Stolen by a Sinner (Sinners #3)(53)

I sit down on the bed, taking in the beautiful box. It’s black with a leaf pattern all over it. It takes me a moment to process the excitement of receiving my first gift.

I stand up again and kneel in front of the armchair. With trembling fingers, I take the lid off, and then my breath catches in my throat.

Oh my God. It’s the dress from the window display.

I carefully lift the shimmering fabric from the box and hold the beautiful gown in front of me. My eyes start to mist up, and I blink fast.

Climbing to my feet, I quickly undress and step into the gown. I rush to the bathroom and lose my ability to breathe when I see my reflection in the mirror.

I look like Cinderella and not a maid.

But…

Emotions explode in my chest, and a sob bursts over my lips. Covering my face, I crouch down, my shoulders shuddering as sobs tear through me.

“Allah Allah,” Nisa exclaims. She pulls me up into her arms. “Lara, what’s wrong?”

“The dress,” I sob against her shoulder. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Allah Allah, that’s not something to cry about.”

Pulling away from her, I turn around. “I can’t wear it,” I cry, devasted that the one chance I get to wear something so beautiful to a party, the scars on my back ruin it for me.

“Oh.” Nisa places a hand on my back and comes to stand next to me. Giving me a comforting look, she says, “You can borrow one of my shawls. I have a silver and black one that will match the gown.”

My gaze snaps to her, hope unfurling in my chest. “Really?”

“Of course.” Gently she wipes the tears from my cheeks. Her chin quivers. “Stop crying before I join you, and then we won’t get any work done.”

I swallow the tears and turn to look at my reflection in the mirror. The fabric falls softly around my body, and with every movement, it shimmers.

“Did you get the dress yesterday?” Nisa asks as she admires the gown as well.

I shake my head. “It’s a gift.” I swallow hard as my throat threatens to close from the pressure of not crying. “Gabriel gave it to me.”

Nisa’s eyes snap to mine, surprise and hope all over her face. “He did?”

I nod, and no longer able to hide things from her, I admit, “I really like him, Nisa Hanim.” I brush a hand over the expensive fabric. “I think I’m falling in love for the first time.”

Nisa’s face crumbles, and I’m yanked into a tight hug. “Does he return your feelings?”

I nod against her shoulder. “I think so.”

“Allah Allah, this is a great blessing.” She pushes me back by my shoulders. “Tomorrow, I’ll style your hair and help you with your makeup. You’ll be the most beautiful woman at the party.”

I nod, and laughter bubbles over my lips. “I can’t wait.”

She pushes me back into the bedroom. “Change so we can get to work. The family will arrive at ten am. We need to have everything ready.”

I wait for Nisa to leave the room, then carefully step out of the gown. I let it hang against my closet door, so I can see it whenever I’m in the room.

I quickly dress in a pair of light blue jeans and a soft cream sweater, then slip on the black ballet flats again. I rush through my morning routine before hurrying to the kitchen.

I’m so busy, time flies. As I place a tray of baklava on a cooling rack, Nisa comes into the kitchen, grumbling, “They’re already driving me insane.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, in no hurry to meet them.

“Nisa Hanim, this. Nisa Hanim, that,” she keeps grumbling.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

She gives me a pleading look. “Will you take tea to them? They’re in the sitting room with Alya Hanim.”

“Of course.” I quickly prepare the tray and give Nisa a cup so she can rest while I tend to the guests.

When I enter the east wing, I hear a burst of loud laughter. I don’t understand what’s being said as they’re speaking Turkish.

The moment I walk into the sitting room, the conversation stops. I glance at the two women, noticing their features are much darker than Alya’s. They have curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and it looks like they’ve been in the sun for days.

“Bu kadın kim?” The older woman asks.

“This is Lara,” Alya Hanim answers. “Lara, this is Gabriel’s aunt and cousin, Ayesenur Hanim and Eslem.”

“No Turkish?” Ayesenur Hanim asks.

“No, Lara’s Polish.”

“Allah Allah. Neden Polonyalı bir hizmetçi tuttun?” Ayesenur Hanim exclaims, looking as if she’s been insulted.

“English, Ayesenur. Lara doesn’t understand Turkish,” Alya Hanim chastises the older woman. “And I’ll hire whom I please.” She turns her attention to me. “Set the tray down, Lara.”

Oh. Right.

The younger woman, who seems to be in her early thirties, looks me up and down as if I’m dirty, making me feel uncomfortable. Then she comments, “She’s young for a maid.”

“Allah Allah! Lara’s not a maid. She’s just helping Nisa until she starts her studies,” Alya Hanim snaps.

I think I should leave. My presence seems to be upsetting everyone.