Game of Love (9 page)

“You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you.” Her voice was solid, honest.

The emotion that overcame her was instantaneous. Gemma covered her eyes, pushing back the tears. “I was so, so close,” she whispered.

“You played with heart. That’s all that matters. That’s what Dad always said.”

Her chest cramped. “I wanted to win for him.”

“Win for yourself, not him. He’s in heaven, proud of you, cheering you on.”

“Proud? Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Despite what you think, he loved you deeply and unconditionally.”

“Was he proud when I decided to find my birth parents? Did he love me when I told him he’s not my real father?”

“You were an emotional teenager. He understood. I understood.”

“I let him down in life and haven’t been able to make him proud in death.”

“My, you make your life sound like a Shakespearean tragedy. But it’s all melodrama, I assure you.” She wasn’t mad, upset or concerned. She sounded amused. “He loved you. He just didn’t know how to express it. Don’t turn this journey of yours into his. It’s yours. And you did bloody well today. Lift off from here.”

When had she turned into a philosopher? She was right, of course. Which was why Gemma was going back to visit Xavi to heed his old-school advice. He knew how to center her. “I’m going to visit Xavi and Mari for a few days.”

“Good. He’ll set your head straight. Send them my best and remind Mari I still want her recipe for
Tortilla Española
. I know I’ve butchered her other dishes, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

“I love you, Mum.”

“Even though I don’t know how to dress properly or apply makeup?”

“Particularly because of those things.”

“A sex symbol becomes a thing. I hate being a thing.”
~Marilyn Monroe

hen Andre and Roger stepped out of the taxi at Charles de Gaulle Airport, he spotted a large, loud, and disruptive crowd. The mob flowed toward the Air France entrance. He caught a glimpse of the nucleus. Cameras flashed, highlighting a tall woman with long black hair, pushing through with two security guards and what appeared to be airport staff.

Gemma
.

“Goddamn paparazzi,” Roger mumbled under his breath.

Just then, from the way they moved and shuffled, focused solely on their target, Andre noted a pattern. They were susceptible.

“Do you like bowling?” Andre asked Roger.

“Bowling?”

Andre nudged his luggage, letting it roll down the entrance ramp’s decline. “Three, two, and–”

The luggage collided with the edge of the paparazzi. One stumbled, then grabbed the jacket of another. The chain reaction was immediate. Half fell to the floor. For an instant, the security personnel and Gemma looked confused.

“Strike!” Roger bellowed. Gemma whirled in their direction. Her eyes locked on Andre’s, and even though her crew moved quickly, the tether didn’t break until the sliding doors shut behind her.

“What the hell? Wasn’t she the tennis star we saw yesterday?” Roger asked.

“Yeah, maybe. Let’s go. Good deed of the day done. It’s time for our full cavity search. Airport security and rectal examinations are becoming synonymous.”

Andre eyed the headlines at the newsstand. Both English and French rags proclaimed the same message. “
Gemma is crushed after loss… Considering quitting tennis… Leaving country.
”

Andre and Roger had just found their way to the departure gate when a voice announced, “
Can Monsieur Andre Reyes check in with an Air France agent? Monsieur Andre Reyes to any Air France booth
.”

Andre spun around. “Did they just call me?”

“Yup. Probably screwed up something.”

That’s the last thing he needed. He just wanted to go home and enjoy his first vacation in years. An agent directed him to the Air France lounge, where he was then escorted to a semi-private table. A friendly face smiled up at him.

“Join me if you have time before your flight,” Gemma said, her eyes soft.

“Love to,” he said as he sat. The air seemed fresh, full of jasmine.

“Thank you for what you did,” she said.

He shrugged. “If not me–”

“Then who?” she completed.

Andre peered into her eyes. He didn’t see her typical posturing. She looked drawn, honest. She looked phenomenal.

“Do you get that all the time?”

“Every waking moment,” she said in a whisper. “I’m a target. Fair game. You see, fame inadvertently gives permission to have a camera shoved in my face wherever I go. I allow them to hang on my car, chase me down, and write anything they want about me. They know I will not retaliate. And if someone claims I did something wrong, true or not, I will always settle. Bastards like them can make a healthy living off me for as long as I matter.”

She paused, her eyes glistening, and glanced over her shoulder. Andre gazed in the same direction. Eyeballs were trained on them. She produced a rehearsed smile. One designed for public settings.

“Furthermore,” she whispered, “what I just told you will probably end up in
People
magazine. I can’t trust anyone. So why am I telling you?” Her smile faltered. “Call it temporary insanity.”

He was getting a sense for her world. Her small, suffocating world. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said, leaning in for more privacy. “And if I don’t, I’ll kick myself. It’s an important question.”

She sipped water through a straw, never breaking eye contact.

“Gemma, are you stalking me?”

She coughed, nearly spilling the water.

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He crossed his arms and leaned back. “This is getting very uncomfortable.”

“And I was so certain I’d covered my steps.”

“I’m very perceptive. Nothing gets past me.”

“I’ve noticed. Like, say, famous personalities?”

“Particularly those.”

“Yet you found your way to your stalker’s pathetic match.”

“What made it pathetic? I thought it was phenomenal.”

“That’s because the American won.”

“Are you sure? I was too busy watching two gladiators fighting it out. I wasn’t following the score. The score seems to trivialize the result, don’t you think?”

Her eyes widened. “Trivialize? In my world, the score is the only thing that matters.”

He considered what drove professional athletes: the love or the outcome of the game. “You were amazing. Poetic in the way you played.”

“Thank you, but I still lost.”

“Technical matter. Do you always let facts get in your way?”

“And how did you end up there? You were so convincing when you told me you didn’t know who I was.”

He read suspicion in her eyes. “It’s true. Sorry, didn’t mean to bruise your hard-earned celebrity. I had no clue who you were.”

“So it’s a coincidence? Breakfast, the bar, the match, and the airport?”

“Perhaps these things have nothing to do with you.”

She gave a sly smile. “Are you saying I think the world is all about me?”

“Well…”

“How dare you? Are you calling me self-centered? Do you know who I am?”

He rose his hands in surrender. “Not exactly self-centered, Your Highness. All I’m suggesting is you shouldn’t assume everyone’s out to get you.” He let it sink in for a few seconds. “Also, I thought we established you’re the one stalking me.”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“As for the game, my client invited me to the match.”

“What type of work do you do?”

“I solve problems. The kind people think can’t be solved.”

“As in mysteries? What types of problems are unsolvable?”

“I suppose they are mysterious at first. I help with technical problems, obscure math, scientific issues, and other messy stuff. Once my clients give up, they call me for help.”

“But you’re so young. Are you one of those brainiacs?”

His smile froze. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How exciting. Do you like what you do?”

“Sure, I guess. But the constant travel gets old–nearly debilitating.” The heaviness of his life weighed on him. Silence crept in. “At least on this trip I got to meet you.”

Gemma’s brow rose, and her lips parted slightly. A real, honest face emerged.

“So tell me, Gemma, do you like what you do?”

“
Boarding for Air France flight 77 to Los Angeles will commence in five minutes
,” the intercom announced.

“Crap, that’s my flight.” He paused, torn. He wanted to stay with her, but he had to go home, see his friends, and enjoy his first vacation in seven years. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again?”

“As your stalker, I’ll be sure to find you,” she said, then latched onto his eyes. “It was lovely talking to you. And again, thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Anytime.”

He rose, ready to leave, when he decided to lean in close to say something. She stiffened. Electricity hummed off her body. He slowly regained his composure. “Not everyone wants to use you.”

And when her eyes lit up, inches away from his face, he wondered if he could delay his flight home for just an hour. Or a week.

“There you are,” Roger said. “What happened? Did they screw up something?”

“No, all’s well,” Andre said as he collected his bag and headed toward priority boarding. He could feel Roger’s probing eyes against his back. There was no way he would tell Roger about Gemma. As good as M&T had been to him financially, they were no friend to the personal lives of their principal consultants.