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One year, one month...
I ONLY STAYED IN TURKEY FOR FORTY-EIGHT hours. Instead of visiting the tourist attractions, I went to the local library and read as many historical newspapers as I could about Cem Kara. I stalked the streets searching for someone who could prove that the crime lord that Aslan had been unlucky enough to be born to had a weakness I could exploit.
I even hunted down the local police station. To ask questions and point fingers.
I intended to take my improving Turkish and demand to know about the Kara empire. I needed to understand how Cem trafficked girls, ran drugs, laundered money, all while brainwashing the public into believing he was fighting for their rights by trying to gain greater power in parliament.
He had one foot in the dark and one foot in the light, and no matter where I turned, the despicable deeds he did were just rumours and gossip, yet the humanitarian work and donations of his time and money garnered headlines.
On the second day of snooping, a man in a black suit appeared outside my hotel.
A man who stepped in front of me.
A man who didn’t touch me but made it abundantly clear that I had no option but to slink inside the limousine purring at the curb.
I got in.
I’d long forgotten how to listen to self-preservation.
If Cem wanted to kill me, fine.
If he wanted to bring me to dinner, so be it.
If he wanted to prove to me that Aslan was alive and show me that I wasn’t going absolutely crazy, then I would get on my knees and thank him.
However, none of those things happened.
Cem Kara stayed true to his word and escorted me to the exit of his homeland. He hadn’t even lasted three days before pushing me out. As I stepped unwillingly into the airport, the driver passed me a leather case with a first-class ticket back home, a care package with a face mask and toothbrush, and...a grainy, age-stained photo of a gorgeous plump baby dressed in a lion-covered onesie.
I stumbled.
I choked on tears.
I didn’t know why Cem had given it to me.
Was it meant to be an apology or some mind game?
Was he pure evil or trying to repair his wrongs?
He petrified me because the level of calculation and commitment to doing what he believed was right left no room for emotion.
He wasn’t just a predator.
He was a hunter.
A hunter who liked to torment his prey with hope instead of misery.
I didn’t remember the flight home.
I didn’t remember how I stumbled back into Teddy and Eddie’s house at midnight, all while clutching that photo of baby Aslan as if it would somehow bring him back to me.
I think I scared them as they guided me, unspeaking and unblinking to my room and put me to bed. I scared myself because all I could see, all I could think about was Aslan.
Aslan.
Aslan.
He’d been an adorable child.
His mouth reminded me of Ayla’s, and his dark eyes, looking so seriously into the camera, were direct replicas of his daughter’s.
The next day, Eddie knocked quietly on my door and brought my baby to me.
The moment I saw her, I didn’t notice the tall, slim Australian man with wavy light-brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes. I didn’t feel his hug as he sat on my bed, gathered me close, and passed Ayla into my arms...
I only saw her.
Felt her.
I dropped my head into her clean, powder-scented curls and cried.
I knew I couldn’t keep doing this.
I couldn’t keep sobbing into her perfect soft skin.
I couldn’t keep breaking all over her.
But in that moment, cradled by Eddie and curled around my child, I gave myself space to let go.
At some point, Teddy joined us. His blond hair so similar to his sister’s, his green eyes far too vibrant and astute, his lips plump and quick to smile. I sat between the two husbands, and they pressed matching kisses against my temples.
And despite everything.
Despite my hollowness.
My hurting.
My haunting, harrowing pain, I managed to lift my head, kiss both men on their whisker-covered cheeks, and have enough strength to face yet another month without him.
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One year, two months...
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I framed Aslan’s baby photo and placed it on my bedside table, next to a picture my parents had taken of us one evening after we’d told them we were together. I sat on Aslan’s lap at the glass table outside. Our plates held remnants of dinner, and the setting sun cast the garden in a ruby, golden glow. I hadn’t even known they’d taken the picture. My eyes were locked with Aslan’s. His lips slightly parted, his gorgeous face full of love as he studied me. The moment captured our visceral affection. Raw and blatant connection.
It broke my heart each morning to wake up to our lost love, but...it also forced me to be brave.
