Page 64 of Love Is A Draw
The question landed like a shot through the carriage.
Gail’s breath caught. “Maia?—”
“You do,” Maia said with all the certainty of a child. “You look at him the way Mama looks at Papa when he’s not looking. Like he’s already yours but you’re afraid he’ll disappear.”
Rachel exhaled sharply, her grip tightening. Fave sucked in his upper lip.
Gail’s hands trembled. “Yes, I do.”
Maia beamed. “So when will you marry him?”
Gail blinked, helpless.
“I want to be there,” Maia said matter-of-factly. “I’ll wear my green sash.”
The tears came fast then. Gail pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking as the truth of it shattered through her. She loved him. She’d known it. But now it felt like it might be too late.
She swallowed, her voice breaking. “I don’t know whether I’ll get the chance.”
“Why not?”
“Because love doesn’t always win,” she whispered. “Because the world is unfair, and sometimes… sometimes you don’t get to keep what matters most.”
Maia tilted her head. “Then go fight for him.”
Gail turned her gaze to the window, to the lights dancing along the harbor’s edge. Her grandfather was coming tonight—her beginning, her blood. But Victor had built her future. And she would not lose him.
Not like this.
Not after everything.
Not if she had anything left to give.
CHAPTER 28
The docks bustled with motion—crates thudding against planks, ropes coiling in expert hands, gulls shrieking above the sails. The acrid smell of fish clung to the mist like a curse.
Victor stood amid it all, spine straight, cravat sharp, boots polished despite the grime sloshing beneath them. He’d dressed like a man in control. But inside, he was breaking apart. His fingers gripped the handle of his satchel—inside it was only the chess set Gail once traced with her fingertips. What once seemed like triumph now lay in ruins.
A carriage waited at the edge of the quay. Through its glass pane, he glimpsed Lady Hermy, the countess, curled against the cushion, shoulders shaking as she cried into her hands. She wept not only for him, but for everything they’d lost.
He’d overheard her sob to Greg, “Why is it always the good ones who leave? They played like real masters. And now they’re gone. Just when we had them close.”
Greg’s boots clicked across the planks. “Victor.”
Victor turned, jaw locked tight.
Greg extended a hand, gaze solemn. “You deserved to meet Dmitry. I’m sorry you won’t. But I’ll see him and tell him whatyou’ve done that you played with courage, with honor, with everything his name once meant. There’s never been a better student.”
“Gail.” Victor’s voice broke at her name.
And then—List. He stepped from the shadow with the smugness of a man who thought he’d already won.
“You came.” His lips curled. “Honorable. At least you won’t be a fugitive.”
“Captive and exiled thanks to you,” Victor bit out.
Greg stood tall. “An unnecessary punishment for someone who did nothing wrong.”
