Page 14 of Love Is A Draw
Gail moved again. A pawn—small, silent—slipped forward to protect the bishop, reinforcement disguised as concession. A declaration in miniature.
Victor’s throat tightened.
Sofia von List faltered. She stared at the board too long before her hand lifted and withdrew from the piece she had hovered over.
Retreat.
A murmur rippled around the room.
Victor didn’t smile. This wasn’t a triumph born of luck or hesitation. Gail had forced the retreat—elegantly, ruthlessly—without ever raising her glance from the board.
He looked at her then, really looked. She sat straight, unyielding. Unapologetic.
She had dismantled a high-caliber player. A former Russian spy. Crushed. Not with pride, but with purpose.
Gail’s eyes lifted and met his across the room.
No smile. She didn’t need one. She had already won.
And for the first time in Victor’s life, he wanted to learn more of the game—not to win, but to understand her.
To Gail’s relief,the room had emptied slowly, the way a candle guttered when the wax ran thin—bit by bit, until only silence remained.
She touched the edge of the chessboard lightly, aligning the white pawn that had tipped askew when Sofia von List rose from her seat, made a polite farewell with a draw on her scorecard, and drifted back toward the salon on a wave of perfume and velvet. They were both progressing to round two.
But Gail had chosen the draw—carefully, deliberately. Winning outright would have drawn attention, perhaps even retaliation. She hadn’t needed the win; she needed Maia to understand how power could be shaped, not flaunted. And above all, she needed Victor to stay safe. List might not tolerate his wife’s defeat at the hands of a Jewish girl—not twice in one household.
She hadn’t looked back.
But others had.
Rachel had nodded once, a tiny flicker of something in her eyes—approval, perhaps. Hermy had said nothing at all, merely watching Gail with the distant gaze of a woman turning over the pieces of something not yet fully formed. Even Fave’s mouth had twitched, as if he were about to speak but thought better of it.
And Victor…
She clenched her fingers before resting them in her lap. Victor had seen. He had stood there with that intense, measuredstare that left no room for pretense, no shadow unexplored. She hated that she’d noticed. Hated more that it had mattered.
It had been about Maia. Gail had seen her in the doorway—those curious, eager eyes tracking every piece, the way she always did when she didn’t want to blink and miss a move. Gail had felt the small hand at her sleeve like a tether, a reminder. So, she had chosen the Queen’s Gambit line. Slow. Logical. Learnable.
A little girl ought to believe her queen could win through strategy, not violence.
Even now—especially now—Gail knew what it was to shape a girl’s belief before the world could take it from her. Perhaps with Gail playing in the tournament, horizons were opening for Maia that Gail had never anticipated. It may be her parents hosting the tournament, and her mother Rachel ensuring that Gail could play, but it was up to Gail to show how she’d do so. And this may be the gravest lesson she’d ever teach her charge.
A creak on the floorboards made her pause.
Rachel stood there, now alone.
Gail rose and brushed her skirts smooth. “I thought you’d cleared the room.”
“I had.” Rachel stepped forward. “But then I thought you might like to know… my husband believes that might’ve been the finest game played under this roof since my daughter learned to crawl across a board.”
Gail allowed a small smile.
A pause.
Gail glanced down at the board again, where the pieces waited patiently in their positions. “I almost let her win.”
“I know.” The words startled Gail more than they should have.
