It's like I can still feel his gaze on me even after I'm in the safety of my apartment, the intense, searching way that he looks at me as if he's waiting for me to spill my soul to him. I make myself some tea for something to do, completely unable to stop thinking about him. The way he tipped his head back in laughter today, the sun making his eyes look like they were glowing. The way he held Bulut with so much love. The way he held me.
When tea doesn't help to soothe my nerves, I call my sister, realizing I need to fill her in on my wedding plans.
"I'm getting married." I say when she picks up without preamble.
I can imagine her jaw drop open, the image alone making me smile to myself. "Uh, explain." She says when she stops sputtering and I laugh at her reaction, shaking my head, wondering, for not the first time, when life is going to feel normal again.
I try to figure out where to begin. "Well, Ferit says he needs to marry to get Bulut back."
There's more sputtering until Laila manages to put words together. "And so he asked you?" She asks, incredulous.
"Uh, yes."
"And you said yes?!" She asks, practically shrieking in my ear. My sister has watched me tell family member after family member that I have no interest in marriage for my entire adult life. So her shock is to be expected.
I hold my phone away from my ear until she curbs her yelling and then tell her why I had to say yes, sucking all the fun out of this shocking news. She lets me finish without asking any questions, interrupting my story only to let out loud gasps that she cannot seem to control.
"Wow, didi." For once, I've rendered her speechless.
"I know." I sigh, laying down on the couch. This is the first time I'm saying it out loud to another person and it sounds insane. I'm really getting fake married. To a man I might be falling in love with. In an alternate universe, Zeynep would definitely be trying to talk me out of doing this.
"You never wanted to get married or have kids and now you're going to have both." Laila points out.
I laugh with great irony. "I know."
"It's like after our parents with me all over again." Laila had been 18 at the time, but had never lived anywhere but home. Caring for her through her college years had felt very much like I had adopted an overgrown child.
"I know. Except with a real child. And a fake husband."
"Wow."
I start laughing at the absurdity and she joins in. Once we start, we can't stop and soon we've dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, gasping for air, tears streaming out of our eyes. It feels so good to laugh like this, like a release I've been needing for longer than I realized.
"We don't actually have a date yet. But, maybe you can help me look like I care about any of this. It would be suspicious if the bride can't be bothered to find a dress, right?"
"Didi! I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. I've already done all the research. Finding a beautiful dress for you will be easy."
"I'm rolling my eyes" I tell her, as if she probably hadn't already guessed.
We stay on the phone awhile, as she fills me in on her wedding plans and school updates. I listen mostly silently, grateful to focus on someone else's life for awhile.
We hang up and I make my way to bed. Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I get a text from Ferit. Wedding next weekend. Let's go shopping for a ring when you have time. Goodnight.
I reread the message, bleary eyed, confused. So much information dumped so casually. Okay. Goodnight. I reply, grimacing at the thought of ring shopping.
Another awkward situation to look forward to.
***********************************************************************
Wedding preparations begin with dress shopping. My sweet sister graciously makes an appointment at a boutique and the four of us meet there for an afternoon of bridal festivities.
Yasmin's newest strategy to solve her marriage crisis is to try on dresses with me to see if she can imagine herself doing this for real. So we select option after option together, two fake brides looking for dresses.
Laila and Ozan prove to be a harsh audience. They seem to be having fun together, drinking their champagne and nibbling the available treats, relaxed as can be, while Yasmin and I haul each respective dress on and off our bodies.
"I swear to God, I don't care what they say, this next one is the one I'm picking. I don't care enough to go through any more of this." I grumble to Yasmin in the neighboring changing room while trying to maneuver into the latest mess of lace and tool the stylist has handed to me.
"You have no patience!" Yasmin scolds, having way more fun with this adventure. I roll my eyes and fasten the latest piece. I smooth the dress down, regarding myself in the mirror.
It's actually kind of beautiful. The dress is simple, featuring a lace bodice with a floral pattern and an A-line skirt that flows out from my waist. I turn around, admiring the way the dress swishes around me. I smile, forgetting myself.
Then, I panic. Seeing myself in a dress makes this whole experience feel real in a way it hasn't before. What am I doing?
I gather myself together and force myself out the door before I can spiral. Unfortunately, Ozan and Laila choose that moment to take this whole thing seriously and appear as awed by the dress as I am.
"You look beautiful, didi." Laila tells me softly.
Ozan nods his agreement. "This is the one."
"Guys." I say, plopping myself down in the nearest chair. "This is insane."
They blink at me as if confused that I'm only realizing this now.
"I'm getting married in three days." I continue. "Fake married." I add in a whisper, after confirming we are alone. The panic I'm feeling leaks into my voice.
"Sejal...is it really entirely fake?" Laila asks me in that earnest way of hers. She takes a breath, clearly a little nervous as to how I might react to what she says next. "I mean can you really say you would do this if it was anyone other than Ferit?"
I run my hands through my hair in frustration. No, I can't. Of course, I feel something for him. And that's part of why this is going to be so hard. "I don't know Laila."
Ozan is shocked that I've admitted this much. He's been trying to have this conversation with me ever since I told him about this racket. "Oh, so when she says it you listen!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air. That gets a chuckle out of me, making me forget my stress for a moment.
"I'm wise." Laila explains primly, earning an eyeroll from me and a huff from Ozan.
Yasmin comes out in her latest choice – a puffy Cinderella dress that she can barely move in. "What do you guys think?"
"Yasmin, that skirt is ridiculous." Ozan says dismissively, waving Yasmin away. "But, right now we are focused on Sejal, because she's finally admitting that she has feelings for Ferit."
"I'm not admitting anything!" I insist, purely out of stubbornness.
Yasmin seems a little lost. She looks down at her body and then back up to us, frowning. "So...no to the dress?"
"God, no." Ozan tells her sharply before turning back to me. "Sejal, seriously, what is going on between the two of you?"
I groan dramatically, hiding my face in my hands. "I have no idea."
Yasmin manages to set herself down in a chair despite all the excess tool. "Oh, she's finally cracking?"
I glare at her through my fingers. Apparently, they've been conspiring behind my back again.
"Didi", my sister starts, more diplomatic than my two foolish friends, "it is clear there is something between you two. Why are you fighting it?"
"I'm not fighting anything." I protest. Three sets of eyebrows raise immediately, almost in sync with each other. It's freaky.
"Fine, yes, okay, but it's just so complicated. We have Bulut to think about and, of course, our business partnership." I take a breath before admitting the hardest part. "And he hasn't forgiven me. For the hearing, what I said." I say quietly, looking down.
They watch me silently, waiting to see if I'll divulge anything else.
I run my hands through my hair again. "I mean we've decided to be only friends, he says his feelings are in the past, but he's always so..." I trail off, not sure how to describe how he flips between warmth and anger.
"Hot?" Yasmin asks, finishing my sentence.
I cover my face with my hands again, embarrassed, but can't help but laugh. It's true.
"Maybe you should just talk to him, Sejal." Laila suggests gently.
"Yeah, you're definitely overthinking this." Ozan adds helpfully.
I look to Yasmin for some back up, but she just shrugs.
"I'm telling you...he doesn't feel the way I do." I whisper. Pain surges through me as I say it. But it's not helpful to pretend otherwise. He has made it perfectly clear. I have nothing to worry about, apparently. He wants to be friends.
Laila considers this. "How do you know?"
"He basically said as much." I mumble, wringing my hands together in my lap.
I try to make my argument more logical, moving away from my certainty of rejection. "It just feels like too much, guys. We could never just date, we would already be 500 steps ahead, with a kid no less. I mean it could just be unresolved attraction between us and then, boom, we're so serious."
All three of them are exasperated at this point. "For God's sake, Sejal!" Yasmin shouts as the others just shake their heads, not surprised. "Can you be a little less terrified of commitment."
"I'm not being crazy here! I will literally be living with the man and raising a child with him while...what? Exploring our feelings?" I didn't understand how they didn't see the imminent danger.
"What else can you do? Lie to yourself?" Ozan had a point.
"I mean eventually...it'll fade right? I'll get used to being around him." I know I'm grasping at straws now, but what they're telling me to do is too terrifying.
"So far, has it faded or gotten stronger." Yasmin asks, deadpan. I narrow my eyes at her, the answer obviously not in my favor.
"Ugh!" I groan again, standing up. "Fine, you have made your points. I'm going to go change." I pick up my skirt and make my retreat.
When I enter the changing room, I am again struck by how beautiful my dress is. I let myself imagine if this was real. I imagine how he might look at me as I walk down the aisle, the genuine excitement I would feel at getting to start my life with him. It's an odd fantasy – I've never dreamed about my wedding before – but I can picture it so clearly. The idea fills me with warmth and I suddenly find myself wanting that reality so badly.
I huff in frustration. It irritates me to no end when my friends are right.
***********************************************************************
Emre is pacing frenetically in front of me, giving me a run down of our timeline for the renovations and all the other arrangements I should be paying attention to and caring about except all I can think about is my appointment with Ferit later today to pick out an engagement ring.
My brain does not seem to care that opening day is somehow less than six weeks away and I still have so many decisions to make. Instead, it is locking into another overthinking spiral in an attempt to figure out where Ferit and I stand.
"What else?" Emre asks, signaling that he is done with his barrage of updates.
Right. Work. I consult my notes, make my demands, and then leave the restaurant – my newly rented restaurant – to meet Ferit at the boutique. "We need to start meeting with potential suppliers." I tell him on my way out. He nods, making a note in his notebook.
I head to the jewelry store, doing my best to control my nerves. This is just a friendly outing with a friend, I tell myself the entire way, in a rather futile attempt to find some chill.
Ferit is leaning against the store, with such casual grace that I'm momentarily overcome with less than friendly thoughts, until I catch a glimpse of his rather impatient expression. I check my watch and realize I'm quite a bit late.
"Sorry!" I call to him before he can scold me. He just shakes his head, giving me a pass. I guess it wouldn't look right to fight with his fiancé over something so silly while looking at rings.
Unfortunately, things don't really improve once we get down to the activity at hand.
"I just don't want anything that ostentatious." I repeat, rejecting Ferit's latest choice. We're seated in the private showing room the jeweler has for his special – i.e. absurdly wealthy – clients. The poor man has pulled out tray after tray at Ferit's request, but I've hated each one. The jeweler, taking pity on me, has tried to ask me what I would like, but, I just shrug, having never thought about my engagement ring before. All I know is, everything I've seen so far is definitely too much.
"Sejal, what does it matter, I'm paying for it." Ferit is seated next to me on the loveseat, his arm around me as part of the show, holding me close to him.
I glare at him. As if that's the concern. "What does it matter to you? It's my ring, I don't want something that huge on my finger."
"Sejal, you're going to be Ferit Aslan's wife. Your ring has to look like this."
I roll my eyes, not willing to entertain this. I'm disappointed at his insistence on this status symbol. "Go get yourself another wife then." I toss back, airily.
He sighs, frustrated.
"Maybe this is a good time to tell you I won't be changing my name." I add, smirking slightly.
It's important to me that I keep my family name, for many reasons. But, provoking Ferit is a wonderful bonus.
He stands, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief and starts pacing the room. "Sejal." He practically growls, storming towards me as if he might throttle me.
The jeweler makes a polite exit, sensing that we are about to start fighting. Ferit waits until he closes the door behind him before asking, "What's the point of doing this if we aren't going to sell it?"
"How does any of that matter?" I protest, gesturing at the trays of gigantic rings. "We're selling love, not possession."
He doesn't really know what to say to that, probably not wanting to get into a debate about feminism. I sit patiently, waiting for his next tactic.
But after some more pacing he finally turns to me and folds his arms over his chest. "Okay." He finally mutters. "Fine. You are right."
I smile widely at him, not really expecting victory to come so fast, genuinely pleased that he has given me this. He smiles back softly and breaks eye contact as if embarrassed to have caused such happiness. "What ring do you want then," he grumbles, playing at irritation.
Now in a much better mood, I consider the options in front of me more seriously. "I don't know. That one's okay." I say pointing at a simple gold band with a cluster of small diamonds in the shape of a leaf. It reminds me of my mother's engagement ring, the one my father made for her when they were young and poor and in love.
Ferit nods and walks over to the door to invite the jeweler back in. The man takes the ring I selected out of the case and hands Ferit the ring. Ferit admires it for a brief moment before approaching me as if to put it on my finger.
"Oh." I say, pulling back slightly, instinctively. I really don't want a cliché ring scene. I'm not entirely sure I could handle such a tender moment. I reach to grab the ring with my right hand, my safe hand. "I'll just put it on later." I say a bit awkwardly, stuffing the ring box in my pocket.
Ferit looks almost disappointed, but doesn't argue. The jeweler stares at us, confused, reminding me of the game we are supposed to be playing.
"I like when you admit I'm right." I tease playfully, trying to slip back into my role as loving fiancée and move past the discomfort.
Ferit shakes his head at me, exasperated. I laugh, pleased with my joke and head out of the store. He follows me out, his hand finding the small of my back. I tense slightly at the contact, tingles rushing through my body from where his warm hand meets my exposed skin. The ring is burning a hole in my pocket.
"It won't happen often." He quips, leaning down to whisper into my ear. I let an involuntary shudder at his proximity, his low, gruff voice sounding impossibly alluring.
"We are interesting friends." I remark tentatively, feeling fairly certain that two platonic buddies didn't go around whispering things into each other's ears.
"Interesting?" He asks, opening the car door for me. His act of chivalry only makes my point more exigent. We clearly need some boundaries for our fake marriage friendship. Or some practice at least so a simple touch doesn't throw me for a loop.
"Yes. Strange friends. Not a normal, you know, friendship."
He smirks as he walks around to the driver's side. I carry on, unable to control my babble. "Friends who are going to be sharing a bed. And raising a kid."
I take a deep breath before carrying on. "Don't you think we need some rules?"
"Rules?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Why are you acting so surprised. You love rules." I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed that I seem to be the only one off-kilter.
A small smile appears on his face, just wide enough to make his adorable dimples visible. I push forward, ignoring how much he seems to be enjoying my flustered state. "We need some boundaries don't you think?"
"If that would make you more comfortable." He says, like a gentleman. It's annoying. "But, I've already told you, you don't have to worry."
Every time he repeats that I feel insane for being so aware of his presence and his touch, a potent reminder that I am apparently alone in my confused feelings. I look at him trying to divine some weakness, some sign that this entire arrangement has him even slightly off balance. But, I find none.
"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about myself." I mutter, defeated. "You're a much better actor than I am."
"That's true." He says with a chuckle, his eyes sparkling in amusement. "You couldn't get away from that ring fast enough."
My jaw drops open at his teasing. "Excuse you, I played it extremely cool." I refute weakly.
He laughs as I blush in embarrassment.
"You're not mad?" I ask, a little surprised he's taking my blunder in stride.
He just shrugs, looking out at the road, as if he had expected no different from me.
"See this is why we need rules!" I whine, being admittedly, slightly over dramatic. "I need to learn how to behave as your fiancée. I need to know to be ready the next time you try to put a ring on my finger."
He shoots me a quick look to gauge whether I am being serious. Whatever he seems there must convince him that I really do need some coaching. "Okay." He says with a nod, mulling it over. "Let's go out for dinner then. We can practice."
"Okay." I agree, trying to squash my hesitation. A date – a fake date, I correct myself – with Ferit sounds like the last thing I want to do, but the more we did this, the more normal it would feel.
Like exposure therapy.
***********************************************************************
I lose myself in work. Too much of my day is lost to wedding planning and restaurant meetings so it's only in the quiet of the evening that I can develop my menu, experimenting with flavors in the comfort of my own kitchen.
I do my best to cut my thoughts off as soon as they start wandering towards Ferit, instead trying to force myself to consider the decisions I have to make in front of me or wondering how my sweet boy is doing at Demet's house after all the drama. And my strategy works, for the most part, until the moment arrives and I sit at the table waiting for Ferit, trembling with nervousness.
He arrives shortly after me, looking unfairly good in a dark grey suit, his dark hair styled so flawlessly it makes me itch to mess it up. He leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting down, smirking at my complete shock at the gesture.
"Rule number one." He says while I try to recover. "We greet each other with affection."
He looks down at the menu in front of him, cool as a cucumber as I clear my throat, trying to come back to myself, incredibly embarrassed that I am apparently so easily rattled by a chaste kiss to the cheek.
"You know," he says, looking back up to meet my gaze, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "I would have never guessed you could be so shy when I first met you."
"Shy?" I croak, my cheek still tingling.
He leans forward, smirking. "Thrown by simple romantic gestures." He clarifies, looking far too smug for my liking.
I frown, a surge of petty anger clouding my mind. I speak without thinking, annoyed that he has so accurately pointed out my weakness. "It's not my fault! You're too handsome and unpredictable." I shoot back, leaning forward, only belatedly realizing what I have just admitted.
His eyes widen in shock as if he cannot believe I've just vocalized my attraction for him, chuckling in disbelief. "I hadn't realized you noticed." He said, his eyes dancing with mirth.
His joy is obvious and despite my embarrassment I can't help but smile back and let out a loud laugh. How could any heterosexual woman not notice? It's almost a relief to be honest instead of trying to hide everything I am feeling and thinking all the time.
We smile stupidly at each other, the tension and grief that has permeated our relationship since that awful night fading away.
Drunk on my own boldness, I reach over to graze the back of his hand, enjoying the way he tenses under my touch, his jaw clenching, evidence of the way that I can affect him too. He opens his palm to me and clasps my hand when I place it into his, lacing our fingers together.
"Better." He hums in approval as I stare at our intertwined hands, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. This is an adrenaline rush like no other, unmatched by being in the kitchen or hiking to the top of a mountain or jumping out of an airplane. I have never felt more alive than in this moment. "Maybe we will make a romantic out of you yet." He jokes, squeezing my hand lightly.
I look back up at him, momentarily confused, until I remember the purpose of this dinner. For me to learn how to act like a woman that loves him.
I wonder what else I can get away with under this guise, my brain no longer in command of my unruly heart that is too addicted to this feeling to give it up, at least not quite yet.
Would it be too much to reach over and scratch his beard? To bring his hands to my lips? To shamelessly stare at his beautiful face as much as I want?
But the waiter arrives at that moment to take our drink order, breaking the spell. "Welcome back, Sejal." The waiter says warmly once he has my attention. "Would you like me to tell Justin you're dining with us tonight? I'm sure he would love to come out to say hello."
In all my nervousness, I had forgotten that Justin worked here. Now, I am suddenly incredibly excited for my meal, and a chance to see my old friend. I pull my hand back from Ferit and give the waiter a wide smile. "Of course! If he has time, please ask him to come out."
When I turn back to Ferit, I am met with a rather thunderous expression, his entire body rigid, the tension almost rolling off him in waves.
I frown at the sudden change in mood. "What?"
"Who is Justin?" He asks, a humorless smile spreading across his face as he fidgets with his hands.
I raise my eyebrow at him, not at all fooled by his attempt to play the question off as casual. "A friend." I respond with some attitude. "Classmates of Ozan and I."
Ferit nods and looks down at his hands, still clasping them in agitation.
"Ferit, I went to school with a lot of men, you can't be jealous of all of them."
His head shoots up, a denial likely about to fly out of his lips, but I silence him with a skeptical look. He turns his head to the side, rubbing his hair sheepishly, a sly, slightly embarrassed grin on his face. The boyishness of his expression, the confirmation that he really was jealous, makes my insides melt, a familiar fuzziness setting in over my chest. When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are soft, but unrelenting. A challenge.
This entire dinner has been a game of chicken, both of us inching around the boundaries of our supposed friendship. And Ferit is not the type to lose without a fight.
"I don't need to be though, do I? That ring looks beautiful on your finger." He murmurs, his voice honeyed with pleasure as he reaches over to take hold of my left hand, adorned with the symbol of his claim to me.
"Rule number two?" He says, his voice dangerously low. "For however long we need to be married, you are mine." He punctuates his extraordinarily possessive statement by bringing my hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss to the ring on my finger.
My hands are trembling as he releases me, my entire body flush, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
Holy shit.
Whatever game we were just playing, he wins by a landslide.