12. A Dames Gotta Do What a Dames Gotta Do
12
A DAMES GOTTA DO WHAT A DAMES GOTTA DO
With both parents occupied, I return to Leyla, who is still sitting by the fireplace but now with Ginny and Saffy beside her. “One down, one to go,” I say with a half-joking smile, plopping down next to them.
Ginny glances over at Deniz, who is now laughing heartily with my father. “He’s already got your father wrapped around his finger.”
“I see that.” I watch as my dad shakes Deniz’s hand like they had just made the business deal of a lifetime. “But he’s going to need more than matching socks to win over my mother.”
Leyla snorts, shaking her head. “Does he have a strategy?”
I roll my eyes, thinking about the mountain we have yet to climb. “Charm, patience, and maybe bribing her with a couple of grandchildren.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I hope you’re right. It’s just, you know, my mother can be so intense.”
“Intense?” Ginny’s eyes widen in mock horror as she throws her hands up dramatically. “You don’t need to tell me that. I’m still recovering from the tongue lashing your mother gave me after she found out you were going to stay in Türkiye. It was all my fault, of course.”
“My mum used to blame Sadie and Ginny for everything when we were kids.” I grin at Saffy. “They certainly took the heat off us a few times, that’s for sure.”
“We were the designated scapegoats. If something went wrong, it was automatically assumed to be our doing.” Ginny crosses her arms and smirks, leaning back in her chair. “Aunt Angela used to say that my dad was letting us run wild ‘up there in the sticks’.”
“What’s ‘the sticks?’”
“Palm Beach.” Ginny and I both burst into laughter. Palm Beach is one of the most affluent suburbs of Sydney and calling it ‘the sticks’ is downright absurd. I mean, Nicole Kidman lived there, for Pete’s sake!
“I think she was just annoyed that the cousins all wanted to spend their free time at our place.” A grin forms on Ginny’s face. “My dad was never home, so we had no parental supervision. No doubt we were ‘running wild,’ causing all sorts of mischief and mayhem. It was like a never-ending sleepover with zero adult interference.”
“My mum would turn up at all hours and always catch us doing something wrong.”
“I can’t tell you the number of times she would threaten us with the belt when we were young.”
“That sounds awesome,” Saffy chimes in.
Ginny and I both gape at Saffy in disbelief. Getting a whooping by Angela Russo was never fun.
“Awesome? Are you serious?”
“It does,” Saffy replies sheepishly. “I don’t have any cousins. My father doesn’t have brothers or sisters, and his cousin’s families are a bunch of hoity-toity wankers. They’re practically royalty, so it’s all about being seen as proper.”
“Hold on,” Ginny leans forward with curiosity. “Is Albert related to the royal family?”
“My grandmother is a descendant of King Charles II,” Saffy says, with a hint of pride in her voice.
“The current King?”
“No, he was the King of Scotland like a billion years ago.” Saffy giggles. “But it does mean I’m related to Kit Harrington which is even better. He’s so dreamy!”
“Yes, he is.”
“Dad was knighted about 20 years ago though.”
Ginny’s mouth gapes open. “What does that make our mother?”
“Dame Valentina.”
Both Ginny and I burst into laughter. Aunt Valentina is a Dame? It’s hard to imagine, but then again, she always did walk around like she was one royal decree away from a crown.
“Are you a Dame as well, Saffy?” Ginny asks with a grin. “Am I?”
“Do I look like a Dame?”
“Definitely not.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, being noble isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There are so many rules and expectations.”
“Like what?”
“Like how you have to always be on your best behaviour, and you can’t just be yourself. Everything is about appearances,” Saffy explains, rolling her eyes. “It’s exhausting.”
“I’ve heard just about everything now!” Ginny shakes her head, still amused. “My mother has definitely come a long way from ‘the sticks’.”
“It’s quite the family tree you have there.” I’m still giggling at the idea of my Aunt being a Dame. “I must admit, I never thought I’d be related to someone who’s related to Kit Harrington.”
“It’s a shame he’s married. I think he and I would be perfect together.”
“Married, and maybe two decades too old for you.”
“I totally have a thing for older men.” Before Ginny and I can wrinkle our noses in mock disgust, Saffy sighs dramatically and changes the subject. “Speaking of which, I guess I’ll go talk to my dad. Wish me luck!”
I was about to crack a joke about asking her dad for dating tips when Ginny squeezes Saffy's hand reassuringly. “Aydin and I have got you. You’re going to be fine.”
“What’s going on?”
Ginny leans in, her voice low. “Saffy’s ex is a nightmare, so she’s going to speak to her parents about him.”
“Are you serious?”
Ginny nods emphatically. “It’s pretty bad. He’s not a great guy, and she asked if she could stay with us for a while. We have the space, so why not? And this could be a good chance to get to know her better.”
“Wow, that’s a pretty big ask from someone you’ve just met.”
“I just want her to feel safe.”
“What’s she going to do while she’s with you?”
"She’s training to be a chef, so she’ll be able to work at the restaurant. And it’ll also give her the time she needs to recover from what she’s been through.” Ginny’s voice drops, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. “It’s really bad, Olive.”
I glance over at Saffy, who, instead of talking to her father, is now sitting cross-legged on the floor with the children, fully immersed in their game of Uno. She laughs, playfully teasing the kids as she draws another card. “Are you sure she’s aware it’s bad?”
“I guess she’s a procrastinator.”
“She’s definitely a Russo then.”
We both giggle at that. Ginny and I are definitely procrastinators, always putting things off until the last minute.
Our laughter is cut short by my mother’s voice from across the room. “Olive? Is your male friend ever going to introduce himself to me, or am I expected to initiate that myself?”
Geez, who’s the real dame in this family?
With a deep breath, I walk over with my mother to where my father and Deniz are still engrossed in conversation. I slip my arm around Deniz, offering a little positive reinforcement for what’s to come, and he responds with a sweet kiss on my cheek. “Deniz, this is my mother, Angela. Angela, meet Deniz.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Angela,” Deniz greets her with a smile that could melt glaciers. “Don’t you look lovely in that dress.”
I’d already given him the memo to compliment the dress.
“Why, thank you, Dennis.” My mother seems pleased by the compliment and my father flashes a knowing grin at Deniz. Clearly, Dad must have given him a heads-up as well.
“Deniz was just telling me about his olive production. They have just started to export to Australia.”
“But I think the best olives in the world are still found in Italy. Nothing else compares,” Deniz nods at my father. “My team are currently working at making a hybrid with our trees.”
Deniz and I had visited Verona last year, and we spent quite some time in Liguria exploring the wonderful mills and orchards.
“You went to Italy, didn’t you?” Angela turns her attention back to me, after all she’s annoyed at both of us equally and needs to share the glare. “Did you see Luca there?”
“No, mum. He was in Sicily.”
My mother side-eyes Deniz, clearly ready to make sure he knows just how much she blames him for ruining my life. “Luca was Olive's fiancé, did you know?”
I sigh, wishing I were anywhere else. “No, Mum. He wasn’t.”
“Well, he wanted to be, if you hadn’t had been so foolish.”
“I’m happy. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
She stands there, arms crossed, eyes blazing with the intensity of a thousand disapproving Italian mothers. Her expression says it all: I’ve disappointed her in every conceivable way.
“Living on a boat is not a life.” Her voice is sharp enough to cut through steel. “And you can’t raise a family like that.”
I take a deep breath, trying to summon patience. “Mum, we’re happy. Deniz and I love our life together. It may not be conventional, but it’s our life. And for the record, Luca and I? We were never going to work out. He wanted different things. He wanted... well, he wanted someone who wasn’t me.”
Her gaze softens for a moment, a flicker of something almost like understanding passing through her eyes. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the familiar mask of stern maternal concern.
“You’ll regret it,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Mark my words.”
I can’t help but smile, a small, defiant grin. “Maybe. But if I do, at least they’ll be my regrets. And I can live with that.”
Deniz steps forward, his usual calm demeanour firmly in place, though I can see the flicker of tension in his eyes. “I completely understand your concerns, Angela. We’ve been travelling for some time, but we will soon be returning to Bodrum, where we do have a home. Ginny and Aydin are our neighbours. Our life on the boat has been an adventure, but it’s not aimless drifting.”
He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I want you to know that Olive and I have a plan. We’ve discussed our future, and it includes stability. The yacht is our escape, our getaway, but Bodrum is our anchor?—”
My mother isn’t finished though and cuts him off. “And another thing. You’re not working. I didn’t raise you to not be productive. You must be bored sitting around with nothing to do all day.”
I can’t argue with her because she’s right. In our family, everyone has always been driven to work and achieve something meaningful. Even as children, we had our responsibilities and jobs. Leo had a paper route, Ciara and I babysat regularly, and Rosie started her online clothing business at a young age. But now, here I am, spending my days on this luxurious yacht, basking in the sunshine, and admittedly, it's starting to feel a little monotonous.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s a life many people could only dream of—endless days at sea with stunning views and a gorgeous man at my side. But if I am being honest with myself, sometimes it can get a bit dull, especially if Deniz is working. There’s only so much staring at the horizon one can do before yearning for something more. And that’s why I’ve been talking to my friend Kat about renting a commercial space and opening a shop in Bodrum.
Not just any shop, but a quaint bookstore specialising in English-language books, but with wine. Because, let’s be real, what’s better than diving into a good book with a glass of red, white, or maybe even something a little stronger in hand? Picture it: cozy reading nooks, shelves overflowing with books, and a small bar serving everything from Merlot to Malbec.
I know Mum’s right though. I need to find something fulfilling to do, something that gives my days more purpose. Opening a bookstore feels like the perfect venture, and as a librarian in my past life, it’s something I’m truly passionate about. “Yes, mum. I’ve been thinking about that.”
Deniz shoots me a curious look, but I know now is not the right moment to talk to Deniz about my idea. Just as I’m about to change the subject, Deniz’s mother, Refika, comes to the rescue, gracefully carrying the biggest and most impressive turkey I’ve ever laid eyes on. “ Afiyet olsun! Lunch is served!”