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“No.”
He nods, and I like that he’s not trying to lie to me. To convince me that I’m imagining it all. “Have you considered confronting her?”
“No. I . . . I don’t want her pity. I want her to be with me because she wants to.”
“Ah, yes.” He nods knowingly. His chin dips into the raised neck of his coat. “You do like being in charge.”
“What do you mean?”
“You like having the upper hand. Feeling like you’re doing something for others. Like you’re in control.”
“No.” I frown. “That’s not it at all.”
“I think it’s easier for you to be with people when you feel needed than when you need them. Less risky. Less messy, right?”
“But it’s not true. I mean, according to Sabrina my family doesn’t need me for anything but money anymore. And Easton’s the one who went MIA. And you—youmost certainly don’t need me— ”
“But I do.”
I snort. “Come on. You have a million seconds, and legions of adoring fans, Tanu and Emil, Elle the scary manager, the press, the entireworld— ”
“Mallory.” He stops me. His expression is solemn. “It’s lonely, chess. You may have a team around you, but when it really comes down to it, you’re on your own. You play on your own. You lose and win on your own. You go home, and you’re on your own.” He takes in the disappearing light, his eyes darker than ever. And then looks back to me, presses a pale strand of hair behind my ear, and asks something I didn’t expect. “Will you come to Italy with me?”
“To Italy?”
He nods. “For the World Championship.”
“I . . . Why?”
His throat works. “I had my grandfather with me for the first one, six years ago. But after that, I was always on my own.”
“But Tanu and Emil are going to be there, and— ”
“They are. But . . .” I can see the gears in his head, like he’strying to articulate a fuzzy, ungraspable feeling. “They’ll be therewitheach other first.”
Somehow, I know exactly what he means.I feel it, too, I want to say.I feel the same. Like everyone around us is part of the same connective tissue, and you’re just floating about. Unbound.
My heart beats faster, because this feels like a threshold. A touch- take decision that I won’t ever be able to undo. If I say yes, then Nolan and I will be something different. Somethingtogether. More than the sum of our parts.
Then, no. No should be the only possible answer. I have no business promising to be there for anyone. I have priorities. Duties. But.
“Do you want me to be there?” I ask.
He nods instantly.
I take his cold palm, lift it in both my hands, and press a soft kiss in the middle, where the fate line slashes between the head and the heart.
“I’ll be there, then.” I smile up at him, right as the last of the sunlight fades into the snow. “For you.”
IT OCCURS TO ME THAT NIGHT, AFTER WE CHECK SOME OFKoch’s recent Challengers games against engines and instead of staying up late to pore over the results we decide to go to bed at eight, that maybe the timing for this thing is a little off.
We should be training hard. We should focus on strategy, tactics, preparation.
We shouldnotbe staring at each other across the table.
We shouldnotdrift off during Tanu’s passionate speech onwhy Velveeta is legally not cheese to exchange faint, unprompted, unjustified smiles.
We should not needlessly brush knuckles as he hands me his plate for the dishwasher.
