Turkish Delights Series
Liz Crowe BUNDLE
Turkish Delights Series
Featuring
:
The Diplomat’s Daughter
Turkish Delights
Blue Cruise
Tulip Princess
Flower Passage
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Liz Crowe BUNDLE
(Turkish Delights Series)
Copyright 2013 by Liz Crowe
ISBN: 978-1-61333-480-5
Cover art by THP Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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The Diplomat’s Daughter
Turkish Names
(phonetic):
Levent
: Brave, courageous, handsome
Burak
: Lightning
Emre
: Eldest brother, friend
Tarkan
: Strong, bold
Lale (Lah-Lay)
: Beautiful Tulip. Tulips are indigenous to Turkey and only gained popularity in Europe when they were imported via the Silk Road trading routes.
Glossary
Anne
(Ah-nay): Mother
Amına koduğumun piçi
: (Ah-nuh-mah Ko-doo-uhm Pee-Chee): You fucking bastard
Babba
: Father
Bok
: Shit
Dur
: Stop
Evet
: Yes
Guzelim
: Beautiful one
Hammam
: traditional Turkish bath
Kucuk Olan
(Kuh-chook O-lahn): small one (endearment)
Luften
(Loot-fen): Please piç: (peach) bastard
Raki
(Rah-kuh): a traditional anise-based drink. It means “milk of the male lion.” It’s clear, poured over ice then turns a milky color when water is added.
Sikkafa
: (Sick-ah-fah) Dickhead
Simit
: (Sih-mit) a bagel-like “street bread” covered in sesame seeds.
Suleyman
: reference to the tenth and longest reigning Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. Also known as “Suleyman the Magnificent”
Yabanci
(ya-bun-jah) foreigner, (pejorative)
Chapter One
Vivian tore her gaze from the large windows, and tried to ignore the tedious professor. She tugged a lock of her dark hair over her eyes. The stupid, frumpy outfit her father made her wear to school chafed every inch of her skin. She glanced around, not finding anyone interesting to stare at in the stuffy economics classroom. Frowning she looked over her shoulder, bored, angry at her circumstances, and itching to get out of the confines of the room. It was stifling hot already. Her thoughts wandered to her plans for the evening with her friends.
They’d discovered an old Roman cistern that had been transformed into an illicit nightclub. Precisely the right amount of danger, served up with imported whiskey, local cigarettes, and attractive Turkish men plus a few daring tourists—the very thought of the place made Viv smile. Sneaking out of the consulate residence was a snap. Her father never paid attention to her anyway. Istanbul in the late 1960s was awash in tourist money and development. Plenty of trouble could be found if a girl knew where to search.
When her gaze met that of some hunky local staring at her like she was a water mirage in the desert, her skin prickled. His eyes were dark, his features sharp and striking. The dark tie and light blue shirt hugged his obviously strong torso. Her eyes narrowed.
Two can play the stare down game
. When he smiled, she gasped and her heart lurched into her throat. She whipped around and clutched her hands together on the desk.
Oh God
. It was Levent Deniz. Her childhood friend. The boy who’d made her early years as the daughter of a busy diplomat in this teeming city bearable. They’d spent countless hours playing in the parks by the Bosporus, daring each other through various mazes of dangerous boat docks, across rickety bridges through neighborhoods and streets where she had no business.
How could it be? She snuck a look back. Noted the unique color of his eyes—a soft, unusual, midnight blue—and that scar at the corner of his mouth, when he’d fallen and gotten injured trying to protect her from the feral dog that had chased them the last day she ever saw him. Yep. It was Levent all right. She turned again to face front, her heart pounding.
That day, his poor mother had been apoplectic. So had hers once they’d returned to her house. His father was the chief groundskeeper and his mother was the cook that came with the diplomatic residence where her family had lived. She’d technically been forbidden to play with him again. But it didn’t matter, because after that day, he’d disappeared from her life. She remembered desperately looking through the kitchens and back halls where he usually lurked doing his schoolwork while his parents worked to serve hers.
Damn. He’d gone and gotten handsome
. The years she’d spent back in the States after her parents’ divorce she’d nearly forgotten about him. Now she was back, thanks to her mother’s death and her father’s insistence on having her nearby. Stuck going to Robert College, getting into as much trouble as she could behind her father’s back, Viv hated every moment of her life since her return to Istanbul.
She snuck another look back over her shoulder at the young man. He had one dark eyebrow raised. His finger touched the scar at his full upper lip and he was staring right at her. Sweat break out under her stiff blouse. She crossed her legs.
This was an interesting turn of events. One for the diary for certain
. She grinned to herself, picturing her father, the newly appointed Consul General for the United States of America, all fat and sassy with his new wife and baby, when he caught her making out with that lovely hunk of Turk under the consulate steps.
Just what he deserved really
.
Vivian gave her old friend one last quick glance, letting her eyes soften so he’d know she’d recognized him. Her skin pebbled again under his intense gaze. She studied his broad shoulders, his classical, almost Roman, features. Lovely. And about to get into a perfectly delightful amount of trouble with her if she had any control over it. And she knew she did.
He leaned back in his seat, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and ran a hand through his thick hair.
Was he actually blushing
?
Yes. Delightful trouble
. Vivian grinned at him. It was a life changing moment that she would never, ever forget.
***
It never failed. Every time Viv felt even a little bit close to her father, that stupid simpleton of a wife would insert herself. She’d made a point to be on time for dinner in the lavish Consulate dining room for the express purpose of asking him about the family who that had served their former diplomatic home in Istanbul. But her stepmother was there, too, and their sniveling toddler, which always distracted him. It was as if he had short attention span problems with his kids. Could only focus on one and right now he loved that bratty little boy he’d spawned with his former secretary, the shiny new Mrs. Consulate General.
Vivian stared at the snot-nosed little kid who got all the attention. The spitting image of her father really: nearly hairless, red-faced, and complaining. She sighed and sipped her wine. After about twenty minutes of brainless baby-talk between the three of them she interjected. “Father, do you remember the Deniz family?”
Her father tore his gaze from the kid and frowned at her. “There are a million Deniz families. Which one are you referring to?” He took a bite of rich lamb stew.
“You know, from before. When we lived here.” She shot a significant glance at her father’s wife. “With
Mother
?”
He cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, right, well….” He made a show of remembering. “Ah, the boy who got cut, when you two were running around like a pack of wild dogs in the streets.”
“Yeah.” Viv let that one go. She needed the information worse than she needed to argue with him. “Him. What happened to them? Do they still…you know.”
“I heard something about the boy. What was his name?” He waved a hand, deeming it unimportant. “He is co-owner of one of the construction companies here now. Don’t know where he got the money.”
“Levent.” Vivian tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice.
“What? Oh yes, Levent. He was quite the trouble maker if I remember correctly.” Her father shot Vivian a withering stare. She returned it in kind. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought I saw him today. In class.”
“Hmm. That’s odd. Perhaps he’s getting an advanced degree.”
“No, he probably never went to university at all and is only now getting one.”
“Yes, one would suppose, wouldn’t one.”
Vivian rolled her eyes as her father returned his attention to his miniature, who’d dumped food on the floor. Vivian sighed. Her audience with the great man was obviously over. She tossed back the last of the one glass of wine allowed with a meal, stood and spoke. “I’m going out.” Her father and his wife looked up as if surprised she was even still in the room.
***
Levent stared out the window of his car at the massive construction site that would someday be the newest, fanciest hotel in the ancient city. He grabbed his hard hat and safety glasses and strode to the foreman’s temporary offices. His head was not right. There was a disquiet in his gut, something he was wholly unfamiliar with, and he could trace it right back to the moment today when he’d locked eyes with her.
The controlled chaos of the site and especially the office did nothing to dispel his anxiety. As the subcontractor for the larger construction company in charge, Levent and his business partner spent a lot of time sucking up and placating, serving as go-between for the contractor and the actual workmen. He’d spent nearly ten years as a lowly tradesman, learning all he could about building, from the smallest homes to large apartment buildings, office towers, and now resorts. He felt most comfortable amongst the actual workers as opposed to behind some desk. Heaving a huge sigh, he clapped on his hard hat, and headed out to see what fires needed putting out today, his mind still foggy with memory.
***
“
Levent
! Wait! I can’t. Ahh! Stupid skirt!” Vivian yanked her school uniform skirt up so she could dash across the rickety, Ottoman-era bridge where he stood. He laughed at her then turned away.
“Hurry up, girl, we will miss them.” He was on a mission. Wanted to see the American Navy’s boat as it made its way up the Bosporus on its journey to the Black Sea. The Cold War meant little to the boy other than it provided ample opportunity to watch military men, Turkish and American, making their way around his city and up and down the body of water that connected the warm southern seas with the chilly one bordering America’s mortal enemy, the United Soviet Socialist Republic.
“I don’t know why this is so important. We can go to the Marine base again if you want to see more soldiers.” She picked her way onto the ancient bridge, still holding her skirt up around her knees to make room for maneuvering. Once she reached him he’d turned the corner and sat, feet dangling over the dirty grey water of the Bosporus, eagerly scanning the horizon. She plopped down beside him, the wood creaking but holding up in the way things do when protecting children. She wiped a dirty hand over her eyes. He paid no attention to her. She tugged at his threadbare jacket. Loud male Turkish voices were all around them, mostly above, as there was a tea house attached to the old bridge.
At one point he gripped her hand and pointed. “Look there.” He’d taught her enough Turkish so she knew to follow his gaze. The undulating water held more secrets than anyone could imagine, and Levent loved watching it, imaging life in Ottoman times. She sighed.
