The woman had smooth, black hair, gathered at the back of her head in a neat bun, delicate facial features, and huge, sad, dark brown eyes under the graceful arches of eyebrows. She smiled sincerely and warmly. In this smile, there was not even a hint of flirtation or female interest in a handsome man. Just the joy of seeing a friend. Defne grasped this with a sixth sense and, instantly calmed down, watched with interest the meeting of her husband with an old acquaintance. Judging by the clothes, expensive, impeccably elegant, but not flashy, full of dignity gestures, she belonged to those people whose aristocracy is inherent in genes and is passed down from generation to generation.

"Hello," she greeted Omer. - Very glad to see you.

"I'm glad too," he shook her hand and let go. Laura looked at Defne and Omer proudly introduced her: "My wife, Defne," he squeezed a sharp elbow. "Beloved, meet Countess Laura Cesare."

"Just Laura," she smiled warmly and extended Defne a small hand.

Defne, the first time she met a real countess, automatically answered the handshake and smiled bewildered and a little embarrassed.

- Nice to meet you.

"I'm also very happy," Laura replied. "I thought that when Omer truly falls in love, a sun-girl will be his chosen one." And I was not mistaken.

Defne blushed. Omer, seeing her embarrassment, hugged his wife by the shoulders and, looking into her face, supported the old acquaintance:

- You're right. I am incredibly lucky. I fell in love with an angel.

The phone vibrated in his pocket. Having pulled it out and looking at the screen, Omer frowned and turned to the Italian:

- Laura, I'm sorry! I have an important meeting in ten minutes. Need to run. Let's meet later and talk.

"Great idea," she agreed. - Come with Defne to my house in the evening. I'll make dinner.

Omer looked inquiringly at his wife. She nodded in agreement, and he immediately confirmed her nod with the words:

- Good. We are pleased to accept your invitation. From my student days, I remember that your dishes are something!

With a smile, Laura thanked for the compliment and named the address. It was one of the residential areas of Milan. A good area, but not at all where high society lives. Omer raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"You don't live in your husband's house?"

She shook her head and answered:

"We got divorced ... it's a long story ... we'll talk about everything in the evening." No need to be late for a meeting. Milanese does not like this.

"I remember," Omer flashed a smile, "it's true, my meeting is with a Frenchman, but that does not give me the right to be non-punctual. Until the evening! Beloved," he turned to Defne. - I ran.

Defne straightened his tie with her usual gesture and nodded:

- Come on go! I keep my fingers crossed!

Omer kissed her fingers clenched in a fist and with a quick step went inside the gallery. Both girls looked after him, and then looked at each other.

"I've never seen Omer so happy before," Laura said. - And I am very happy about that. Marrying you, Defne is the best thing that could happen to him.

Defne turned her eyes and jokingly raised her eyebrows.

"Allah, how glad I am to hear that." You are the first Italian woman familiar to Omer who rejoices in his marriage.

Laura picked up her tone.

- I guess what you are talking about. And I would give a year of my life to see the faces of our former classmates when Omer told them that he was married.

- Oh yeah! - Defne agreed and she suddenly felt very funny. She saw yesterday's situation with different eyes. "As if they have put a lemon in their mouth." Sour-sour.

Both girls laughed and felt as if they had known each other all their lives.

- And you probably have to go too? Laura asked. "It was nice meeting you, Defne." I look forward to your visit in the evening.

"Mutually, Mrs. Laura."

"Only without a Mrs!" Please, let's leave these stupid formalities.

"With pleasure," Defne agreed.

She walked the long gallery past expensive boutiques, whose names elegantly shone with gold on a black background of signs and did not notice exclusive items displayed in the windows. She was not interested in clothes, expensive bags, or furs. All this was so petty and stupid before that happiness that shone in her soul. She has the most important and dearest thing in the world - Omer's love. And she doesn't care about objects. The main thing is that love always be.

Omer was able to free himself by noon. Saying goodbye to the French, who quickly turned from potential customers to real ones, he walked into the exhibition hall with an easy walk of a confident person to pick up Defne for lunch. Seeing her husband, she shone with joy. And not only because she missed his beautiful face. Defne was hungry. She did not even remember when in her life she was so hungry. Unless in childhood, in those long summer days, in which the sun shone longer, and she and her friends disappeared on the street from morning to night. And when she returned home, her stomach stuck to her back. But now why? After all, she had a wonderful breakfast and only a few hours passed. Why, then, does the stomach is rumbling from hunger?

Omer had hardly approached her when she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the exit.

"Faster," she sang on the go. "Or I'll start gnawing stones."

- My beloved is so hungry? - adjusting to her steps, he asked.

"Yeah," Defne answered, and moaned plaintively: "I've never been so hungry in my life." So while we go think about what we will order. You know better the local cuisine.

"Do you at least tell me in which direction to think." What would you like?

- All! Soup, fries, dessert ... and juice - she raised her face to him, on which huge caramel eyes burned with lively impatience. - Oh, how I want orange juice!

"But why didn't you ask Derya to buy and bring it to you?" - Walking widely on the mosaic tiles of the floor, and not noticing anyone but his Defne, Omer asked.

- We did not have a free minute. Koray made a photo report from the fair today and we had to work as models for three hours in a row...

Models of Koray? Yeah, his girl had a difficult morning. Omer gently stroked the delicate skin of her thin wrist with his thumb, and Defne answered him with a grateful smile. How sensitive he is. One-touch - and she is full of strength and energy.

They almost reached the intersection of galleries covered with a glass dome, when the laughter and noise of the crowd made them stop. A mosaic of a bull was laid out on the floor, right in the center. Tourists gathered around, where, as a big spinning top was spinning ... Koray. While swinging the camera as a counterbalance, he managed to shout out a mixture of Turkish-Italian words, which made the phrases sound like a long recitative.

- What is it whit him? - Defne stopped in amazement. She suspected that the eccentric photographer had completely gone crazy. She even forgot about hunger.

"Koray makes a wish," Omer grinned.

- A wish?

"Well, yes," Omer looked into her upturned face. - There is such a belief - if you circle here on the very spot and make a wish, it will certainly come true.

- And how? Did you check? Coming true? - Defne's eyes flashed with lively interest.

"Beloved, do I look like a person who believes in prejudice?"

Omer mocked an eyebrow. Defne sighed in disappointment and again pulled him toward the exit. But he stopped her. He pulled her to him and bent to her ear.

"I lied," whispered. - Once, when I was going to return to Istanbul, I came here. I asked it to help me get rid of the cold in my heart and see the world again full of light and colors.

- And? - Defne held her breath.

"And you appeared in my life."

Defne raised her face to him. Her eyes shone like amber, and a trembling smile touched her lips timidly. Omer leaned toward her and kissed.

Passers-by, pretending not to notice the kissing couple, flowed around them from all sides and hurried about their business. Even Koray carried away by rubbing a hole in the mosaic tile, did not pay attention to Omush with the skinny girl. He made one hundred and twentieth in a row wish.

And through the glass ceiling poured a soft autumn light. It sparkled and wrapped a golden veil over the kissing lovers.

Tomato soup, a rabbit stew, and tiramisu, which Omer ordered in a small family restaurant, were so delicious that Defne, sending another portion to her mouth, closed her eyes with pleasure and barely audible moaned. Omer's excitement flowed from these sweet sounds over his body in a hot wave. He looked at her lips and forgot that he also wanted to eat. Another kind of hunger took possession of his whole being, and he mentally cursed the populous restaurant, the fair, and the customers who were waiting for him to meet. Having ordered a specific part of his body to lie still, he nevertheless buried his eyes on the plate and hastily ate his lunch.

Defne, contented and delightfully well-fed, leaning against the back of a chair, sipped orange-red, bitter juice from Sicilian oranges. Strange, she used to love sweet drinks like syrup, but now she's fond of sour with a slight bitterness. How can tastes change!

Omer, laying aside his napkin, extended his hand to Defne, palm up. She put hers in his and smiled.

- Stones can breathe easily now? - caressing her with a look, he asked.

"Yeah, they can," Defne smiled placidly.

- That's great. I have another meeting now. With the Spaniards. Then we'll go up to our room, change clothes ("maybe not only that," he added mentally) and go for dinner to Laura Cesare.

"Is she a real Countess?" - Defne respectfully rounds her eyes.

"A real one," Omer stroked the middle of her palm with his thumb.

"A born daughter of Count Rastrelli, she later married Count Luigi Cesare."

"She said she got divorced," Defne reminded him.

"Yes ... although I'm not surprised." This marriage was doomed from the very beginning.

- Why?

- This is a long story. Now there is no time, but later I will tell you, - Omer promised.

"I hold for your word," she smiled and got up from the table.

Omer followed in her wake. Leaving money near the plate, he took Defne's hand and led to the exit.

On the way to the gallery, in a small shop, he bought a bottle of orange juice and put it in Defne's purse.

"So you don't suffer," explained when she looked up at him in surprise. - Maybe we'll also buy cookies?

"And a box of chocolates," Defne mocked. "Omer, don't be silly." I'm unlikely to have time to snack on cookies.

"I listen and obey," Omer saluted on the move with two fingers and hurried to the cafe, where great things were done and deals for millions were made on a cup of excellent lungo.

***

- Have you seen Iz?

The voice sounded behind her back so unexpectedly that Defne jumped in place and angrily indignant:

- Holy heaven! Why you scared me!

"I'm sorry," Trаnba raised both hands. - I did not want to. So did you see Iz or not?

"She was with Sinan at a meeting with the Croats." And then she rushed off to some boutique where she noticed a handbag of incredible beauty.

Denise frowned. Damn. They are the fourth day in Milan and besides work, they see nothing more. In the evenings, seeing Iz out to her room, he brazenly asked for a visit, but each time she replied that she was very tired, and the next day would not be easier. So, еveryone should go to bed. And disappeared behind the door. And he, evil and unsatisfied, had to go to his room and take a cold shower.

And yes, this Iplikci, who every morning appeared happy, like a cat overeating sour cream. And Sinan shining a silly-in-love smile. Ugh!Would strangle both men.

And what kind of boutique did the elusive beauty go to? There are hundreds of them in the Gallery.

"She mentioned Gucci," prompted Defne carefully watching his face.

"Thank you," he breathed and strode swiftly in search of the desired boutique.

Defne looked at him and smiled knowingly. The mocking, selfish loner Deniz Tranba fell in love. And he no longer wants neither loneliness nor comfort. He wants Iz and her love.

He saw her from afar. She stood at the window of a jewelry boutique and examined something intently. He quietly stepped closer and stopped. She examined wedding rings. She looked at the window for a few minutes, and then touched it with a finger. And lightly stroked the glass. A mysterious light emitted a square emerald beneath it. She removed her hand and Deniz distinctly heard her sigh. He managed to retreat behind the column and go unnoticed. The girl turned and quickly left the boutique. She walked resolutely as if running away. But only from whom? Maybe from her desires and hopes?

Deniz stepped out from behind the pillar and went to the window display. Looking at the ring, he motioned for the seller and gave him a jerky order.

***

Defne was frankly bored. The fair came to an end and the rush subsided. Rare visitors still walked around the hall, but they were more simply staring than showing commercial interest. Koray, having taken the shots necessary for advertising, left to "look for inspiration" on the city streets and the girls sighed with relief. He, of course, is the genius of photography, but he tired out everybody with his quibbles and bossy orders. Let him command more pigeons on Cathedral Square. And if suddenly a miracle happens, and they will obediently freeze in the frame.

Omer appeared at three o'clock. He smiled broadly and, grabbing Defne under the knees, circled with her between the glass cases with shoes.

- What are you doing? - She was indignant just for decency.

"I am glad," he answered honestly. Putting his wife on her feet, looked into her eyes, and frankly boasted:

- We have concluded deals that secure Passionis in Europe. The receivers of Bellagio bite their elbows that once they left us. Sinan is counting future profits and they are impressive. We can, without attracting outside investors, open Sapphire. "His eyes lit up with tenderness. "And my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm an unreal lucky guy." Isn't life beautiful?

"Beautiful," Defne agreed and squinted slyly, "but it will be even more beautiful if you now lead me to drink hot chocolate."

- Are you cold? - Omer squeezed her fingers in his hands. They turned out to be cold.

"A little bit," she admitted. The gallery was like a glacier.

- Then let's go faster. Today it's so cold, and you don't wear a coat. And I, like an idiot, did not foresee it, - he hid her fingers in his hand and led to the cafe.

"Beloved, I'm an adult girl and I have to think about such things," Defne protested, but from his very words, her heartfelt warm.

"But you didn't know that sunny days in Milan can be so cold in late autumn." But I knew. So don't protect me. I'm to blame, period.

"I will always protect you," Defne objected, and now the heat was flowing in Omer's soul.

But they didn't get into the cafe. As soon as she crossed the threshold and inhaled the chocolate-vanilla aromas, Defne winced and pulled Omer into the street.

"I changed my mind," she said. "I don't want hot chocolate." I want in the room and to lie down for half an hour.

Omer was surprised at such changes in desires but did not object. To the room so to the room. There he will warm her.

And he warmed her. First, under the hot shower, and then - captivating her with his hands and lips on the soft bed, which burned with fire from the heat of passionate bodies.

***

The taxi drove its passengers to a four-story building on one of Milan's quiet streets. It was as if it had come down from an antique postcard - marble columns supporting the visor of the porch; stucco molding around windows; red-tiled roof and ivy-covered balconies. Near the old, terracotta-painted door, eight copper buttons on which the numbers were engraved. Omer pressed one of them. The door snapped and opened. Iplikci couple went inside and climbed a wide staircase to the second floor.

Laura was waiting for them near the open door. In jeans and a white pullover, she looked homely cute, without any hint of pretentiousness. Defne, who was worried whether her narrow brown trousers and a caramel-colored sweater would be appropriate in the count's house, calmed down. And the house itself did not at all resemble the dwelling in which the countess should live. No gilding, old paintings, and massive furniture. Parquet floors, smooth white ceilings, soft sofas, and on the walls are paintings by contemporary artists.

Laura sincerely rejoiced at the guests. She took their coats and hung them in the closet, thanked for the wine brought and a box of nut cookies, and with a sweet smile called into the living room. From it, through the openwork arch, a beautifully served table was visible. The air was filled with aromas of basil and olive oil. A delicious combination that made Defne salivate. She offered Laura to help in the kitchen, but she refused. She invited the guests to the table on which there were snacks, salad, and wine, and she went for the hot dish. It turned out lasagna. Defne looked fascinated at the thin sheets of dough, and between them - minced meat, an aromatic sauce, and spicy, divinely smelling cheese. The taste was also amazing, about which she told Laura. She was happy as a child and admitted:

- I love to cook.

"Me too," said Defne and dared to ask a question that was on her tongue from the very beginning of the dinner: "But for me I understand." A girl from a poor area, and even with such a grandmother, but you Countess...

"You," Laura corrected her.

"You," Defne agreed. - Count's daughter and kitchen. Not quite a familiar combination.

"I grew up in the kitchen," the countess smiled with light sadness. - My mother died in childbirth. Father soon married. They had a son with his new wife, my brother. The attention of everyone in the family turned to him. Our cook, Gina, was the only person in the house who loved me. So I disappeared in her kingdom.

Defne's heart ached. To her tears, she felt sorry for the pretty little girl that her father and stepmother did not need. And so she runs away to the only person who loves her - the cook.

"Is Gina still working in your family home now?" - restraining tears, she asked.

- No. She died. A year before the death of my father.

- Did your father die? - surprised Omer. He well remembered Count Rastrelli, a handsome, arrogant man who did not welcome his daughter's friendship with foreign plebeians.

"Yes," Laura confirmed. - Three years ago. Crashed his car.

- I'm so sorry.

Laura nodded and spoke abruptly and quickly.

"Maybe it's a sin, but when he died, I felt free." There was no longer anyone to sacrifice my life for.

"And you filed for divorce?" - suggested Omer.

"You have always been very perceptive," Laura smiled bitterly.

"And so after the divorce, you didn't return to the castle?" - ignoring her compliment, he asked the next question.