Game of Love by Ara Grigorian Read Free Book Online Page B

weeks at Wimbledon. But each passing day held the possibility of an injury, a new star, a new nervous breakdown. Talent guaranteed nothing. She could lose in the first round.
    Her mobile rang. “Oh, bugger!” Gemma had forgotten to call back. “I’m sorry, Mum. I was packing and forgot–”
    “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