Page 37 of Love Is A Draw
“I’ve heard those words before,” he said quieter now.
“So have I,” she whispered. “All my life.”
Stillness.
“My grandfather used to say it,” she said, slower now. “When I was young. Before I left Russia.”
Victor’s breath caught.
“He taught me to find strength in the unlikeliest positions. That if I looked closely enough, it was always there.”
He dropped into Russian. “So you search the board for power no one else sees.”
“Yes,” she replied, the word catching.
“That’s what my teacher taught me, too,” he said.
She blinked. “My grandfather,” she said, then added in Russian, “was Dmitry Tarkov. He used to speak of you. The boy who played without fear.”
He stilled.
“And you were the boy,” she whispered, still in Russian. “On the other side of the wall.”
His reply came like a breath: “And you were the girl I wasn’t allowed to meet.”
Their eyes held.
“How did you come to London?” he asked.
“My grandfather sent me with someone the Newmans trusted. Rachel’s father. That’s how I became the Pearlers’ governess.”
Understanding shifted behind his gaze. “So your talent—your past—it’s all been erased and wasted for safety?”
“Not wasted,” she said. “Not erased. Hidden.”
Another pause.
“I need to go home.”
Victor’s brows lifted. “We’re nearly to Regent Street.”
“No.” Her realization sharpened. “I mean home. I need to know whether he’s alive.”
“You think—Dmitry?—”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I didn’t expect to face death and realize I’d fallen in love the same day.”
Victor’s expression stilled.
“I didn’t calculate it. I didn’t even consider the possibility,” she murmured. “But it happened. And now I am scared. I need him.”
He reached for her hands. “Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
He cupped her face, gently, reverently.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t the kiss of the boy she had once known. It was the man who saw every move she hadn’t meant to make—and loved her for each one.
