Page 36 of Thomas
Cameron smiled, grateful for the distraction. “I would love that. However, Lennon is none too happy that we abandoned our lunch. Plus, I need to open and sort some mail. Is it alright if we eat first, then I can meet you back here once my admin duties are completed?”
“Perfectly alright. I’ll look forward to it.”
Much to Cameron’s dismay, the day did not get better. It continued in its shitty nature, unrelenting.
He lost the chess game to Thomas.
Correction, two chess games. Which was unfathomable.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Thomas asked.
Cameron was bent with his elbows on his knees, a palm over his mouth as he scrutinized the chess board. The firelight from the hearth gleamed warmly across the smooth surfaces of the marble pieces. He looked up at Thomas and noted the barely suppressed smile.
“No,” Cameron said, sitting upright and resetting the white pieces in their starting positions. “Again.”
Thomas nodded and arranged his side as well.
Within ten minutes, Cameron had lost a third time. “This is incomprehensible. How humiliating.”
“We can talk about it.”
“What is there to discuss?” Cameron said, bitterness vexing his ego like a snake coiling around its prey. “You must think me an oversized simpleton?—”
“I do not,” Thomas said firmly. “Nothing of the sort. You have a pattern. After we move our respective pieces into position, I make a fairly provocative move?—”
“The bishop to G-5 move in the last game.”
“Correct. Then you attacked it twice, which made your king vulnerable.”
“Ah.” Cameron could see it now that it was being drawn out for him. He flattened a palm to his forehead. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Then I am able to exploit that vulnerability. You become distracted by and henceforth focused on my showy offensive tactic every time. When I unexpectedly bring my queen into play, that really sends you into a silent panic. It is openly discernible, in that your moves become increasingly… rushed and careless.”
Cameron shook his head, both embarrassed and wildly impressed. “Once my mother taught me to play the game, I was unstoppable. No one in the house could beat me. And here,you’ve beaten me three times in less than an hour—and exposed the apparent flaw of my gameplay with razor-sharp precision!”
“‘In the house’ is the operative phrase there,” Thomas said, resetting his pieces. “Take no offense to this, but you need to get out more.”
In the firelight, Thomas’s skin had an almost ghostly glow. The hollowed shadows along his cheekbones and beneath his eyes were more pronounced in the dimly lit ambiance. A spike of worry flitted across Cameron’s chest.
“Thomas, is there…” He paused, wanting to find the right words. “Are you sure that you’re feeling alright?”
The man paused in his movement. “I’m okay.”
“If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please tell us? You should not hesitate.”
Unexpectedly, Thomas breathed a weak laugh as he resumed his organizing. “Oh, I think I should.”
Cameron tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I need to overcome whatever self-imposed mental hell I’m putting myself through. It’s not your concern, please don’t worry.”
His warning was futile. Cameron was already worried, and this explanation had done nothing to put him at ease.
“Another game?” Thomas offered once all the pieces on his side were arranged in their starting positions.
“Gods no. I think I’ve been mercilessly beaten enough for one day.”
Thomas chuckled weakly. “Would his lordship prefer it if I let him win?”
