Page 42 of Crossing Lines

“Like intimidating people.”

She snorts. “And what? Do you think I’m intimidating?”

“Not at all.”

“Damn, and here I was thinking you were scared of me.”

I raise my eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth as I lean toward her. My gaze sweeps over her as I say, “No,pariltim.” I let the word linger between us. “I’m just wondering how long until youare of me.”

“Please. You aren’t intimidating.” She pats me on the shoulder in mock pity. “It’s cute that you think you are.”

I laugh because that’s the opposite of what I’ve been told. I’m not sure why she sees me so differently than others, but I like it. Catching the hand she’s using to pat me with, I slowly, deliberately, kiss her knuckles. She gasps and her gaze flies to mine.

I kiss her knuckles one last time, unable to help myself, before I let her go. It takes more effort than I thought possible to cut the contact between us. Wiping my hand on my slacks, I need to get the feel of her skin off mine, or else I’m going to pick her hand back up and hold it the entire four-hourflight.

But no matter how many times I try, I fear her touch has been tattooed through my flesh and straight down to the bone.

Altan’s table is a work of art. It took him one week to complete, but it just arrived today. The base of the table is crafted from a rich, dark walnut wood. Running through the center of the table is a vibrant river of epoxy resin, swirling with hues of deep emerald, sapphire blue, and flashes of gold. Embedded within the resin are delicate, gold-leaf branches and tiny, hand-painted flowers that seem to float beneath the surface, giving the illusion of an underwater world.

The table's legs are made from twisted iron and designed to resemble gnarled tree roots. Nina had a clear vision once she saw Altan’s work and sketched out her idea. When Altan informed me that the table was being delivered today, I organized a private chef to make some of my favorite Turkish food to celebrate finally having a table. I messaged Nina, asking if she’s free tonight, but she hasn’t responded yet. Instead, Zeki messages me with a warning.

Zeki: If you don’t call anne right now, she’s going to get on a plane and come to Skyrise.

That’s a surprise. Normally it’s the other way around with me warning him to call her. But instead of enjoying this rare moment, dread courses through me. It looks like my time is up. Since returning from the trip to Altan’s, my mom has called multiple times a day. So far, I’ve been holding her off with text messages saying I’m busy this week at work. It’s not a complete lie, but I don’t want to talk to her about Nina.

With a sigh, I call my mom on my drive home. To the surprise of no one, she answers on the first ring.

“Annem,” I say.

“Don’t youannemme, young man. Your avoidance after bringing a woman to meet Altan istelling. Now tell me, why did he get to meet her and not me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” I lie, ignoring her question.

She laughs. “I wasn’t born yesterday, and I demand to know more about this Nina. Altan says she has an eye for design…”

“There’s nothing to know. She’s just a friend.”

“Well then,” she says. “I need to meet your new friend.”

“You really don’t.”

She laughs. “Oh, now I definitely do. How about next Tuesday?”

“I’m busy.”

“Okay, what about nextFriday instead?”

“How about you come in a few months?”

“Evren…” My mom has that warning tone that only moms can give. The one that says her patience is running low and that her threat to jump on a plane right now wasn’t fake.

“Annem,” I say, “Nina really is just a friend, and I am swamped at work. Please don’t push me on this. I’m already dealing with so much…”

“Fine, I’ll try to be patient. But before you go, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“I heard Mert is heading to America. Apparently, he’s trying to work for a sports team or buy into one. My friend Burcu wasn’t clear on which one.”

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