not your princess

SPOTTED: AYLA DEMIRCI in new york city! heard the TWENTY-NINE year old belongs to THE DEMIRCI MAFIA as the OPERATIONS & FRONTS DIRECTOR. word on the streets is that they can be  CUNNING and CHARMING, but they can also be EVASIVE and DISINGENUOUS.

Ayla had quickly settled into a routine within days of relocating to the city. A creature of habit, and a woman entirely dependent on her paper planner/iphone calendar combo, she liked to know exactly what each day would bring if at all possible. It didn't take long for her to decide that Monday mornings were for little treats, and she had fallen in love with Maison Lumiere. It was the perfect place to set up with her laptop, getting some work done as she sipped a cappuccino and a selected a different pastry every week.

The work done in a public place where anyone could catch a glimpse of her screen was, of course, completely above board. The Demirci family's business holdings were large enough that the status of each required constant monitoring and management, and given that the family name had made quite a splash in the media over the past month or so, it was rare to find an hour of the day that Ayla's fingers were not flying over her keyboard. She had been working for an hour straight before she finally had a moment to take a breath and, despite her near-constant excess of energy, order another drink. She rose from her table with an empty cup and saucer in her hand, then turned quickly and nearly tripped over another woman's feet. "Oh, I am so sorry," she rushed to apologize, catching the woman's arm as if to steady her. "Clearly I am in my own world. Or I'm going crosseyed from staring at a screen for so long."

Upon learning that she and her siblings would be relocating from Miami to New York, there was one person who Ayla immediately wanted to tell. She had formed a funny little friendship with the quirky ex-ballerina whom she had met years ago at the Miami Art Basel, a bond built on a shared love of art in all forms, from paintings to fashion to theatre, that had withstood the test of time and the nearly 1300 mile distance. Whether it was attending a NYFW show in carefully curated outfits or dining at the newest five star restaurant, Ayla had enjoyed every moment of their biannual gatherings over the years and was looking forward to making them much more frequent.

Months later, she was thrilled to wrap Cleo in a big hug the moment the other women walked into the cafe situated on the ground floor of the Park Lane Hotel. "Oh, I am so glad you're here!" she nearly squealed, pulling away to hold her friend at arm's length and study her for a moment. "You are as adorable as ever. Thank you for coming! I know we could go anywhere but there's so much happening here at the moment." Not that Ayla was actually in charge of anything on the premises beyond making sure the marketing team was on their game, but it felt important to stay close to her new home base for a little while, especially with the article announcing the purchase earning click after click on Channel 212's website. "Please, sit. We have so much to catch up on!"

As with every other decision the Demirci family ever made, the transition to New York has been carefully planned. The recent business transactions had been meticulously plotted for longer than anyone outside of the organization had anticipated, and the accompanying move for the latest generation of Demirci children had slowly but surely moved forward over the past several months. For Ayla, this was more than a strategic business decision (on both sides of the law), this was a childhood dream fulfilled. Upon first hearing her father's intentions for his children's next steps towards advancing the family business, a new pinterest board had been created, paint swatches had been obtained, and dozens of wallpaper samples had been ordered. Ayla knew exactly the type of home she would create for herself and exactly where she would make it, not caring that with her resources, she could secure nearly any available Manhattan address.

She now sat at the island of her new kitchen on the top floor of the Park Lane, lining up half a dozen pieces of tile with only the most minuscule of differences. Ayla stared at the tiles with slightly squinted eyes, her tongue caught between her teeth as she assessed the situation. "Which one for the powder room?" A few seconds of silence ticked by, too long a time period without a response for the slightly neurotic young woman, and her focus shifted to her sister. "I think I like number three, the flecks of gold really pop against the navy."

"We have work to do."

Ayla stood with her back to the window, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. In contrast to the major renovation she had begun a few floors above them the moment her father's signature on the acquisition deal had dried, the enforcer's lodgings in the Park Lane looked sad and dismal. Every room was perfectly serviceable, of course, and Ayla's idea of perfectly serviceable was more generous than that of any regular person off the street. But for long-term habitation, the furniture and decor of a standard room would not do. Especially for Mattia, who looked about as out-of-place among the decor as one could be.

"I know you don't care, but I'm not going to let you live out of one bag in a place that doesn't feel like you." Her glance shifted from the painting above the bed to Mattia's face. "We can change whatever you want. So what do you want? Because I don't believe for a second that the scalloped, tufted headboard is doing it for you."