"Madame Defne, do you love your husband?"

The judge's words blew her mind. Whatever she answers, truth or falsehood, everything will turn out to be a disaster in the end...

Omer watched his Defne's pretty face without breathing. Fright, confusion, inner struggle - emotions replaced each other with lightning speed. Omer read them like an open book. And prayed:

"Say ... my love, say ... please!!!"

"Yes," Defne answered barely audible and bowed her head.

Omer sucked in his nose noisily.

"Please, Madame Defne, repeat louder," the judge asked.

"I Love Him," Defne said loudly and clearly and looked into his eyes. - But it does not matter. I want to get a divorce.

"You are mistaken," he smiled with a kind, warm smile, and at one moment he turned from a strict guard of the law into a wise grandfather who always listens and gives the right advice to young and ardent grandchildren. - Love is the only thing that matters. Believe me, an old man who has been happily married for over forty years.

Mr. Iplikci," he turned to Omer," do you and your wife live in the same house? "

"No," Omer answered.

"This is bad," the old man shook his head disapprovingly. - Do not listen to the advice of a judge, but a man wise by experience - return to live under one roof. Only in this way you can understand your problems and mistakes. Never before has distance helped to reconcile quarreling spouses. To do this, you need a common house, a common table, and a common bed. And now, "the good-natured old man disappeared and the imperious judge returned to his place," the verdict of the court: I give you six months to settle your differences. If, after this period, you, Mrs. Defne, are still demanding a divorce, I will make a positive decision for you.

He hit the copper stand with the hammer and this noble sound seemed to draw a line to what was said - the decision was made and cannot be appealed. The judge stood up and full of majestic dignity left the office.

Lawyers and Omer rose after him. And only Defne was left to sit.

She rested her forehead on her palm and closed her eyes. Omer, realizing that to sort things out here in this room, would be big nonsense, nodded to his lawyer at the door and went out into the hallway. There he stopped and turned to him:

- Mr. Ryza, thank you. You are free now. Have a good day!

"Goodbye, Mr. Omer," the lawyer bowed his head and left with a confident step toward the exit of the building. And Omer leaned back against the wall and looked uncertainly at the closed door of the courtroom.

- Ah, Defne! - spoke Kerem, as soon as Omer and his lawyer closed the door. Defne did not move. She sat with her eyes closed, dropping her forehead into her palm. Kerem felt sorry for her and his tone softened: "If you told me everything openly, the verdict of the court could be different. I would have built your defense differently." He sighed in dismay.

-"But I understand you, and your desire to protect the innermost from prying eyes." And you know ... maybe the decision of the Judge is the only right one and you should listen to it. Your husband loves you, "bitterness sounded in his voice. "And you love him ..."

Defne's shoulders flinched. She raised her head and looked at the guy. There was so much pain in her eyes that Kerem choked on words.

- Sorry. In any case, I am always on your side. And not only as a lawyer but also as a friend.

"Thank you," Defne answered hoarsely.

Kerem nodded, awkwardly patted her shoulder and left the room.

He did not expect to meet Omer in the corridor, but, seeing him, stopped. He looked with cold dignity and said:

"You won the battle, but not the war."

"Does my wife know that you are in love with her?" – in response, Omer asked rigidly.

"And you're shrewd," Kerem said. "But you are wrong about the main thing. My feelings are not in love... Rather... love, but not as a woman... But as a human being, a friend. I will protect her interests whether you like it or not.

"Even if these her interests are a mistake and ruin her life?"

- Defne is a smart girl. She may be wrong, but in the end, she will make the right decision. And I will support it, "Kerem answered confidently. The tone of his voice changed. "All the best, Mr. Omer." I wish you not to miss the chance that His Honor today has so generously given you.

Defne's lawyer left. And again, Omer's attention was drawn to the door, or rather the girl behind it. His patience overflowed an already shallow bowl. But when the last drop fell, and Omer pulled away from the wall to return to the room, the door opened and Defne went out into the corridor. Cold, collected and unapproachable. The Iron Lady. But she can't deceive him anymore. He knew behind this shell is his Defne. Real, warm. And she loves him!

- Well, what took so long? - He tried to take her arm.

"Let's talk on the street," Defne said without looking at him and passed by. She strode along the long, gloomy corridor and heard measured steps behind. It burned between the shoulder blades.

"Tired muscles. My muscles are just tired," she repeated, like a mantra, but the treacherous heat burned the back of her head.

- Damn it! Defne shouted at her own body. "When will you learn to obey me and not respond to his eyes?"

Omer caught up with her on the street. Strongly, but carefully grabbed her wrist with long fingers and led to the square opposite the courthouse. There he sat her on a bench and sat down beside her. Defne released her hand from his fingers and, clasping her palms together, squeezed them between her knees.

But Omer was not going to retreat. He touched her shoulder, stroked lightly and suggested:

- Let's go to you right now, pack your things and transport them to our house.

- What? - She looked at him as if he had a second head grown on him.

"You heard what the judge said - to live in the same house," Omer explained patiently. He firmly decided to be meek and docile, and for no reason to quarrel with her. But Defne seemed to have very different intentions.

"That was advice, Omer!" Advice, not a prerequisite.

- But, admit, the advice is excellent!

- An excellent one? -she asked in amazement. - To live together? As if nothing had happened? It was as if there were no lies and those terrible months after the wedding ... the dark water of the Bosphorus ... Iz and your life in Marseille? - Omer opened his mouth to object, but Defne threw up her hand in a stopping gesture and continued to say: "As if you just did not humiliate me by exposing me as an accessible girl and publicly declaring that I surrendered to you before the wedding?"

Omer was confused. He never thought of their magical, fiery nights like that ... down to earth. And today he just wanted to prove that their marriage is real.

- Defne...

She interrupted him. With a bitter rebuke in her voice, looking straight into his soul with her piercing, amber eyes, she asked:

- Why are you doing this?

- Darling, but what difference it did happen before or after the wedding? We are adults, married, love each other. This is the main thing, not some stupid prejudices.

- For you, prejudice! -defensively objected Defne. "But not for me ... not for me." Before you, I had at least a good name. And now it is gone..." she sighed frantically and rose to her feet. - I have to go. I have to be in the office. Bye.

- Wait! - Omer followed but did not dare to hold her hand. "I'll give you a ride."

"No need," Defne objected.

"We have planned work on models," he insisted.

- Not today.

"We don't have much time," he insisted and understood this. But the fear that she would leave now and again disappear from his life was stronger.

- I know! - Defne's voice broke into a cry then switched to a whisper: - But not today ... not today ... I can't.

Pounding with her heels, she almost ran down the alley of the square. The light, chiffon scarf that held her hair flew off and fell like a blue cloud onto the gray concrete of the paving slabs. Defne did not even notice the loss. The wind caught the red curls, and they flashed in the rays of the midday sun with copper sparks.

Omer swallowed. It was bitter in his mouth. His eyes burned mercilessly and he wanted to scream. He gritted his teeth and walked over to the lost scarf. He picked it up and brought it to his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, he deeply inhaled the tenderness emanating from him. The knuckles on his clenched hand turned white, and the thin tissue was almost completely hidden in his large palm. But the next moment he opened his hand, carefully folded the finest chiffon and hid it in the inside pocket of his jacket. And then he threw back his head and looked into the sky. Bottomless and piercing blue.

How strange, he did not even notice that autumn had come to Istanbul.

***

Defne entered Denise Tranba's office and silently put a brown folder on the table. He also silently opened it, flipped through the document and stopped on the last page. A crooked smile appeared on his face. Yes! It happened! In the right column was a neat, similar to ornate, signature of Defne.

Denise grabbed a pretentious, expensive pen from the table and signed it. And then he got up and held out his hand. Without hesitation, she answered the handshake.

"You made the right choice, Defne." There was satisfaction in Tranba's voice.

"I hope so," she answered, and headed for the door.

- By the way, how did the trial end? Have you been divorced? -the boss asked with genuine interest.

Defne stopped. She looked around and with an impenetrable expression on her beautiful face, she answered shortly:

- Not.

She left the office, and Tranba leaned back in his chair and shook his head in amazement. Wow! Talented spouses Iplikci against each other on opposite sides of the barricades. It will be an unforgettable sight, and he, Denise Tranba, will not miss a single moment of this creative, and not only that - confrontation!

***

"Omer, what do you mean you will not appear in Passionis today?" - an annoyed Sinan shouted so that Omer had to take the phone away from his ear.

"It means that I will not appear in Passionis today," Omer answered calmly. "I have important things to do."

- What could be more important than a shoe festival ?! Omer, if you break the schedule, I ... I ... - the partner and friend hesitated, coming up with the worst punishment, but Omer stopped his threats.

- The schedule will not be disrupted and the drawings of the models will be ready by Friday. But today ... Sinan, today I really can't work.

Silence fell on the phone, and then, in a completely different, sympathetic tone, Sinan asked:

- Have you been divorced?

"No," Omer's voice sounded almost normal, but his friend's sensitive ear nevertheless caught melancholy notes in it.

"Then why are you upset?"

"I offended Defne again." Just don't ask how. I can't answer.

- Then do not answer. And do not waste time talking with me. Go and fix your mistake, "Sinan ordered.

- Thank you, brother.

Omer lowered his hand with the phone clamped in it and looked around. Near the exit from the park stood his Mercedes and Sukru, patiently waiting for the boss, walked slowly around the car. Omer walked quickly toward him.

Noticing him, the driver went to the door and opened it in front of the frowning boss.

"Sukru, we have a lot to do today," Omer said, sitting down in the back seat. - Hurry up.

***

Defne was returning home. The long day filled with events and exhausting emotions was coming to an end, and she was glad of it. She wanted a break. She wanted to close the door of the apartment behind her, without undressing, to fall onto the bed, to bury her face in the pillow and cry ... Bitterly and loudly, as I cried in childhood.

The wind caught her hair and threw it in her face. Defne threw them back in exasperation. What bad luck? She also lost her scarf somewhere, it was her favorite, by the way.

She turned into the alley and could not resist a sigh of relief. The porch of her house finally loomed ahead. Defne gave it a wary look. It's empty. Well, not every day one finds flowers and a box with dinner at the doorstep.

"And there is nothing to feel disappointed," she sternly told herself. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Defne went to the house and in search of the key opened her purse.

- Hi.

A voice sounded from somewhere above. She froze. Is that a hallucination? Got it! Defne slowly raised her head and looked up. On the balcony of the apartment, which was located just above her rented dwelling, leaning on a wooden railing, stood alone ... Omer. Wearing a T-shirt and shabby jeans, all so casually homely and relaxed.

"What are you doing here?" - surprised Defne.

"I live here," he answered casually.

She grinned incredulously. Then she examined the second floor.

The sign: "For rent " was missing, the windows shone with cleanliness and the curtains on them took on a well-groomed appearance. It seems Omer's words are not a joke at all.

"Why, having your own beautiful home, live in the slums?" - she was surprised.

- What do you think? He asked, and dark eyes burned through her.

She did not answer, only shrugged. Without waiting for a word from her, Omer still answered her question:

- My place is next to you. If you do not want to return to my house, then I'm moving to yours.

- Old, shabby and poor?

Now Omer shrugged.

"Well, if you chose one like that ..."

"I had nothing to choose from," Defne interrupted.

- Me too.

Defne turned away and continued poking around in her purse. Confusion reigned in her thoughts, her hands trembled, and the damned key did not want to be found at all.

"Have you had dinner?" - Omer asked casually. He managed to get down and stood right in front of her now.

Her hand finally felt the cold metal. Defne took out the key and went to the door.

"No," she inserted the key into the keyhole.

"Maybe we'll go to that fish restaurant?" Or at Lunch r-t? He stood so close that his hot breath scorched her neck.

"I'm tired," Defne answered when she opened the door. "I don't want to go anywhere." I'll cook something and have dinner at home.

"Then let me help you." Cook together and have dinner together. At the same time, we will discuss shoe models for the festival.

Defne crossed the threshold and turned around. She looked into his dark eyes and firmly answered:

"Omer, go to Lunch r-t." And then to your wonderful, comfortable and stylish home. Your place is there.

"My place is where you are ..." the words hit the tree and bounced off like rubber ball. Defne closed the door in front of his nose and did not even hear the answer.

Omer sighed, put his hands in his jeans pockets, and, bowing his head, sauntered to the stairs that led to his new home.

"Hello," a throaty voice called out.

He looked around. A girl of about twenty turned to him. Tall, thin, with high-ponytail, bleached blond hair.

This blond hair did not fit at all with dark skin, and wide black eyebrows and lilac mother-of-pearl lipstick added to the face roughness.

"Hello," Omer answered coldly and stepped on the first step.

But the girl was not going to give up and came almost close to the stairs.

"So you're the new neighbor." Class! We didn't have such chic men at our place.

"I think you're exaggerating."

Omer felt a dull irritation rise from the depths and fill his chest.

"My name is Sabrina," the girl introduced herself. Omer nodded silently and walked up the steps. Without waiting for an answer, she continued: - And you are the famous designer of shoes Omer Iplikci. I saw your photo in the magazine. But why did you move to live in our area?

Omer went to the door. Looking back he answered:

"I had very serious reasons for this," he went into the apartment.

The door closed tightly behind him. This disregard for her person hurt the girl. Here, in the district, she was considered the first beauty and got used to male adoration and courtship. And here - a completely ignore.

Pulling her lips, she turned and ran into a square, muscular figure.

- Ay, whom I see! - exclaimed the guy. "Sabrina, the light of my eyes, do you want to take a walk with the King?"

- Mehmet, get lost! - the girl shouted at him with irritation. "And stop calling yourself king." Disgrace only.

"Have you laid eyes on this sleek dude?" He squinted unkindly.

- This dude is a famous designer and a rich man. Behind the house is his car. It costs more than our entire neighborhood. And a driver with a housekeeper is available. I saw her cleaning the apartment today. Even nasty Fatima likes her and was talking nicely, as Mr. Omer would be comfortable in this apartment, "Sabrina laughed briefly, and then brought her face closer to Mehmet's face and demanded:" So go your way, but don't come close to me. " I don't want him to think that I'm having anything to do with you.

She straightened up, proudly cocked her head and, wagging her hips, slowly walked along the street.

The guy frowned and gritted his teeth. He has been courting this beauty for two years and to no avail. And then, as soon as some dude appeared with his expensive car, driver and housekeeper, how did the impregnable Sabrina melt? Uh, no! With the King, such tricks do not work.

***

Dressed in cropped jeans and a white, loose shirt, Defne went to the refrigerator. But the open door did not please her. A couple of tomatoes, wrinkled eggplant and a bunch of withered salad. On the side shelf, there is an almost dried bun with cheese, on the bottom shelf, there are leftover baklava and rose jam. Not much. To dress again and go to the store was neither strength nor desire. Sighing, she reached for the bun and at that moment the doorbell rang. Thinking that it was the mistress who came for the rent, she trudged to open.

There was no one behind the door. And on the wooden steps, there was a red saucepan. Defne picked it up and opened the lid. Inside, in tidy rows was dolma. She closed the lid, raised her head and called:

- Okay. Come in!

Without shutting the door Defne went into the apartment. Behind she heard the click of a slammed lock and hasty steps.

Omer followed her into the kitchen and, opening the door of the closet, busily asked:

- Where are your plates and glasses?

"On the middle shelf," Defne answered, warming up the dolma.

"I already saw it," Omer took out several plates and two glasses. - Do you have any bread?

- No, unfortunately.

- I have. Sukru bought. I will bring it now.

While Defne set the table, he ran upstairs to his apartment and returned with a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of ayran.

- Ayran? - surprised Defne.

"What's so strange about that?" - Omer handed her the bread, and he began to pour into glasses a cold, white, deliciously smelling liquid.

"Omer Iplikci is associated with coffee and wine, but not with ayran," explained Defne a little mockingly.

"We have the wine ahead," thought Omer, and answered aloud:

"You see how much you still don't know about me."

"So you didn't want me to know this side of you," Defne put down a basket of bread on the table.