I notice Nisa takes out curved glasses in which she serves the tea. Beneath each glass is a small plate with a light blue and gold pattern.
I try to memorize everything as quick as possible as Nisa shows me how to pour the tea. She uses a double teapot contraption, the bottom half holding the boiled water and the smaller teapot containing brewed tea.
“I like my tea strong, so I never add boiling water,” Nisa explains. She glances up at me. “How do you like your tea?”
Ahh…
We only had water at Tymon’s mansion.
“I’m not sure? Normal?”
Nisa lets out an amused chuckle and pours an equal blend of water and tea, the red color much lighter than hers. She also adds sugar to mine.
The whole process took thirty minutes.
Gone are the days of making a quick cup of tea.
“Thank you, Nisa Hamin,” I murmur as I take my glass of tea from her. I sip tentatively on the hot liquid and have to admit it’s much better than water.
A small smile tugs at my mouth as I drink some more, then I catch Nisa grinning at me.
“It’s delicious,” I compliment her.
“You won’t get any work out of me before I’ve had my tea,” she says, her tone light and friendly. Her eyes flick over me, then she says, “Tell me about yourself.”
I set the glass down on the small plate. Not knowing what to say, I shrug. “I’m a hard worker.”
Nisa shakes her head. “Tsk. No, tell me where you’re from, about your family, how you ended up working for someone like Tymon Mazur.”
My eyebrows lift slightly. Is this a Turkish thing? I never had conversations with the other staff.
“Ah… I’m Polish.” Then I think to quickly add, “But I have citizenship in America.” I fidget nervously with the fabric of the dress. “My mom died when I was twelve, and I have no other family.” I shrug again. “I took over her position as a maid after she passed.”
Nisa blinks at me. “You’ve been working as a maid since you were twelve?”
I nod.
“Allah Allah,” she exclaims dramatically, making me stare wide-eyed at her. “That’s no childhood.” She pins me with an intense look. “Did you go to school?”
“Yes. Until I was sixteen.”
“Allah Allah.”
It’s not that bad.
Just then, Gabriel walks into the kitchen. I quickly straighten my posture, fold my hands in front of me, and respectfully look down.
“Gabriel Bey,” Nisa says, her tone still pitching. “The girl didn’t even get to finish school.”
Gabriel says nothing as he takes a bottle of water from the fridge.
Today he’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and an olive green jacket. Gone are the brown leather shoes, and in their place are black boots.
He almost looks like a normal human being and not a mafia boss.
A very attractive human being.
Isn’t he going to work? What day is it?
“Will we be having breakfast soon?” he asks.
Nisa waves a hand at him, and again my eyes widen as she shoos him out of the kitchen. “Have I ever let you starve?”
“There’s always a first time.” The teasing tone in his voice has me peeking at them.
When we’re alone again, Nisa says, “Let’s get to work. You can continue telling me about yourself while we prepare breakfast.”
While I help Nisa prepare pide which is a Turkish flatbread, I tell her how we weren’t allowed to have any kind of relationships. Friendships of any kind were strictly forbidden.
When she’s gaping at me like a fish out of water, I murmur, “It’s not something I’m used to.” I give her a sheepish grin. “But I’ll do my best to learn.”
She lifts her eyes to the ceiling as if she’s praying, then mutters, “Allah Allah.” Patting my shoulder, she gives me a comforting look. “I’ll teach you everything, Lara Hanim.”
Emotions shoot through me like a rocket, and I have to swallow hard to keep them down. Clearing my throat, I get back to work.
You’ll be okay.
Chapter 11
Gabriel
After breakfast, where I was glad not to see Lara serve us, I settle in a chair to enjoy some tea with my grandmother.
“I hear you gave the woman a job,” my grandmother casually says before sipping on her beverage.
“It’s temporary,” I mutter.
Emre comes in and helps himself to tea. “What are we talking about?”
“About the woman,” Babaanne （grandma） informs him. “I’m curious as to why Gabriel gave her a job.”
Letting out a sigh, I ask, “Would you rather I kill her?”
“Allah Allah.” She gives me a scowl. “Don’t make the food sour in my stomach.”
“It was the only other option,” I state.
“I suppose you couldn’t let her return to Mazur,” Babaanne agrees.
Letting out a sigh, I explain, “It’s just for the time being until I figure out what to do with her.”
“It might be a good thing. Nisa isn’t as young as she used to be and could use the help,” Babaanne agrees.
“I’ve instructed the woman to stay away from your side of the house so you won’t be bothered by her,” I inform my grandmother.
“Pfft.” She waves a hand. “I’ll have to meet her at some point.”
Not if I can help it.
“What’s her name?” she asks.
“Lara Nowak,” I answer. “She’s Polish.”
My grandmother nods, then murmurs, “Lara. Such a beautiful name.”
With the tea finished, I get up and excuse myself, so I can catch up with the news. It’s my Saturday routine before I head over to one of the clubs.
I walk to my private living room on the west side of the house, and when I pass by the sitting room, I hear Nisa say, “Slow down, Lara Hanim! You don’t have to clean the entire house in an hour.”
“Sorry, Nisa Hanim,” Lara murmurs respectfully.
Stopping, I turn back to glance inside the sitting room. Lara’s polishing the ever-loving shit out of the coffee table.
Nisa places her hand over Lara’s, then gives her a compassionate look. “Slow down. There’s plenty of time, and you’re still healing. We don’t want your wounds opening up.”
Emotion washes over Lara’s face, and for a moment, it looks like she might actually cry, but then Nisa says, “It’s okay. You’ll learn everything soon enough, but you don’t have to work yourself to death. Okay?”
“Okay.” The single word sounds small and vulnerable, and it does something weird to my heart.
Jesus, the woman must’ve worked her ass off in fear that Mazur would kill her for the slightest thing.
Shaking my head, I walk to the living room and settle into my comfortable recliner. I switch on the TV and select CNN, then pick up my tablet so I can read my newspapers.
I get to relax for an hour before Nisa and Lara walk into the living room. “Do you want us to come back later, Gabriel Bey?”
I shake my head. “No, go ahead.”
They start to clean the room, and when I hear Lara whisper ‘sorry’ for the third time, I glance up. I stare at her, which probably isn’t helping her nerves. She peeks in my direction, and catching me looking at her, she lowers her eyes and starts to dust the ornaments on the mantlepiece as if her life depends on it.