Game of Love (49 page)

“Thank you. You have a lot to be proud of.”

Mari whispered a little prayer as she crossed herself.

“You don’t know this yet,” he said, glancing from one to the other. “She will tell you in about an hour or so. Please be surprised when she does. The plan is once all our guests arrive, we will announce our engagement.”

A sound escaped Mari’s mouth. Xavi’s eyes turned glassy.

“And I thought it appropriate I ask her father for her hand.” Andre stared eagerly at Xavi.

The air left the room.

“She doesn’t know,” Andre continued in a soft tone, “and I will not be the one to tell her. This is something that will remain between the three of us if that’s what you want, but I think she could use her father today.”

Mari wept.

Andre had suspected–from Xavi’s protective stance, his height, physical build, and large, powerful calves–all telltale signs of an athlete. But Xavi’s smile sealed it. The partial face in the picture had enough elements for Andre to make the match with the man who stood in front of him. The jaw line, the lips, the teeth. Gemma had the same smile. But it seemed to Andre that Xavi–or Javier–had not smiled in a long time. How could he when he had abandoned his own child all those years ago? Guilt. Embarrassment. All of the above. The choice Xavi had in front of him would not be an easy one to make.

“She’s outside, waiting to take a long walk on the beach. I’m actually a bit tired,” he said, eyeing Xavi. “Maybe you’d like to keep her company?” A beat. “Choices and action,” Andre said.

Xavi turned to Mari, her eyes expectant. Xavi drank his espresso in one shot, then marched off. He stopped, came back, and hugged Andre. “Thank you,
hijo.
”

Mari sat next to Andre and held his hand.

“You came to Javier’s rescue after Ginger passed away?” he asked.

She nodded and wiped a tear. “What do you think will happen?”

Andre studied her hand then gazed into her hazel eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But I am convinced love has magical powers.”

<

Morning of May 26, 2010, Paris: I stumbled into the hotel elevator. I had not slept well, which was typical for me on international business trips. I was in mid-yawn when the doors slid open and in walked the talented Dominika Cibulková. Not my coolest moment, I admit, but I recovered fast enough to wish her luck. Thanks to me, she won that afternoon’s match. 

The French Open was in full swing and many of the athletes were staying at the same hotel. So over breakfast I thought about a tennis star’s lifestyle. Can a celebrity athlete have a “normal” life? Can they trust anyone? Then I remembered a “What if…” situation I had jotted in my journal months earlier. It all came together and in that moment, the random idea found its soul. On my return flight, I wrote the “breakfast scene.” The seed which was found on a business trip, transformed into this novel.

Some may wonder about Andre’s gifts. Do people like him exist? To just say yes, would probably not satisfy the doubter. To say that Andre is a composite of three different individuals that I have met over my years in the technology industry would be better. In the story, Andre recounts how at the age of fourteen he attended
USC
in Los Angeles (my alma mater). Amongst other programs, Andre was probably admitted into
USC’s Sidney Harman Academy for Polymathic
.

A quick search on polymath will lead to people like Leonardo Davinci who were gifted in diverse fields. Polymath focuses on
how
you think, not
what
you think. And unlike disciplines that focus on pure technical skills, polymath focuses on the intersection of technology, art, philosophy, and communication (yes, super intelligent people who can communicate like politicians—a scary concept which we may have to address in another novel). So yes, they are real and live among us. I also hope the truly gifted are like Andre in that they appreciate hard work, a good cup of coffee, and a healthy dose of Nutella.

This writer became an author thanks to a tribe of professionals and friends.

My superstar agent, Stacey Donaghy, fell in love with the story and opened the doors to my dreams. And when things could have gone terribly wrong, she was my rock—a true partner.

Lisa Gus, Eugene Teplitsky, Andrew Buckley, Nikki Tetreault, Vicki Keire, Clare Dugmore, and the entire Curiosity Quills Press team—you guys are a dream to work with. My editor, Mollie Welsenfeld—you are a rockstar. Eugene, you took on the one thing that kept me awake at nights—my book’s cover—and converted it into something I am in love with. I am eternally grateful.

Freelance editor, mentor, and friend, Jean Jenkins—it’s an honor to work, brainstorm, and strategize with you. Michael Levin and Laura Taylor, you always believed in me and reminded me that it was just a matter of time. The incomparable, James Scott Bell whose books, workshops, and personal encouragement helped me evolve.

My critique partners on Game of Love, Andreh Andreson, Aline Ohanesian, Demetra Brodsky, and Norm Thoeming who went through every word, every plot point, and every cliché until we were all proud. Robin Reul and Kendall Roderick, I didn’t know you during the creation of this novel, but you are now part of my elite team. Kendall, thank you for giving my “brand” a professional look. And heartfelt gratitude to the rest of the three musketeers (Trey Dowell, Chase Moore, Kate McIntyre).

My Debut New Adult support group: Sophia Henry, Kate Lynn, Marie Meyer, Sribindu Pisupati, Meredith Tate Servello, Laura Steven, Amanda Stogsdill, and Jessica Ruddick. You guys (ladies) are the best.

My family of writers at the Southern California Writers’ Conference and the Santa Barbara Writers Conference who are driven by a passion for helping writers: the visionaries (Michael Steven Gregory, Wes Albers, Monte Schulz, Nicole Starczak), the staff, the workshop leaders (Matthew Pallamary, Marla Miller, Janis Thomas, Gar Anthony Haywood, Melodie Johnson Howe, Lorelei Armstrong), and all the conferees. You have been invaluable.

My brother, Armen Grigorian, for honoring me by lending the lyrics to his song, Empty Space. My dear friend, Armen Melik-Abramians, and his partner in photography Alan Falcioni, from FlashCube Photography for the headshots and extensive hours on Photoshop to make me look half-human.

The thousands on Facebook, Twitter, and blog who encourage and motivate—thank you!

And finally, my family and friends—thank you for being in my life. Make no mistake, I chose you. And would choose you every time.

Fight the good fight. Mine has just begun.

Armenian by heritage, born in Iran, lived in Barcelona, and escaped New York until he found his home in Los Angeles. Ara’s first eleven years were both busy and confusing. The fruit salad of languages would slow down his genetically encoded need to tell stories. Until then, an alter ego would be required…

He received an engineering degree from California State University Northridge and earned his MBA from the University of Southern California. Today, he is a technology executive in the entertainment industry. True to the Hollywood life, Ara wrote for a children’s television pilot that could have made him rich (but didn’t) and nearly sold a video game to a major publisher (who closed shop days later).

But something was amiss until his wife read him the riot act. “Will you stop talking about wanting to be a writer and just do it?” So with her support (and mandate), and their two boys serving as his muse, he wrote stories.