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“Yeah. Anyway.” I push my hair behind my ear. I’d love to meet his eyes, but it’s not going to happen. Not if we continue this way. Not if he won’t look at me. “My favorite was the one he played against Honcharuk at some point in the early eighties. Tata Steel, I think, back when it was called . . .”
“Hoogovens?”
“Yeah.”
“That game when he offered a draw even though he had the losing position?”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “It must be such a mindfuck, having Marcus Sawyer do that. You have to assume he’s seeing something you’re not.”
“Right. I still can’t believe Honcharuk accepted instead of slapping him.” He shakes his head fondly. “God. What an asshole move.”
“Clearly runs in the family,” I say. He laughs a little, silent, wistful, and I immediately want to kick myself and take it back.
I’m sorry
I didn’t mean
I lied when
“Clearly.”
“No. No, I . . .” I cover my eyes with my hands. I’m a mess. I’m making a mess. “I didn’t mean to . . . For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re an asshole. Or manipulative. Or selfish. Or . . .”Unloved. “Or most of the other things I called you in New York, really. Or maybe you are, a bit, but no more than any other chess player in the entire universe. No more than me.” I try to take a deep breath, and the air almost chokes past the ache in my lungs. “Ireallydidn’t think any of the things I said. And when I called you ‘crazy’ . . . I’mreallyashamed of that. I was . . .”
I don’t know what I was. But Nolan does. “Angry. Tired. Hurting, and wanting to make me hurt just as much. Scared out of your mind.”
I close my eyes. “Absolutelyfucking terrified.”
He nods. Still not looking at me. “I never wanted to manipulate you, but . . . you can pay me back for the fellowship, if it’ll make you feel better. That way you won’t owe me anything, and you’ll be free of me.”
My stomach sinks. “Wouldyoulike me to pay you back?”
He lets out a small, self- effacing laugh, and finally turns tome. The night air is sucked out of my chest. “How are you, Mallory?”
“I . . . Good.” As it turns out,I’mthe one who can’t stand to meet his eyes. I’m the one studying Marcus Sawyer’s impeccable suit now. “I don’t know if I’m good. But I’m . . .betterthan I was,” I add, because I think he wants a real answer. “It’s . . . You were right. About the way I acted, especially with my family. But things have been better. Well.” I scratch my neck. “Ihave tried to be better. Less of a control freak on a path to martyrdom and more of a . . . person?”
He studies me for a second. Then I feel him shift forward and I tense— caught, immobile, strung out. Awaiting. He could take my hand. He could tug me to himself. He could wrap his hand around my neck and kiss me as hard as he once did.
He just pulls a loose strand of hair from where it stuck to my lips, straightens back, and says, “Darcy and Sabrina seem good, too.”
I’m . . . dizzy. Disappointed. “You’ve met them?”
“We went for a walk the other day. And I took them for gelato this morning.”
“They didn’t tell me.” I’m scowling.
“It was very hush- hush. Since you are, I’ve been told, known for throwing hissy fits.”
I scowl harder. “Is that why you were late for the press conference?”
He nods. “Darcy needed to try every single flavor before settling on an order. A problem, since samples are not a thing in Italy.”
“Did you have to fisticuff a brawny ice cream man with a gold necklace?”
“Depends. Would that make me more or less cool than bribing him with fifty euros?”
I laugh into the back of my hand. And after that I look at him, and he’s serious once again.
“Nolan— ”
