"Countess Cesare?" - surprised Deniz.

- Laura? - exclaimed no less in surprise Sinan.

Koray narrowed his eyes suspiciously and stared at the stranger with unblinking eyes.

- Who is she? - in one voice they quietly asked Defne Iz and Seda, but she just smiled and went to the girl dressed in an expensive black dress. She took her hand, squeezed encouragingly, and turned to the intrigued friends:

- I present to you the creative director of Sapphire Laura Cesare. Please love and respect.

The whole company spoke at the same time:

- What a surprise!

- Creative director? And you?

- What new firm? - exclaimed Koray. - Guys, what I do not know?

But no one paid attention to him. Everyone looked at Defne and waited for her answer.

"And I will do what I love most - to draw," she said joyfully.

Omer smiled slyly and raised an eyebrow. His whole appearance said: "Exactly? Do you like painting most of all? "

Defne's cheeks flashed with a crimson blush. She looked at her husband with a look not to embarrass her, but he only bit his lower lip, fixed his eyes on her lips, and his smile turned into a devilishly seductive one. Begging the butterflies in her stomach to calm down and lay down their wings, Defne turned away from Omer to lively talking colleagues and friends. Koray, with his head, pulled into his shoulders, circled a real Italian countess. Tranba asked her about her husband and was surprised that he had so long passed into the category of ex.

"Strange, I saw him last spring in Madrid, and he did not say a word about the divorce." When asked about you, he answered that you are in order and are engaged in a family business.

"More precisely, I was trying to keep her afloat," Laura said ironically.

- Did not work out? Sinan asked.

"No," she smiled sadly. - When two corporations, Rastrelli and Cesare, took as their goal the destruction of a small company and there was no help at all, but only sticks in the wheels ... But that doesn't matter.

It's just embarrassing for my mom. It was her inheritance... memory of her.

"She will understand," Defne lightly touched Laura's arm.

- The memory that will always be with you in the heart.

"You're right," she smiled gratefully and looked with interest at Iz and Seda. And of course, to the strange, pompously dressed man or a big child. Defne corrected the mistake and introduced the girls to each other. She didn't forget about Koray, and he proudly threw up his head demonstrating himself as the one and only. Seda warmly welcomed this acquaintance, and Iz was alert. The interest with which her newfound groom looked at the new acquaintance touched her and did not like this at all. And he, the insolent, did not even hide it. Carelessly held his bride by the elbow, and he gazed steadily at the Italian girl.

"Although I am also a shareholder of Sapphire, I'll try to convince you." In Tranba, the vacancy of a creative director is also free. A large company firmly on its feet, a good salary. Can you change your mind? After all, you once made a tasty and popular candy from a conservative chain of Cesare stores.

- No, Deniz! - firmly answered Laura. "I no longer want to relate to shoes and clothes." This door is completely closed. I'm interested in jewelry. And I was always interested. This is what I studied and what I want to do in life.

"Okay, I give up." Tranba raised his hands. - I'm also interested in the success of Sapphire. Therefore, I am glad of such an acquisition. Welcome!

- What kind of sapphire?! Cried Koray and Omer had to stop him with а stern look.

- Koray, not now. This is not the place or the time to talk about it. Tomorrow Sinan will tell you everything.

Koray pouted his lips resentfully but did not dare to object.

"Thank you," after waiting for the strange man to calm down, Laura answered to Tranba. She gracefully bowed her head with dignity and, taking Defne's arm, went with her to the window.

Deniz wanted to hug Iz again by the waist but received a nudge on the side. She looked at him warningly and walked away. Taking a glass of champagne from a tray, she measured her groom with a defiant look and took a long sip.

"Damn it! Deniz thought with a mixture of admiration and anger. "She also said that once a century she's going over alcohol." But today he needs Iz, not her unconscious body. He resolutely approached her, took the champagne, drank it in one gulp, and, returning the glass to the tray, pulled her by the hand. He led her out onto the balcony, pressed her back against the high, marble railing and, hanging over her entire body, demanded an answer:

- Why are you enraged?

- Get mad? She hissed like an angry cat. - What else was missing! It would be because of whom! She jerked, trying to free herself from the firm grip of his hands. - Let me go! Go ahead and make eyes to an old acquaintance.

- What eyes? What friend? Iz, are you crazy? - he shook her shoulders.

"He still asks which one?" The beautiful divorced Countess Laura! Just think - offers her the position of creative director in his company! To her, not to his bride!

- What? - always confident, arrogant Tranba froze with a stupidly open mouth and bulging eyes.

"What you heard," barked Iz.

Deniz shook his head and looked incredulously at the fury that his bride had turned into.

"Do you want to work at Trаnba?" And leave your precious Omer and his Passionis?

- Yes! I want! And you, a donkey thinking slow, didn't even think about calling me to your place. Let me in! She twitched again, but in vain.

Deniz looked at her in silent amazement, and then his face began to change. Lips stretched into a smile, which became wider and grew into a triumphant laugh. He grabbed her above the knees and swirled around the wide balcony.

- Crazy girl! Adore you. - He put her on her feet and pulled to the door. - Let's go let Passionis know that you are leaving them.

- So you agree? - Iz's anger transformed into confusion.

He stopped and clasped her bare shoulders.

- Do you ask? I did not even dare to dream of such a thing.

- That's in vain! She said whimsically and cringed. - Let's go inside. I'm cold.

"I didn't know that you knew Deniz and Sinan," Defne said to Laura.

She wanted to drink, and not just anything, but something sour, and she looked out for waiters offering drinks to the guests.

- With Sinan, we are familiar since the student years. He came to Milan to visit Omer. And Deniz and my ex-husband worked together four years ago, meanwhile, Laura answered.

- Yes, how small the world is.

- No need to say.

The girls exchanged knowing smiles.

"Will you help me understand the intricacies of the artistic valuation of jewelry?" - asked Defne.

- What's a question? With great pleasure. Will you introduce me to your grandmother? I want to learn how to cook Turkish dishes, and you said that she is an unsurpassed cook.

- Best one! - Omer came. He handed Defne a glass of sour orange juice and as if by chance, ran the back of his hand over her bare hand - not frozen. - Her dolma and rice-pudding is a work of culinary art.

"Grandma will be very glad," Responding to Laura Defne, she managed to send her husband a grateful smile. How did he guess that she wanted sour juice? "But be prepared that all the neighbors will come running to look at the real Italian countess."

"And how will they know?" Laura laughed.

- Ah, how funny you are! Such a guest will come to the house of aunt Türkan, and she will take cooking lessons from her, but she would not boast to her neighbors? Yes, this simply can not be! After all, this visit will raise her regional status to unprecedented heights," Defne explained cheerfully.

- Then let them come! - just as cheerfully agreed to Laura. - If it will please your grandmother, I will be glad!

Smiling Omer watched the girls. One grew up in the palace, the other - in the neighborhood of Istanbul. One studied art at the best Academy of Europe, the other - absorbing it, like a sponge, from the outside world. But there was something in common with both girls - the sincerity and kindness with which they looked at the world. With their stunning beauty, there is a complete lack of arrogance. Compassion for someone else's grief and a passionate determination to help, even if they will suffer. They were one of those women in the world that are unique, and their love was God's gift to the chosen lucky man. And he Omer, was so lucky. A man who was loved by a special, priceless woman. Angel. He will, until the last breath, perceive her love as the miracle and mercy of heaven.

Defne brought a glass of juice to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes closed with pleasure. Omer felt his chest fill with heat. His golden girl. There is nothing better than giving her joy and making her happy. There is no greater happiness than to love her.

Fikret watched Omer from the side. His look at his wife burned her insides with fire. How she envied her and wanted to be in her place. For Omer to look at her with love and tenderness, touching her, idolizing her. Is she asking so much? Why should his love belong to Defne and not to her Fikret? After all, she met him first. First loved him. And his wife was different. This is unfair!

She saw Tranba approach the three. He held Iz's hand and smiled a triumphant smile. Sinan and Seda followed. Tranba announced something, and the leaders of Passionis looked at each other, puzzled, and the girls shone with joyful smiles. Then the orchestra played a gentle melody and Countess Cesare was invited by an impressive man to dance. Tranba led away Iz, and Sinan Seda. Defne was invited by a gallant Frenchman and Omer was left alone. He stood with his shoulders straight and frowned at the dancing couple. And Fikret decided. Putting a half-empty glass on the tray, she went up to him and politely touched his shoulder. He flinched and turned to her.

Why did his eyes flare up not with joy but with irritation? Why? Is she a freak or a leper?

Damn Frenchman who admired Defne's hair so much, invited her to dance! Omer had difficulty controlling his anger. While he was digesting the news of Iz leaving for the company of Tramba, his wife was taken away directly from under his nose and he only had to watch, be angry, and jealous. Damn it! Another man is now touching Defne's supple back and enjoying her warmth and tenderness. The desire to decorate the face of this impudent man was simply irresistible. And he does not care that he will look like savage in this luxurious room.

The touch on his shoulder was as unexpected as unpleasant. He flinched and turned around. Behind him stood Fikret. Her smile could be spread on bread instead of marmalade. And Omer hated marmalade.

- Will you allow me to invite you to dance? She asked, and Omer gritted his teeth involuntarily. Seeing such a reaction, Fikret mockingly twisted her mouth. - This is just an ordinary dance with an old friend. I won't eat you.

Omer hesitated. To refuse a girl an invitation to dance was the height of indecency and bad manners. Realizing this, he sighed heavily and gave her a hand.

Fikret melted with happiness and at the same time choked with bitterness. Omer, touching her only with his fingertips, slowly stamped in place and did not take his eyes off Defne. And also, from time to time, he looked at the musicians, as if asking:

"And how long will you play this tune? Round off!"

Wounded, in such an attitude, she deliberately touched his neck with her fingers just above the solid collar of his white shirt. Omer jerked and removed her hand, moving it onto his shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, looked like a spiky January snow beating in her face, which she did not like so much in winter New York.

"Fikret, I hope you remember our conversation at the horse farm?"

The heart in the chest contracted painfully. A spasm in her throat made it difficult to speak, and she nodded silently.

- So, since then nothing has changed except that my feelings for Defne have become even stronger and she is now my wife. Beloved and precious. Do you understand?

Once upon a time, he also refused her but spoke with compassion and sympathy. And today was as cold as an ice shower. And in the same way, sobering her thoughts and dreams.

- Therefore, do not impose your friendship on me. I am grateful to you for the past, but after your trick with the letter and the suffering inflicted on Defne, we cannot even be friends. I beg you - stay away from me and from my wife.

Together with his words, the music ended. He stepped back, bowed briefly, and hurried to her. To his Defne. The new melody cut through Fikret's ear, but not Omer. He hugged his wife and led her into a dance. Almost to the point of decency, stroking her back and whispering something in her ear. And she laughed and looked at him with happy eyes.

Something cracked inside Fikret, and darkness, like poisonous smoke, filled the chest and replaced the remnants of light and heat.

Defne danced with him again, with her Omer. Again, in his hands, she turned into a weightless fluff, which was either wind or warm breathing spinning to the music. He whispered in her ear how bored and jealous he was, and she laughed and replied that the gods should not be jealous. That's why he is her God, to be the only one. Her words destroyed the jealousy and irritation that had recently possessed him, and they disappeared without a trace, leaving in his heart only the tenderness and ardent desire to love and protect the Angel.

But the sharks of the business did not doze. Although the business reception was saturated with romance, it remained business. As soon as the melody ended, an Arab tycoon took Omer for a serious conversation. Defne was left alone. With a light walk of a self-confident woman, she went to the window. The gray-blue silk of the dress flowed and circled at her feet. Defne stroked it with a palm and smiled. During these few days, she wore as many beautiful dresses as she did not have to wear in her whole life.

- And you are brave!

Defne would recognize that voice from a thousand.

Turning slowly, she looked directly into Fikret's eyes and asked:

"And what is my courage?"

"The choice of dress," she mockingly examined Defne from head to toe. - Nobody told you that women usually wear black dresses for business receptions at this level. In extreme cases, gray or beige. Bright colors - a bad tone and gives out an unsophisticated woman. You are the wife of Omer Iplikci and you should not dishonor your husband with a lack of taste and plebeian manners.

Defne's chest went cold. She noticed that almost all the women in the room were dressed in black, but did not attach any importance to this. After all, she loved her angelic dress so much. But it turns out - having dressed it, she dishonored Omer and made him a target for ridicule. But why didn't he say anything to her?

- Conventions - it's so boring!

Defne turned to the voice. Laura stood a step away from her and looked at Fikret ironically. Her smile was not arrogant, but there was something so elusively disparaging that Galo cringed inwardly and crossed her arms over her chest.

"By the way," the countess lifted an eyebrow and nodded at Fikret's pose, "you have just rudely violated etiquette." Crossing in a public place the arms on the chest for a woman is a bad tone and a sign of poor manners.

Fikret Galo dropped her hands sharply and blushed. Thoughts mixed in her head, and she only silently gasped for air. Without waiting for an answer, Laura continued:

- Defne's dress is an amazing, noble shade. It fits perfectly into the local atmosphere and revitalizes it. Moreover, it suits her very much. That can not be said about yours. Strangely, a world-famous fashion designer put on a dress that makes her figure look like an ebonite stick. I think I'm not the only one today who doubted your exceptional taste and design talent.

The crimson redness on Fikret's face gave way to dead pallor. She spun around and, measuring the sparkling, mosaic parquet with wide strides, headed for the exit.

"How well you said it," Defne breathed admiringly.

"Deserved," Laura answered firmly. "She wanted to humiliate you and put doubts in your soul and your strength." This is dishonorable, mean, and testifies that this woman hates you and wants to do evil. I have met hundreds in my life and I see through them all their vile intrigues. Be careful with her. Do not believe a single word and do not be afraid to put her in her place. Remember that you are unique and she is not suitable for you, she is beneath your level.

Defne listened to her with her mouth open with amazement and then asked:

"Are you an angel sent to me by heaven?"

"I think of you the same way," Laura laughed and called Defne with her: "Let's go celebrate with champagne our victory over the evil witch." And you will tell me in detail about both of your meetings with Ahtem.

- What exactly do you want to hear?

- All! Every little thing that you remember.

The girls went to the far end of the hall. There were velvet upholstered sofas and low tables where you could sit down and talk quietly.

Omer, who noticed Fikret already near Defne, was about to apologize to the Arab tycoon to rush to her aid, calmed down, and switched back to business conversation.

And Fikret, not seeing anything in front of her, ran down the old stairs. The subtle irony of Italian woman's words burned the brain with fire. She is the talented Fikret Galo! All America admires her fashion models, and damned Italy again questions her talent and taste. The first time this was done by Vanni to the whole world accusing her of plagiarism, and now - a sophisticated countess whose opinion all these high-born snobs are listening. But the plebeian from the neighborhood was greeted with open arms and was admired for her beauty and grace. Fikret ran out into the street and ran on the paving slabs into the depths of the night park. She stopped only when the chain of old lamps ended and the darkness became impenetrable. Raising her head to the inky sky, she screamed in fury:

- I hate her!!!!

***

The Iplikci took the lift up to their floor. The time was past midnight, Defne was tired and wanted to sleep. Leaning against Omer, she put her head back against his chest and closed her eyes.

- Tired? he asked softly, and she nodded. Then she smiled and answered:

"But happy." It was a wonderful evening.

The elevator stopped on their floor. Omer grabbed her in his arms and carried her down the hall to the door.

"Hold me by the neck," he asked, and holding her with one hand, the other took a magnetic key from his jacket pocket and put it to the electronic lock. Door opened. Omer brought his precious burden into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. She sighed in relief and whispered:

"How good ..."

"It will be even better now," Omer promised. He sat next to her and pulled a gray-blue shoe from her leg.

"Ah, how right you are," Defne twisted in the air, first one foot, and then the second, freed from the high heels. - Stilettos are beautiful, but convenient only in one case - when you are carried on his hands.

- What is the problem? I am always in favor, and my hands too," Omer smiled and leaned over her.