“Of course it wasn’t true,” Michael said, as though he was reading her mind. “That’s a classic tactic in big-ticket divorces. It was awful.” Michael looked embarrassed, like he regretted getting into all this.
“I love Ali so much. And to be accused of something so…” Michael drifted off. “Suzanna’s publicist made sure the story hit the papers. I had to defend myself to my own board.”
“Hearing stories like that makes me glad I decided to go it alone,” Christy said, finishing her glass of champagne. Michael’s experience freaked her out. The red-wine incident was just the tip of the iceberg of what could happen to her if she tried to take on a relationship.
“The judge threw the whole thing out. Anyway, we had a prenup. Before she pulled the child-molestation stunt, I’d offered her a lot more than we’d agreed to, but she wanted to keep Ali away from me. After she got my ass thrown in jail, I wouldn’t give her a penny more than the prenup unless she’d let me share custody.”
“And she wouldn’t?”
“Nope. She finally settled for the contract amount, but grudgingly.”
“And that wasn’t enough?”
“That’s what she said. But if a person can’t make ends meet on twelve million dollars in cash plus eighteen thousand a month in alimony, that’s just sad, don’t you think?”
Christy’s eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine having that kind of money, let alone thinking it wasn’t enough. She still counted every dollar.
“By the time the divorce came through, Ali wasn’t speaking to me. We were supposed to have weekends together, but she wouldn’t come. After the breakup, I focused on work; then my appearance really went to hell.” He smiled innocently at Christy in an obvious play for sympathy.
She chuckled. To her, he was gorgeous, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“I didn’t care. The funny thing was, women threw themselves at me. For a former geek, it was nirvana. I dated beautiful girls who were half my age. Predictable, huh?” He laughed. There was that cute, lopsided grin again. As his tone lightened, his whole body uncoiled and he leaned back to extend his legs, looking like a jungle cat stretching after a fight.
“You’re just a walking cliché,” Christy agreed, shaking her head. She had never felt quite so much in the presence of a king of the hill, dominant even when he seemed vulnerable. Tough exterior. Soft inside. She felt safe. She realized that Fran had made her feel fumbling and inadequate.
“What about you? Tell me the real deal on the freshman who’s rocking Davos,” Michael said, his dark eyes fixed on Christy’s.
She smiled, but the eye contact was making her feel shy. “Well, I, uh…I grew up about a hundred miles south of Chicago. Middle of nowhere, really. Public school with four thousand kids. There was nothing much special about my life except my mom died when I was ten, and then my dad figured out I could run. He was the track coach at Glenbrook High.”
“That was convenient,” Michael said.
“Dad had never been an involved parent. When it became just him and me, I’d meet him after school and train with his team. I stayed with it when I got to high school.”
“Did you love it?” Michael asked. He reached over her and turned the Jacuzzi switch. “The bubbles went off,” he explained.
“Well, I loved Dad. Running track was a way to get him to love me back.”
“There must have been more to your relationship than that,” Michael said softly.
Christy shook her head. “No, there really wasn’t. All we ever did together was train. Then we’d eat. Wyatt’s Cafeteria every night, seven days a week. Dad’s signature meal was chopped steak, green beans, fruit salad, and coconut pie. School. Train. Eat. Sleep. That was my life after Mom died.”
“Jesus, how’d you come out of that in one piece?”
“Well, I’m not sure I did,” Christy laughed, but Michael looked at her like he really wanted to know.
“Dad used to say that running was the thing that would save me,” Christy said. She stopped, noticing how smooth the water felt against her skin. Michael moved closer. His shoulder was almost touching hers. She hoped he’d forgotten what she said about just wanting to be friends. You are so weak, she thought. Who cares? He’s adorable. You swore off men, remember? That was an hour ago.
“Did it work?” Michael asked. He turned so that his shoulder rested against Christy’s.
“Did what work?” Christy asked. She was flustered by his touch.
“Did running save you?”
“Oh, right.” Pay attention, she thought.
Michael smiled. He seemed well aware of what was distracting her.
Christy acted like nothing was happening. “It taught me I would be fine as long as I won. Dad always told me that the world hates losers. He’d tell me that after every race I lost, even when I came in second. Especially when I came in second. And I missed a lot growing up that way. My strongest high school memory is running laps around that red tartan track.”
“I’ll bet you were popular.”
“Noooo. My only friends were teammates, and we were pretty competitive.”
“Are you and your dad close now?” Michael asked.
Christy looked away. “He died right after the ninety-two Olympics. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said.
“Me, too,” Christy said. “At least his dream came true, through me.”
“You know, I’d heard a lot of your story, but I always wondered how you felt about track, whether you loved it or were pushed.”
“I still lie awake a lot at night and feel scared I won’t win, whatever that means.”
“You know, I’ve followed you for years. But I was too shy to meet you.”
“You, shy?”
“Yeah. I was a nerd in high school. It took years of therapy and financial success beyond my wildest dreams
