Page 15 of Love Is A Draw
Rachel stepped closer, quiet but certain. “I also know you could’ve won in four moves.”
Gail said nothing.
“She baited you,” Rachel went on, her voice measured. “And you gave her something better than victory. You gave her control of the board. You made her think she had it.”
“It was for Maia.”
Rachel’s gaze softened. “I know that, too. But you still chose it. That restraint… it’s the mark of someone who doesn’t need the win to prove her power.”
Gail’s throat tightened. “My grandfather always said the most dangerous players are the ones who know when not to take.”
Rachel smiled. “And what do you think?”
Gail stared down at the queen, the white figure standing at the center of her empire. “I think I’d rather teach a child to hold the board than dominate it.”
Silence fell between them—not empty, but full.
Finally, Rachel said, “You belong in that tournament.”
Gail’s eyes snapped up. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” Rachel’s tone didn’t waver. “And don’t pretend it hadn’t crossed your mind.”
“It’s not—” Gail’s voice caught. “It’s not my place but my privilege.”
Rachel’s expression hardened. “True. But consider this: If you’re good enough to play for a baroness’s dignity, you’re good enough to play for your own.”
Gail looked away, her hands clenched. She’d worked so hard to be indispensable without ever being irreplaceable. A maid could be dismissed. A servant could be forgotten. But a woman who reached too far? She could be ruined.
“It wouldn’t be allowed,” she whispered.
“Maybe not,” Rachel agreed. “But I didn’t say you had to play all the rounds. I said you belonged there.”
Gail kept quiet, because the truth pressed too hard behind her ribs to be spoken aloud. She reached for the board and began resetting the pieces. Each one clicked into place. Pawn. Knight. Bishop. Rook. Queen.
One day, if the world let her, she would choose not to hold back.
Not for strategy.
Not even for love.
Only when it truly mattered.
And that day, she would play the game to the end.
She turned away from the drawing room where she’d just drawn in the first round and stepped into the hall, intent on slipping upstairs after bidding Rachel good night. But halfway to the stairs, she stopped.
Victor stood at the far end of the corridor, half in shadow, one hand curled loosely around the banister post as if anchoring himself to the quiet. His eyes found hers instantly. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
The silence between them was louder than the salon’s applause.
He’d seen her play.He knows what I did.Her throat went dry.
He stepped toward her—not rushed, but deliberate. “You played with extraordinary precision. And mercy.”
“It wasn’t mercy. It was a choice.”And I can decide to draw and not win because… she lost her train of thought when she looked into his eyes.
His eyes searched hers, steady, sure. “Then it was the strongest move on the board.”
