Tara YilmazA girl with long dark hair, eyes as blue as the sea, wearing a light blue veil and a long dark skirt got out of the pick-up truck: it was Alessandra, now going by the name Tara Yilmaz.
Goran got out too and walked by her side; the border was there, a few hundred meters ahead, and they could see the border patrol’s Jeep approaching, followed by a cloud of dust. Goran stopped Tara and, for the first time since she’d become part of the YGP, put his arms around her: we are brother and sister now, he whispered in French. Brother and sister, yes, she answered looking deep into his eyes.
Just then the Jeep stopped a short distance from them and two officers stepped out, one wearing a uniform, the other a gray suit. They didn’t so much as glance at Goran, and the man in the suit spoke
