Temptation in Istanbul, page 14
She loved every side of Faisal she’d witnessed in the past week. Every side of him he’d shown her.
She loved him. Full stop.
CHAPTER TEN
BUT WAS LOVE ENOUGH?
Maryan grappled with that thought more than twenty-four hours later. More than a day since she’d last seen Faisal.
After their trip to the New Mosque, Faisal’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing. He had barely been present mentally when he’d dropped them off at his home and left for his office. And that was the last time she and Zara had seen him. He had called late last night, right after Zara’s bedtime, to ask after her. Maryan had him on the line in hopes that he would want to talk more, but then, citing another boardroom meeting before promising to call her tomorrow morning, he’d hung up faster than she had liked.
He hadn’t called but texted her and Zara a short morning message. Apparently “good morning” was his idea of a conversation. He hadn’t even responded to her text yet. She’d asked if he was doing all right.
Now several hours later she was entering his home, shopping bags on both her arms, and a few more in Burak’s hands as he shadowed her and Zara indoors.
Lalam took the bags from Burak. Freed of his task, Faisal’s security man left with an acknowledging nod.
“Do I take bags upstairs?” Lalam offered.
“Please, thank you,” Maryan said, smiling weakly. She wasn’t surprised when Zara yawned big. The young girl had woken up earlier than usual to start their busy day. Though none of Zara’s earlier enthusiasm was present now. She looked as worn out as Maryan felt.
Noticing that Lalam hovered nearby, appearing as if she had something to say, Maryan regarded her with another fatigued smile. “I’ll come up and organize the bags later.”
“Yok,” said the housekeeper.
From her limited Turkish, she understood that to mean no.
Then Lalam pointed out through one of the glass panes in the front doors. Her finger was directed at Faisal’s garage apartment. “Mr. Umar is home.”
“He is?” Maryan would’ve muffled her shock, but it sprang out of her.
“He came home not so long ago.”
Maryan thanked her, her mind more alert with this bit of news. Lalam grabbed the bags her hands could carry and headed for the stairs.
“Let’s go see your dad.”
Zara gripped her hand and they veered out the door, leaving the main home behind and covering the distance to the garage quickly. They climbed the stairs and tried the door. Knocking, Maryan waited with Zara, her thoughts spinning faster the longer it took Faisal to answer his door.
When it opened, he stood there with his earpiece and gestured for them to enter.
She tried not to let her eyes linger where his dress shirt hung open. His fingers made rapid work of buttoning himself up, his hair wet from a shower she presumed, and his woodsy bodywash and aftershave trailing him into the kitchen like a sensual banner. He was pulling out mugs and refilling a kettle. Moving and talking at once, he arranged baklava on a plate and brought it to where they sat on the sofa in his living space.
“It’s all set then. Perfect,” he said, returning to his call. “I’ll have the last few documents delivered in the next hour. Also, send the list of media representatives over to my executive assistant to double-check.”
Maryan nibbled on her baklava roll, the flaky dough dissolving on her tongue and bringing her an immeasurable amount of comfort. Watching Faisal work was nerve-racking. Burning the candle at both ends had to be stretching his limits—even billionaires needed a break, didn’t they? And, of course, she had to think of Zara. She deserved to be Faisal’s topmost priority. Not his company’s stocks, or his shareholders, but his daughter.
And me?
No, not her. Most definitely not her. She wasn’t anyone to Faisal. Pining for him to beg her to stay had consumed her enough. It was starting to feel obsessive.
He finished with his call right as the kettle burbled its signal that tea could be served.
“Zara, you look beautiful,” gushed Faisal the second he had their mugs in hand. Once he had the cups safely deposited atop the coffee table, he hugged Zara and held her. “I love your braids and these gold beads.”
“Maryan said they would look pretty with my dress,” said Zara, her adoration in her eyes when her father pulled back from hugging her and she glanced up at Maryan.
Maryan smiled back down at her. “But Zara chose her own dress, and it’s a wonderful choice.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Faisal praised.
“You will tomorrow, Daddy.” Zara yawned then, rubbing her eyes and dropping forward into her father’s arms.
“She needs a nap,” Maryan told him, their eyes meeting over Zara’s head. For a beat they stared at each other silently, and then he broke eye contact and scooped Zara into his arms.
“I’ll take her to her room.”
“I’ll come with you.” Faisal stood with Zara, leaving Maryan no other option. Secretly she was pleased that he was putting Zara before his many work-related duties. To think she’d been doubting him. Her concern was unfounded, obviously. She did tell him that he could do it. Be a dad to Zara. Be everything his daughter needed once it was just the two of them.
Overlooking the pain married with that thought, she followed Faisal and Zara back to the main house to do her duty. She was still the nanny, after all.
Only this time it was clear to her, and very quickly, that she was unneeded.
Maryan faded into the background as Faisal carried Zara inside their home and up the stairs to her bedroom. Without having to tell him what to do, he had Zara in the bathroom, running a bath for her, while he rummaged through her dresser for a clean pair of pajamas. Maryan waited outside while he bathed her. Pacing. Worrying, not for Zara but over her unsteady head and heart. They warred with each other. One wanted to tell Faisal of the love for him she’d recently discovered. The other wished to bury any trace of it, smother it with cold dirt and forget it ever flourished to existence.
Which part of her could she trust? Her head warning her from eventual heartbreak, or her heart pulling for love and its restorative magic? The kind of magic bundled in the fairy tales Zara loved to hear.
The bathroom door opened on a flourish of steam. Faisal trotted a sleepy Zara out and to her bed.
She didn’t even beg for a bedtime story, snuggling under her bedcovers and falling asleep instantly.
Creeping for the exit together, Maryan came face-to-face in the hall with Faisal.
“Out like a light,” he observed, chuckling softly.
“We had a busy day, and an early start.”
“I can see that.” He studied her, a slow, appreciative sweep over the length of her, his tongue pulling out and dragging over his bottom lip. On anyone else she would have been creeped out. With Faisal, her body grew warmer, and her head jumbled any sense of speech she might have had prepared.
“You and Zara matched.”
She ran her hands over her microbraids, the waterfall of long black extensions seamlessly woven into her natural hair and curling softly at the tips. It had taken hours to perfect the look, but she’d been in good hands with Faisal’s executive assistant.
“You’ll have to thank Rukiya for me. I wouldn’t have known what salon to go to here.”
“I’ll let her know her service was appreciated.”
They stood there, on opposite ends of the wide hall, with only the vibrant runner between them...
It might as well be a chasm with my nerves.
Maryan pushed her hands into her belly, anything to relieve the pressure of the knots forming inside. She couldn’t do this—she wasn’t ready to tell him. She’d chosen one night to avoid muddying their situation. And now... Now she wavered between her choices. Should she stay or leave? Should she tell him she loved him, or should she let the distance between Istanbul and Santa Monica erode her love?
She was itching to leap out of her skin, indecisiveness clanging in her brain.
Standing across from him wasn’t helping her settle on a decision once and for all.
“I’m going to do yoga while Zara’s asleep. I haven’t stretched and exercised today.” The physical exertion would clear her mind. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“Maryan?”
She paused and spun back to him, her heartbeats so fast she swore she tasted every pulse on her tongue.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your dress, too.” Faisal winked and grinned saucily, striding off in the opposite direction, back toward his apartment and office no doubt.
Maryan watched him leave, his flirting giving rise to hope. And that hope eclipsed all her panicked fretting. This whole time she’d thought she had to decide. But it struck her that the decision would affect them both. That he had a say, too.
If he asks me to stay—
She’d stay. Sort it out with her family but stay in Istanbul with Faisal and Zara.
And if he didn’t ask her...
Lucky she was covered there. She had plans for when she landed in California for renovating her aunt and uncle’s restaurant, and her job hunting at the community center. This way she’d keep busy with a broken heart.
* * *
Faisal attempted working.
But it was pointless. His head was full of Maryan. Something in her eyes earlier had taken hold of his curiosity. She had looked like she wanted to get something off her chest. And it was enough to pull his attention away from the press release announcing his partnership with Aydin and Erkin that his PR team had sent over for his explicit approval. If not that, he had at least a few other tasks on his to-do list for the day, and many more that would need to be completed over the next couple weeks. Not that his busy schedule was anything new.
The distraction from his work was a novelty.
He pushed from his chair and paced his office. Then he latched onto the excuse for tea and decided to leave his apartment to head toward the main house for a cup.
The kitchen was eerily quiet. Faisal figured Zara was still sleeping as he’d been gone from the house for an hour. Maryan had told him she’d be doing her yoga. Which meant she would either be in her bedroom...
Or his backyard.
Faisal slowed as he opened his bifold patio doors and passed through the seamless transition into his garden-rich outdoors. His feet had their own agenda, and he was along for the ride.
Walking out into his carefully architected oasis never failed to calm him.
Several large pots housed palm trees, their recognizable fronds swaying to the warm winds that passed through the garden. A plethora of colorful, vibrant tropical flora encircled the garden and its water features. A two-tier fountain was the focal point. The fountain’s bowls were held up by a pride of three lions, their gaping maws and sharp teeth lifelike and a testament to the sculptor’s skill. Further in the recesses of the garden, the rippling shallow waters of a man-made pond was at the foot of a crafted waterfall. The trickling water from both fountain and pond completed the tranquil mood of the cultivated garden. Most thrilling of all, the full-foliage shade of two massive oak trees lent a privacy to the space and separated his vast manicured lawn from his garden paradise.
Normally, escaping to his terrace was a joy in and of itself.
Only it was tenfold more gratifying now that Maryan was in his backyard.
She was under the gazebo and in the middle of a complicated yoga position that had her hands and arms supporting her lower half. She had her back to him and had no clue when he stood a foot from where she exercised, blissfully clueless to her audience of one.
Her very mesmerized audience of one.
He wiped his mouth, fearing drool.
She lowered to the yoga mat and stretched her arms up before transitioning gracefully into her next position. Before she raised her taut rear up again and he lost his train of thought forever, Faisal coughed loudly, sputtering from the force. He coughed for real, tears pinching the corners of his eyes, while Maryan dropped to the mat and whipped her head around to him. Shock morphed to concern on her lovely face.
“Are you okay?” She reached for her water bottle on the gazebo bench, looking prepared to offer him a sip.
“Just a tickle in my throat,” he croaked with a blush he could feel warming his face.
Maryan didn’t argue, letting it go and saving him from fumbling through more of his embarrassment.
“Is Zara awake?”
“I don’t think so.” His daughter was a bundle of energy, as most kids her age were. She’d have been downstairs, tearing the house apart, if she were awake. He was confident in this. “I came for tea.”
“What happened to your stash in the apartment?”
He rubbed his stubble-heavy jaw, a chuckle rolling out of him. “Okay, you got me. I had a need for company. Nothing makes tea sweeter than enjoying it with someone else—or so my parents say.”
“I wouldn’t mind a cup of herbal.”
“Would you settle for green? I hear it’s good...er...post-workout.” This was the part where he didn’t allow his eyes to trace down her wrap sweatshirt—envisioning her body under the drapey top. Or to her scrunched leggings that accentuated her round backside and thighs and reminded him of the strength he felt in her legs when they’d been wrapped around his waist.
And now I know where she’s getting that strength.
“I’ll grab the tea for us,” he said, desperately needing the time-out to get his head on straight.
He’d come to her for a reason.
It was only as he was pouring their green tea into their cups did Faisal understand what that reason was.
I want her to stay.
More than he wanted to give in to his fear that she’d turn out to be like one of the many money-hungry dates he’d had in the past. Taking his heart out of the equation had done wonders for his peace, even as it reinforced the idea that he’d never find love. Not with his wealth luring in the wrong kind of women.
And Maryan didn’t feel wrong. She felt crazily, miraculously right.
That was why he had to speak up. Say something. Give voice to the wild but wanted emotions she’d inspired in him.
He carried their cups on saucers back to the garden, an eagerness to get back to her in his hurried steps.
“...perfect dress! It cost a lot, but Faisal’s generous. You’d like him, Habo.”
Habo. She was talking to her aunt.
Faisal stepped behind the giant potted palms before the gazebo. Under their cover, he listened at the cost of his breaking heart.
“My hair is beautiful, too. I’ll take a picture for you at the party, show you all the fun times I’m having.”
Was that what he was to her: just fun times?
His shoulders slumped, his grasp on the saucers tightening, the cups jangling louder when he backed up at her nearing voice. He miscalculated one step. The next few seconds happened fast. With a startled grunt, he fell back, the hot tea flying and dumping onto his lap and the front of his dress shirt.
Maryan turned the corner, phone pressed to her ear and with eyes as large as a full moon. Faisal imagined he looked a sight. The teacups and saucers scattered on the lawn, his shirt and pants drenched at the front, and his pain and misery finding company in his humiliation.
“I’ll call you back, Habo.” She hung up and rushed to him, quick on her feet, her hands gripping one of his arms and helping him from the ground. “What happened?”
“Lost my footing,” he grumbled, hating that he already sounded as miserable as he felt.
She looked to where his shirt stuck to his chest, a wrinkle in her brow. “Does it burn?”
“I’ll be fine. Only my ego’s hurt,” he lied.
Cowardice had him stooping to pick up the cups and saucers, a chip in one teacup eliciting a groan—Lalam wouldn’t be happy. She prided herself on preserving his tableware. Cleaning up kept him busy for a minute or two, and then he had to meet Maryan’s eyes again.
She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
Did she know that he’d overheard her? He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But it was what it was. Still, he didn’t want to do this now if he could avoid it.
Before he could wrestle with his choices on what to do, Maryan got ahead of him with whatever was clearly bothering her.
“I was talking to my aunt.”
“Oh?” He aimed for nonchalant, testing the waters with what she knew and what she didn’t.
“She’s been calling me, and I hadn’t had the time to call back last night.”
“I bet she misses you.”
“Well, I miss her, too.” Maryan chewed her lip again, her brows slashing lower.
Faisal hardened his jaw, refusing to give in to the instinct to make her worries go away. “Two weeks is a long time. I suppose you’re happy it’s coming to an end?”
She frowned. “I’ll miss Zara.”
What about me? he wanted to ask petulantly.
“My aunt was confirming my flight time again. My uncle wants to pick me up at the airport.”
He swore a thread of hesitation skirted her voice at the end. Not that it softened the blow of her words. And they were like a punch to his juddering heart.
This was it. She’s leaving.
And he had to let her go. He promised he wouldn’t hold her down past one night. She’d bared her heart to him in a short time, trusting that he’d understand—and he did, but it didn’t change the fact that he burned achingly to beg her to stay. But the plea dried up on his tongue.
