Stolen by a Sinner (Sinners #3)(58)

“There are messages you need to respond to,” Murat adds.

“How do I unlock the screen?”

Murat comes to stand next to me to help, and when the messages open, he moves away, muttering, “So not what I needed to see before having tea.”

I read the two texts Gabriel sent.

I was so fucking hard hearing you come, baby.

I’m jealous of my bed.

I let out a chuckle, my cheeks flush bright red, and turning my back to Nisa and Murat, I type out a reply.

It was really comfortable.

I’m just about to put the device in my pocket when it beeps.

Can’t wait to see you in the dress.

With a wide smile on my face, I get to work. I’m so excited about tonight. I feel like Cinderella going to the ball, and I have my own prince that will be there.





Chapter 36


Gabriel



When I get home, there is barely enough time to shower and dress in a clean suit before the party starts.

I hate that I couldn’t get home earlier and missed most of my grandmother’s birthday.

Hurrying to the entertainment hall, I hear the buzz of voices from the guests that have already arrived. When I walk into the room, there’s an audible pause before the guests continue their conversations.

My gaze sweeps over all the people, and not seeing Lara, I walk to where my grandmother is standing next to Emre.

When I reach her, I pull her into a hug. “Mutlu Yıllar, Babaanne,” I wish her a happy birthday.

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it,” she chastises me.

“I hate all the guests but wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Turning around, I search through the crowd. “Where’s Lara?”

“I’m not sure,” my grandmother starts to say, but then exclaims, “There, by the door.”

My eyes snap to where Lara is standing, and I lose the ability to breathe.

Holy fuck.

She’s styled her hair in soft waves, and makeup highlights her cheekbones and lips. The fucking dress fits her like a second skin, showing every damn curve of her body. “Jesus,” I mutter as I walk toward her, thankful for the shawl over her shoulders.

I clearly didn’t think this through when I bought the dress for her.

Lara looks like a goddess and nothing like the maid I stole from Mazur.

I hate that other men will get to see her in the dress.

When I reach her, I take hold of her chin, tip her face up, and plant a possessive kiss on her lips so everyone will see she’s mine.

Pulling back, I say, “You look breathtaking, Ödülüm.” Taking a step backward, my eyes drift over her body. “I hate that other men will see your beauty.” Locking eyes with her again, I order, “Don’t you dare leave my side tonight.”

“Okay.” She smiles, and I almost bark for her to stop because it makes her eyes sparkle like stars.

I’m probably going to kill the first fucker who looks at her.

Christ, help me.

Taking her hand, I link our fingers and pull her to my side. “I’d much rather take you to my bedroom and strip you out of that dress than attend this party,” I mutter under my breath so the guests near us won’t hear.

Glancing down at Lara, I see the excitement on her face as she looks at the décor, the food, and the guests.

It’s her first party, asshole. Let her enjoy it.

I lead her to my grandmother.

“Lara, you look beautiful,” my grandmother beams. Her eyes dart between us. “This is the best birthday gift ever. It’s all I wanted.”

“It’s a lovely party,” Lara says, the smile not leaving her face.

“Pfft.” Babaanne gestures between Lara and me. “I’m talking about you and Gabriel. I’m happy you’re a couple.”

Happiness shines from Lara, making her sparkle like a diamond. “Me too.”

“I’m going to make the toast.” Giving Lara a pointed look, I say, “Stay with my grandmother.” I glance at Emre. “No one comes near her.”

“Evet,” he mutters as he moves in behind Lara.

I walk to the small podium and tap on the microphone. Everyone goes quiet and turns to face me.

Christ, I hate this.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I want to thank you all for attending my grandmother’s eighty-fourth birthday. She doesn’t look a day over forty-eight, right?” There’s a chorus of agreement.

A server brings me a flute of champagne, and I hold it up. “To the most amazing woman who raised Emre and me. Happy birthday, Babaanne.”

Cheers erupt from the guests. I take a sip of the bubbly liquid, then make my way back to Lara.

“Short and sweet,” Emre jokes.

I give my cousin a scowl. “The next time you give the toast.”

“There’s no next time, remember,” he chuckles.

The music resumes, and setting down the glass on a nearby table, I hold my hand out to my grandmother. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.” She places her palm in mine, and I lead her to the middle of the room. Pulling her into my arms, I look into the eyes of the woman who dried my tears and guided me through this life. It’s rare for me to say the words, but as I start to move with her over the floor, I murmur, “Seni çok seviyorum.” (I love you so much.) She gives my hand a squeeze. “Gözümün nuru.”