shower the grave with earth. Omer threw rusty, clay soil into the pit and returned to Defne. He took her arm and gently squeezed his elbow.
- Are you cold? -He asked carefully.
"A little," she smiled sadly.
- Now you'll warm in the car. Let's go.
He led her to a row of cars by the road. Sukru was already waiting for them near the car. He opened the back door and Defne climbed into the warm cabin. While Omer went around the car and sat in his seat, she looked out the window. People dispersed and near the new grave, there was only one black, slim figure. She seemed the epitome of sorrow and loss. A gray-haired man came up to her and took her under the elbow. Something said, and the old woman went after him.
The Mercedes started, but Defne felt that a piece of her heart remained here in this old cemetery. She will never forget the girl who first was her friend, then an enemy, and at one terrible moment saved her life at her own cost.
- Why? Whispered Defne in a voice. "Why did she do this?"
Omer only silently took her hand and hid it in his palm.
The Mercedes drove up to the house when the city was covered by the first twilight. It washed away the colors, and the outlines of city landscapes lost their clarity. Everything around melted in a bluish-gray haze and seemed unreal. The sky at sunset blazed scarlet.
It will be windy, Defne thought indifferently and entered the house. There she smiled at Zehra and let her go home. The woman motherly stroked her head and left. Defne threw off her coat and sat on the sofa. She looked detached in front of her, and inside her heart was cold and empty. Omer entered the house and Defne woke up like from a dream. Getting up, she ran to him and right in the corridor, wrapped her hands around him, and kissed him with the despair of a dying person.
- What's the matter? He asked when Defne let go of his lips and began feverishly pulling off his coat and jacket.
She clutched the buttons on his shirt and looked into his eyes with a desperate plea.
"I want to feel alive," she whispered, and he understood.
He grabbed her in his arms and carried her upstairs.
There was no tenderness and thrill. Long kisses and gentle touches. The desire was not hot and sweet. Rather wild and furious. In every kiss, Defne was filled with despair, in every movement of Omer - a frantic need to make her feel loved, necessary ... alive.
***
Defne wandered through the unfamiliar city streets in the fog. She was looking for a way home and could not find it. Everything was alien, gloomy, gray. Oncoming passers-by silently shied away from her and disappeared into the gateways. A thin female figure loomed ahead. Defne rushed to her and grabbed her hand. The woman turned around and looked at her with clear, blue eyes.
- Fikret? Defne stepped back. - You ... you...
She shook her head.
"I am not here, Defne ..."
"But why do I see you?"
"Because you suffer and feel guilty." But this is not necessary. "Fikret smiled a bright smile, out of this world. "I'm fine, Defne." I am with my mother ... They love me here, and you there, on earth. Live happily and do not torment with guilt.
"But why did you do this?"
"Because of her," Fikret pointed her hand to the side. Defne looked there. A red-haired, curly girl ran across a flowering glade. She laughed merrily and sang something with a clear voice. "She must be born, Defne."
"Emine," Defne whispered and held out her hands to her, but the meadow and the girl on her again disappeared into the dense fog. Defne looked at Fikret and asked: - How can I thank you?
- Love her. Let her grow, knowing about it, and be the happiest girl in the world - the shape of Fikret's body began to lose clarity. "Goodbye, Defne ..." she said and turned into fog.
- Fikret! Defne shouted and sat up in bed with a jerk.
"Hush, darling," Omer sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "It's just a bad dream."
"Not bad," Defne answered hoarsely and looked into his eye. - She saved the baby. And also ... they love her there. And we must live and be happy.
"Of course, my love," he agreed, stroking her shoulders and arms. "We will live ... we will be happy." We simply have no other option.
In the morning, both woke up with a feeling that a stone had fallen from their souls and that they could breathe deeply again.
At breakfast, Omer turned on the news on his tablet and froze with his mouth open. Then he turned over the page, the second, the third, and
looked up in amazement at the news.
- Defne look! - He handed her the tablet. On the screen along the catwalk was a young, beautiful girl. A scarf covered her head, and a dropper stand rolled beside her. The girl's eyes shone with an inner light, whose name is the thirst for life. - This is a photo and articles about the charity show in each edition.
"Koray," Defne smiled at the photo. - How not to love him?
- When he gabbles incessantly, I don't understand what, I'm ready to strangle him. But now you're right. He rehabilitated himself completely with this photoshoot.
"Omer, have you thought about making Koray a director for concepts?" Iz left, the place is vacant.
- Nooo! Omer cried out. "Do you want his ego to grow to heaven, and he would drive me crazy with his stupid demands?"
"No, of course," Defne retorted calmly. "I want him to have more responsibilities, but less time for idleness and playing tragicomedy." Moreover, your best concepts were invented by Koray," she smiled and grabbed the plate. - Let's have breakfast. The gozleme will cool. ( Gozleme is a dish of Turkish cuisine. It is traditionally made from dough, and the hand-rolled crusts are filled with stuffing, which is most often cheese).
Defne's words didn't go out of his head all morning. But the truth is, when Koray is loaded with deeds, he is neither visible nor audible. And the quality of the work done is always impeccable. For all his infantility, his taste, creativity, and artistic flair were always on top. And Defne is right - all the best Passionis concepts were invented by him. But to make Koray a director? Yes, he will drive the people in the whole office crazy. They will only do that - to bring him a plate, or strawberry smoothies, or pastries from the pastry shop around the corner.
So without deciding on anything, Omer decided to leave the idea for the time being and consult with Sinan.
Later, Kerem Yilmaz came to him and said that he agreed to head the charity fund, but only on the condition that he would select the staff himself. The delighted Omer agreed and gave the guy complete freedom of action. He just asked that the money for donor bone marrow and operations for Kumru and Dila be transferred to the clinic's account immediately. The sooner the girls are operated on, the more likely they are to recover.
Kerem nodded and cautiously asked:
- And the third girl? The redhead? Does she need an operation?
- Nisa? - asked Omer. - Fortunately, she has already gone through this. Her sister, Seda Berensel, was able to become a donor, and Passionis and Tranba helped pay for the operation and rehabilitation.
- And what are the forecasts from the doctors?
- So far, good ones. But she must be under their constant supervision.
Kerem's lips twitched in a smile. He tried to hide it behind businesslike seriousness, but Omer noticed her and was surprised - why would this guy worry so much about a stranger.
Kerem left Omer's office and stopped outside the door. He mentally repeated the name he heard. Nisa. The cute dandelion flower is called Nisa. She suffered a terrible disease but did not break. Strong and so cute. He shook his head and mentally cursed himself:
"And what are you thinking? To open a charity fund and organize its work is not a walk along the promenade. Think about it, not about red curls and caramel eyes! "
***
In the morning Defne was going to go to the workshop to Ahtem, but endless phone calls did not allow her to even leave the office for a couple of minutes. As soon as she hung up the phone, it rang again, and Alina asked if Mrs. Defne could take the time for the next customer, who fell in love with her necklace, or a reporter who wanted to write about the new star. At first, such attention was flattering, but after a couple of hours Defne realized with horror - her working hours were scheduled for meetings two weeks in advance. Just before the opening of Sapphire. And when to draw?
She did not want to spend the time allotted to Omer for sketches. He is the most important thing and the minutes spent with him are the most beautiful and priceless. Defne felt herself starting to get angry. Not so, she imagined life in the role of the designer of her own company. And how has Omer coped with such stress for many years?
When the cellphone rang, her patience reached its extreme point. She grabbed the phone with an irresistible desire to throw all her anger on the caller, but when she saw the name on the screen, she blossomed a smile.
- Hello, grandma! It's good that you called. I missed you," she chattered into the phone.
"Just don't speak to me," Turkan started arguing with her without greeting. - She missed me! When they miss somebody, they come to see him. And they bring guests!
- What are you talking about, grandma? - Defne was cautious.
- Ah! What am I talking about? She sarcastically extended. - You seem to be a married woman but with the mind of a girl. - Defne as if she saw how her grandmother purses her lips and shakes her head condemningly. - Who promised to bring home an Italian countess who wanted to learn Turkish dishes from the famous Mrs.Turkan?
"Ahhh," Defne said.
"Yeah," Grandma said angrily. -The whole neighborhood has been laughing at me!
- And grandmother it's not my fault. Why were you talking to everyone about Laura?
- Oooo! We found an egg to teach the chicken! Come on, better, tell me, when will you bring the countess to our house?
"Grandma, but I can't do it right away!" I need to coordinate this issue with Omer and Laura herself, Defne began to say, but Turkan interrupted her.
- Coordinate ... this issue ... do not fool me with clever words. So, - the tone of the grandmother did not allow the slightest objection - on Saturday you take the countess and all of you come to my home. We will cook dolma, stuffed eggplant, manti, and baklava!
- This Saturday? - asked Defne in a fallen voice.
"No, after the Ramazan," her grandmother sarcastically said. - Of course, this one! Run to the countess and invite her for a visit. Say - Mrs.Turkan is waiting!
- And Omer should not be informed? Defne asked mockingly.
"My son is always happy to visit grandmother," Turkan answered pathetically, and Defne closed her mouth with her hand so as not to laugh. The grandmother's commanding voice sounded loudly from the speaker: "Are you still there?" Well, run to Countess Laura!
"I am running," Defne reported and pressed the end call button on the phone. - Of! She would have been born a general. Well, I have to go to Laura.
The desk phone rang. Еxhaling angrily, Defne picked up the phone and in an official tone ordered the secretary:
- Alina, do not connect me with anyone. Ask everyone to call in a few days. And redistribute the meetings. If the questions are not directly related to design, then let Ms. Laura or Ms. Seda take care of them. By the way, this also applies to calls! - Oh! Defne rolled her eyes. Being tough is unpleasant, but seems to be necessary.
"All right, Mrs. Defne," the girl agreed. - And what about Mr. Burak Sarafoglu? His secretary called ten minutes ago and said that you have a preliminary agreement with him and Mr. Omer.
- Yes, it is. This meeting is very important.
- I looked at the schedule and agreed with Derya. It can be arranged for dinner on Thursday. Restaurant Istanbul. Is the day agreeable to you?
"Very well," Defne sighed and, hanging up, spoke to herself: "And what are you capricious about?" Dinner with Omer in a luxurious restaurant, and even in company with an interesting person. You can wear a stunning dress ... another woman would jump for joy, and you whine. And anyway, you need to run to Laura.
Having rebuked herself, Defne grabbed the mobile from the table and rushed off to her creative director. She opened the door and cried out from the doorway:
"Laura, forgive me for the weak character ..." Defne fell silent in mid-sentence. Her friend was not alone in the office. Pushing the guest chair close to her chair, Ahtem sat next to her. They enthusiastically considered something in a laptop and quietly talked. Seeing Defne, with the same gesture they raised their heads in surprise. Defne raised her hands as if giving up.
- Sorry! I did not know that you were not alone.
"It's all right, Defne," Laura, and behind her and Ahtem, rose from their seats. - We selected stones for your sketches. And you, it seems, is something important and urgent?
"Yes," Defne went into the study and sat in an empty chair. "Just don't scold me for not coordinate with you." You do not know my grandmother Turkan. She will force anyone to dance to her tune. She called me half an hour ago and put me before the fact that on Saturday you are her guest, and she will teach you how to cook dolma, stuffed eggplant, manti, and baklava.
- But why blame? Laura laughed. - I will come with great pleasure. I want to get to know your family and get a master class from Mrs.Turkan.
Defne breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.
- Omer and I will be too. True, he still does not know about this, but as the grandma said, her son-in-law is always happy to visit her. Ahtem, "she turned to the man," and don't you want to keep us company? " I promise a delicious dinner and fun. My relatives are very talkative. It's never boring with them.
"I would love to," he answered. - Especially after the menu, you have listed, I already feel hungry. But on Saturday I will work on jewelry. You set me at such a pace that I'm afraid I won't have time to sleep," he winked at Defne.
"It's good that you talked about this," Laura interjected. - Ahtem, don't you think that you need to look for masters to help you? Once you will fall from your feet tired.
Ahtem's gaze glowed warmly for a moment, but the next moment he put on his indifferent mask again and spoke:
"I already thought about that." I have in mind, two young jewelers. Very talented guys and learned the jewelry craft from the same master like me. Next week they will come for an interview.
- And you were silent! - Defne was indignant.
He grinned guiltily.
- Sorry. I didn't want to speak ahead of time.
"You were always like that," burst out from Laura. - You never chatted in vain and could not stand boasting.
Their eyes met and Defne thought that electric discharges sparkled around. She picked up from her seat.
"So we agreed," she muttered, sideways advancing toward the door. "We'll pick you up on Saturday." You work now, work. And I still need to go to Omer.
But no one heard her. Ahtem and Laura drowned in each other's eyes.
Defne slipped out the door and a meaningful smile appeared on her face.
- Off! She whispered under her breath. "They almost burned me." And where is my Omer?
"Are you looking for me?" - From the sound of a velvet voice, she jumped up and turned to her husband.
"Well, is it possible to sneak out from under the silence and frighten a pregnant wife?" - She was indignant.
"Sorry," he said repentantly. - Scared?
"A little bit," Defne changed her anger to mercy and smiled. - Are you coming to me?
- Yeah. I missed you terribly, - Omer took her arm and led her into the office.
And behind the closed door, Ahtem reached for Laura's lips and kissed her. She answered. There was no shadow of fear or doubt in her kiss. Only tenderness and piercing warmth. They flowed into his soul, warmed, and hope buried many years ago raised its head and whispered:
"Come on! Come on! Believe and let yourself go! "
But memory inexorably yelled:
"Did you forgot how you were humiliated and trampled on your feelings?" How dying from the pain you survived all these years? What a wimp you are! "
He pulled back and looked away. Not knowing where to put his hands, nervously laid them behind his back and retreated to the door.
"Sorry ... spontaneously happened." This kiss means nothing. We are colleagues. Only colleagues.
"Do you want to convince me of this or yourself?" - holding back tears, Laura asked.
He did not answer. He opened the door, threw a short one: "See you," and left the office with a quick step.
- Coward! – A furious whisper was heard behind and the door slammed with a bang on the jamb.
Ahtem stopped and, turning around, looked at the door amusedly. It can't be! Raised, refined, always maintaining serene calm, Countess Laura flared up and lost her temper? But it does not concern him. He needs to return to the workshop and get to work. Shaking his head, he turned and walked to the elevator.
An idyll reigned in Defne's office and ions of happiness hovered in the air. Locking the door with the key, Omer sat on the sofa and put Defne on his lap. Clutching her tightly, he pressed his face to her neck and closed his eyes.
"How good," whispered. - Your scent relieves fatigue and irritation better than all other remedies combined.
- Tired? - Defne buried her fingers in his hair at the nape and tenderly kissed the temple. Pleasure appeared on Omer's face, and his voice turned into a murmuring stream.
"Awfully." Defne removed her hand from his hair, but he intercepted it and returned it to its place. Listening to her strokes, he continued to say: "I have the feeling that all the boutiques of Istanbul set out to conclude a contract with Passionis." Derya tries to squeeze all the meetings in eight working hours.
- Eight?! - Defne laughed. "Once you demanded twenty-six out of twenty-four hours and you preferred work to all other entertainments."
"That was in a different life," he purred and rubbed his nose against the delicate skin. - Then the work was the only pleasure.
- And now? - Defne asked slyly smiling.
Omer answered with a kiss. When he let go of her lips, Defne hardly focused her eyes on his face. Holy heaven! Such pleasures can be indulged forever and burn this work with a blue flame.
At the word "work" her hyper responsibility raised its head and shook it reproachfully. Defne sighed and spoke about business:
- We have dinner with Burak Sarafoglu on Thursday.
"Derya told me," Omer answered with small kisses covering the line of her chin.
- And on Saturday we go to visit Topal.
Omer looked up from his occupation and looked in her face in surprise. She looked guilty.
- Sorry, I know that we wanted to go to the mountain house, but grandmother called and I could not refuse her.
Omer smiled affectionately.
- Do not apologize. Let's go another time. And on Saturday we'll visit yours, play with baby Iso, have some fun, and eat up a lot of Grandma's dolma. In general, we will have a great time.
"Thank you," Defne pressed her forehead against his and closed her eyes. "You're the best thing that could happen to me."
He grabbed her head with long fingers and asked:
- Tell me this in seventy years?
Without opening her eyes, she smiled and promised:
- Surely. I will repeat until you get bored.
- Do not get tired. I will always consider our life a miracle come true.
***
Defne, trying not to stare around and not gasp at the sight of the sophisticated luxury, entered restaurant Istanbul arm by arm with Omer. Her knees were trembling a little. For the first time, she went to meet a man of this rank. She was afraid that her laid-back manners of a girl from the neighborhood could unpleasantly surprise Mr. Sarafoglu and put Omer in an awkward position. She had been thinking about this all night yesterday and came up with an idea. Judging by her husband's discouraged views, she succeeded.
Omer was confused. His sweet, direct Defne disappeared somewhere, and in her place appeared a clone of Countess Laura. Of course, this behavior is quite consistent with the place and time, but to see such from his Defne is always - no, just not that!
The head waiter led them to the ordered table and, bowing, left. Instead, a waiter appeared as if from the ground. Smiling sweetly at the handsome young man, Defne asked to bring her a glass of water with lemon.
- What's the matter? - Bowing to his wife, Omer asked her when the guy left.
"I'm trying to fit" she answered just as quietly and asked in the tone of the former Defne: "Is it not working?"
"It turns out great, but I hope that this strange woman will disappear as soon as we get out of here." I want my Defne to return.
"She'll be back," she promised and winked imperceptibly. And then she straightened her hair with an elegant gesture.
A hot wave flooded Omer's chest and descended to the groin. "Oh no! Not now," he begged. "And how do I get up from the table to greet Sarafoglu?" And this damn lady girl is sitting with a serene look and smiling with a mysterious smile! Okay. We'll see!"
He looked down at her high chest covered in black silk, and then slowly raised it to her amber eyes and bit his lower lip. Defne's cheeks flushed crimson. The serenity in her eyes gave way to confusion. But she could not look away. She looked into bold, black eyes and realized that the entire carefully thought-out role was flying to hell.
And at that moment Burak Sarafoglu came to the table. Omer, as if he had not just seduced his wife, instantly turned into a serious businessman and, holding out his hand for greeting, rose. True, the second hand kept the sides of his dinner jacket, but no one paid attention to it. Sarafoglu shook his outstretched hand, greeted Defne, and sat down.
They made an order and, paying tribute to politeness, exchanged a few on-duty phrases. When the waiter brought the ordered drinks and left, Sarafoglu spoke:
"Madame Defne, I am a businessman, and therefore, let's begin to discuss the issue that interests me. But before voicing it, I must tell the background.
"I'm listening to you carefully, Mr. Burak," Defne replied.
Gathering his thoughts, the man took a deep breath and began the story:
- I love my wife. She is the main person in my life and for her sake, I agree to absolutely everything. She is Syrian. We got married ten years ago. As you know, there is a war in Syria now. When it began, Farah's parents did not want to leave their homeland. They just moved to a city that was away by fighting and bombing. And four months ago, my wife's mother died. I was in Japan at that moment. A storm was raging there and the sky was closed for flights. She flew to the funeral alone ... I still can't forgive myself for this, - for a moment his face was distorted by bitterness and guilt, but the next second became impassive again. - It seemed that all safety measures were followed. Our plane, security, police train from the airport to the house of Farah's parents. But when she was returning home after the funeral, near the airport a suicide bomber detonated a bomb. Two bodyguards died, and my wife got а shock. Since then, she does not remember anything. We tried everything - psychologists, psychotherapists, hypnosis, all traditional and unconventional methods, but all in vain. Amnesia holds her with iron claws.
"What a sad story," Defne said quietly. "But how can I help you?"
"I don't know if you can ... but I'm ready to grab onto any straw." After the death of hеr mother, an heirloom passed to Farah - a set of jewelry that was transmitted from mother to daughter for many centuries. This is not just jewelry, but a symbol of the family. My wife often said that her mother always wore earrings and the ring, and when she wore the necklace, it meant that a holiday had come. You see, childhood memories because they are the strongest. "He looked desperately in the eyes of Defne, and then Omer. - At the time of the attack, the earrings and the ring were on Farah, but the necklace was in her purse ... Both the necklace and the purse disappeared without a trace. I searched all the black markets, auctions, jewelers, but to no avail. The necklace sank like into the sea.
The waiter brought the order. While he was laying the dishes on the table, Sarafoglu was silent. Defne and Omer, digesting the information, also did not utter a word. When the guy walked away, the man spoke again:
- Here's my story. And now, what do I want from you. Mrs. Defne, I was struck by your necklace. I realized that you are not just talented, you feel the soul of jewelry. You can see their real price, and it is not expressed in dollars. Tell me, you could sketch the necklace using the photo and that jewelry that have been preserved.
Defne was confused by the directness of the question. She always painted what lived in her imagination, and recreate something from photographs...
"I don't even know what to answer, Mr. Burak," she thoughtfully touched a finger to her lips, and then spread her hands. "I never did that."
"But you can try?" - The man did not want to retreat. "This does not oblige you." If it doesn't work out, then so be it, but if it works out ... I'm sure when she sees her necklace the memory gateways will open.
- You can try, in this, you are right. But this necklace will be a fake," Defne looked into the deep, stern eyes of a man exhausted by misfortune." - It will not be the symbol of the family and its relic.
"My goal is to restore my wife's memory, and with her feelings." Memories of beautiful moments, of days and years, lived by. It's worth the risk. Yes, the heirloom is lost, but the fake necklace, having returned the memory to my wife, will become a new symbol. Only already our family with her.
Defne got a spasm in the throat. The story of this self-confident man struck her in the heart. Is it possible to refuse a person a request if the life and happiness of the whole family depend on it?
"Good," she agreed. - I'll try it. But the sketch still needs to be implemented.
Burak Sarafoglu breathed a sigh of relief and replied:
"I do not doubt of Ahtem Minnibaev's skill," he held out a broad, long-fingered palm to the girl. "Аgreed, Ms. Defne?"
She looked at Omer. He smiled at her with the corners of his mouth and nodded slightly.
"Agreed, Mr. Burak," she shook his outstretched hand. I will do my best to make your plan come true.
- Thank you. We did not talk about payment but believe me, Mrs. Defne, I can be grateful and generous.
"I have no doubt, Mr. Burak," she answered with dignity. "But, you have already thanked me by buying my work at an auction for unimaginable money." Journalists trumpeted this, and Sapphire, not yet officially open, had already acquired an impressive client base. Therefore, the sketch, if it turns out to be successful, will be my gratitude to you. As for materials and work, you will solve these issues with Ahtem.
"Very well," Sarafoglu agreed. - Today I will send photos to you by e-mail. And the jewelry itself will be delivered to your office tomorrow by my driver.
- And how do you explain to your wife that they need to be removed and taken somewhere? - said Omer. "If I understood correctly, Mrs. Farah, although she does not remember why, she, like her mother once, does not take off this jewelry.
"You are very astute, Mr. Omer," Sarafoglu smiled. "I will tell her that the earrings and ring should be taken to a jeweler and cleaned," he nodded at the plates of food. "I talked to you, and you forgot about food." And here it is beyond praise. Let's not offend the chef and have dinner.
Defne in a dressing gown draped over a silk nightshirt, sat in front of a mirror, and, looking thoughtfully at her image, took out the ruby earrings from her ears. Omer, in his pajama trousers, leaning back on his elbows on the bed, watched her.
- My soul, what bothers you? He finally broke the silence.
She put the earrings in the box and turned to him.
"I think ...," she rose to her feet. She walked around the room, drew the curtain on the French window, took off the dressing gown, dropped it on a chair, and went to her husband. She sat next to him and looked at him. - Burak Sarafoglu has billions, but even he is not able to pay off to fate and save his beloved people from its blows. Even his money cannot return the lost memories to his wife and his happiness.
"You're right," Omer sat on the bed and kissed her round shoulder. - Money solves many issues, but not those that are vital. The money will not return the memory to Mrs. Farah, but her husband's love will return it ... along with the necklace that you will recreate.
- True? - Defne looked into loving eyes.
"True," he promised confidently. - As for fate ... we are all not immune from her blows. That is why we must live every minute to the fullest and enjoy every moment.
He pulled the strap of the nightshirt, and it fell from her shoulder. The cream fabric slid down, exposing the upper chest. Omer kissed her and covered the high breasts with his hand. Looking into her eyes with a burning desire, he said:
- I want to love you...
She replied with a radiant, piercingly tender look. And whispered:
- I want you to love me.
They slowly sat down on the bed and reached for each other...
And fate, looking at them, stepped aside and hid its arrows away. It also had a heart and was able to appreciate true love, boundless kindness, and sincere compassion. And it knew for sure - all boomerangs are returning. Both bad and good...