Chapter 29
Chapter 29
In three moves, Scarlett was going to win this match. Her opponent, Alik Svensson, knew it. Scarlett knew it. Most of the people watching knew it. But because he’d played fast in the midgame, Svensson had time to burn on the clock.
He was taking it, which was his right.
It just turned out that winning was hers.
Svensson had a better Elo rating than Scarlett, and he was playing white. In other words, he’d come into this match with every advantage. But just like she’d done so many times in her life, Scarlett had refused to do what her circumstance would suggest she should do and what everyone wanted her to do: lose. She’d stolen this match fair and square, but since he’d never seen it coming, Svensson was taking it badly.
Really badly.
With a grunt, he thrust his hands into his floppy blond hair. It stood straight out between his fingers in tufts, making him resemble a doll that had stuck a finger into an electrical socket. His brown eyes were riveted to the chess board, searching for a move, any move, that could delay his inevitable loss.
But there wasn’t one.
Scarlett had lulled him into a sense of confidence by sacrificing several power pieces, and he had probably thought her play was simply chaotic. He certainly would’ve clocked that she wasn’t playing any known strategy or pattern.
The problem for Svensson was that he had snatched up what he thought she hadn’t meant to give away without asking himself why she seemed to be playing so sloppily. And in being greedy and inattentive, he’d stumbled right into the trap she’d set.
Two moves ago, the iron jaws had closed around his ankle. The harder he struggled, the worse it became.
It was beautiful.
As her opponent tried to come to terms with the mistakes he’d made— good luck with that, buddy —Scarlett relaxed in her own chair and glanced around the room. She hadn’t allowed herself to do that earlier; she’d been absolutely focused for hours. She was going to need a big meal and an even bigger nap when this was over. After all, she had to do it again tomorrow.
The wall to her left boasted a dark backdrop decorated with white-and-gold logos. Chess had gotten big enough that it had product placement, as if this were NASCAR or figure skating, and how weird was that ?
Honestly, Scarlett found it a little tacky, especially the fifty plugs for CheckMate.com. Did anyone need to be reminded of the website where they were probably watching the matches? It was like how your purse kept advertising the name of the designer to you after you’d bought it. Such nonsense.
Four identical tables stood in front of the backdrop, each with their own identical chess boards and timers. Lipstick cameras stood at the corners of the board to get a close-up shot of both players. A spiky, black metal stand held another camera high above them, capturing the bird’s-eye view of Svensson’s mistakes.
Little placards with everyone’s name and Elo rating hung off one side of each table. There were a few crouching reporters and photographers on the playing floor itself, and most of their lenses were trained on her. Everyone wanted to watch Scarlett Arbuthnot, the bad girl of chess, go in for the kill.
Up in the balcony, looking down on the action, was a small crowd of spectators. Scarlett locked eyes with an older white man wearing an honest-to-gosh ascot. She quirked a brow at him, as if to say I sure had Alik’s number, didn’t I? He didn’t even see it coming.
The guy swallowed and looked away.
While shocking stuffy dudes was always fun, the thing was, the folks out there watching her destroy Alik Svensson wanted the iconic Scarlett, not the human one. Icons didn’t get much of a life, did they? They didn’t eat or drink or use the bathroom. They certainly didn’t fall in love or get their hearts broken.
None of the spectators were there for Scarlett herself. She’d asked Martina and Kit to stay in the VIP room and watch on the monitor because she didn’t want to risk being distracted by them. And beyond those two, Scarlett didn’t have any other close friends.
Clara had a photoshoot today and couldn’t come. Emery had sent a good-luck text. Alma had said she was going to watch the match from Albuquerque, or wherever she and Sean were hanging out at the moment. But if her mother was actually glued to the feed on CheckMate.com, Scarlett would eat one of her pawns smothered in gravy.
There was Jaime ... but, well, who knew where the heck he was.
That morning, when they’d been killing time, Kit had mentioned the reviews for Queen’s Kiss were good, and Scarlett was pleased for him and for herself. The better the reviews, the better the ratings, she assumed. And the more people who watched it, the more likely PAWN might be to make some changes.
For the possibility of that, the small chance that something might shift and the game might become more inclusive, Scarlett had paid what felt like everything. She never would’ve believed it at sixteen, but your bank account could be flush and your name could be famous and you could still feel poor.
Right now, Scarlett might as well have been in a spaceship on her way to Mars, for how alone she felt. A cold universe stood between her and anyone who knew or cared about her as a person.
Across from Scarlett, Svensson sighed loudly. It was the sigh of a man who couldn’t believe he’d been taken in. That he, like so many before him, had played like a rube and could now join Team “Scarlett Arbuthnot Exasperates Me.”
They ought to get membership cards. She could press a lipstick kiss to every one.
Scarlett settled down farther in her chair, feeling more than a little bit like a cat who had a mouse pinned by the tail.
A few more seconds ticked by, then Svensson pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.
Okay, this was getting sad. If it went on much longer, Scarlett might actually start to feel bad. If the shoe were on the other foot, Svensson wouldn’t have had so much as a wiggle of sympathy for her. But wasn’t it always that way? Scarlett got stuck with the reputation for being thoughtless, but inside, she was a hurricane of thought and emotion.
A hurricane who was going to win her first match of this Candidates Tournament.
Scarlett glanced down the length of the room. She knew she was the odd one out in lots of ways. Of the eight people playing chess here, she was the only one wearing a dress. She was the only one in a bright color (yellow). She was the only one who didn’t have a suit jacket hanging from her chair.
Outwardly, she didn’t fit. But she was about to crush the favorite to win the tournament.
Alik Svensson dropped one hand to his lap, and with his other, he reached for his remaining bishop. For a poignant second, his fingers hovered above the piece. He could make this play, and then she would put him in checkmate. Or he could recognize the inevitable and resign.
How beaten did he feel—that was the question.
Svensson flicked his eyes up to Scarlett and opened his mouth. They weren’t supposed to talk beyond offering a draw or resignation. That was actually, literally against the rules.
He pressed his lips together with a rueful twist, and it communicated more than any words could. Svensson couldn’t believe how stupid he felt, and he knew it was over.
Svensson held his palm up and gestured to the board. To the hopeless mess that he’d created there. “I resign.”
A small flurry erupted in the room as people craned to look and camera shutters clicked and shocked whispers zinged around.
Scarlett experienced one blazing, golden second of joy. She’d wanted to win in round one so much, to make the point that she should’ve been here last time, that she deserved to be here now, and that she was going to make the most of this opportunity. But she shooed the joy under the bed as if it were a dust bunny. She had so much further to go. She couldn’t lose focus now.
“Good game,” Svensson said as he shook her hand.
Scarlett wanted to say I know , because she had played well. That was just a fact.
But she went with the more traditional “You too.” It was kinder, and honestly, she could afford to be nice after trouncing her opponent.
Svensson scoffed. They both knew that she’d lied. This match was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Some of them were like that. Scarlett had a list of her own, times when she’d misread the signs or had gotten the chances she needed but hadn’t capitalized on them. Those were much harder to live with than the ones where you’d never gotten a look in.
That was why things hurt with Jaime, why they would always hurt. Because in all the chaos, there had been a one-in-a-million chance of them being together. It had been in their grasp, until it had shattered. She’d done it, or Jaime had, or maybe it didn’t matter. The point was, it was over.
One of Scarlett’s knees cracked as she stood up, and she tried to stretch discreetly. The endgame of that match had gone on for an eternity.
Svensson and Scarlett signed their score sheets and left for the VIP space, trailed by security. They were supposed to shake hands with the folks who’d paid for insider access and do a press conference, but all Scarlett wanted was to hug her friends, inhale a steak, and crawl into bed.
Thank God they were close to New York and she could sleep in her own space. The sterility of a hotel room would’ve snuffed something out in her.
When Scarlett stepped through the door into the VIP room to a smattering of applause, Martina enveloped her first.
Her hug was fierce. “Congratulations.”
“When he played his rook to b4,” Kit said, wrapping around both of them, “I knew you had it.”
“I never underestimate anyone’s capacity to underestimate me,” Scarlett said, which was just good advice for life.
She wasn’t going to be able to rely on that for the rest of Candidates, though. Everyone else was going to have her number. But for today, it had been enough.
“Listen.” Martina stepped back. “I have to tell you ... Jaime’s here.”
“He’s what ?” Scarlett hadn’t meant to shout that, but Jaime’s appearance was so stunning, so unexpected, she almost couldn’t process it.
What on earth was he doing here? And why on earth was he doing it?
Yup, she had nothing. It was possible the game had burned something out in her brain.
“I know,” Kit said. “He came with Nate, and he wants to apologize for—everything, I think.”
Scarlett had to stop herself from launching into a host of follow-up questions: what exactly constituted everything ? Could she get an itemized list? What was he taking responsibility for, and what was he going to do about it? Did he think saying he was sorry was enough to—
Nope, she needed to pose those to Jaime and not to Kit. At least, if Scarlett was open to hearing what Jaime wanted to say.
Which she very much was.
Suddenly, Scarlett had her second wind. The exhaustion she’d been feeling had gone on vacation, maybe for forever. She could’ve played the rest of her matches right now, one right after the other, if the man she loved would be waiting for her at the end of it.
Because whatever he’d done, she still loved him.
“We told him that you’ve had an epically long day and you might not have the emotional capacity for this,” Kit said, rubbing Scarlett’s shoulder.
“I’d be happy to march over there and tell him to leave.” From how Martina said it, it was clear this was what she wanted to do. “And I wouldn’t have agreed to even mention it to you if I didn’t think he’d listen to a no. He will drop this—if you want him to.”
Scarlett ought to have some self-respect. She ought to refuse to listen to him. Or she ought to make him do some first-class groveling, the kind that came with roses and champagne and Jaime crawling over hot coals or something.
But they’d ended up in this stupid situation because he hadn’t been willing to forgive her. Why would she want to make the same mistake? She should wait and find a brand-new mistake to make instead. She trusted Jaime and herself where that was concerned.
“Well, get his butt over here.”
“You want to sit with it for a minute?” Kit asked.
“I’ve had plenty of time to sit with it.” Life without him sucked peach pits. Scarlett didn’t want to do it any longer, not if she didn’t have to.
“Okay,” Kit said. “Let me find him.”
“I know you think this is a blunder,” Scarlett said to Martina as she watched Kit disappear into the crowd.
“Not necessarily.” Yes necessarily, based on her tone, but Martina gave Scarlett too much credit to say that, even if she still clearly had some private doubts. “But I don’t think he deserves you.”
“Who could?”
They laughed and hugged again, and Scarlett felt ... almost peaceful. She was still hungry and her shoes were starting to pinch, but the anticipation in her stomach now was hopeful, not anxious. Whatever happened with the tournament, this could be good.
A minute later, Jaime wove through the crowd, his eyes scanning for her, with Kit and Nate trailing him.
The thing about wearing goldenrod in a sea of navy and black was that you tended to stand out. And Scarlett could see the exact moment when Jaime found her. She could appreciate how his eyes closed for a second and he shook his head.
That dress is even brighter in person than on the monitor. That was what his body language was saying. And also, she hoped, You look amazing .
When he opened his eyes, she gave a little shrug, as if to say Yes, of course. Yes, at last.
Six more steps, and then he stopped in front of her. Scarlett squeezed Martina’s hand, and their friends melted away, leaving Scarlett and Jaime alone. Or as alone as it was possible to be in a crowd.
Jaime was smiling down at her, and Scarlett was smiling up at him, and it was so close to being perfect.
“Hey,” Scarlett finally said, because while she might be a brilliant chess player, she wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity here. He was going to have to take the lead for this particular conversation.
“Hey, yourself. Congratulations on the win.”
“Thank you.”
“Kit and Martina tried to explain it to me, but, well—”
“You don’t know crap about chess?”
“I know you won. You seemed to demolish that guy.”
“He’ll live.” And regardless, she definitely didn’t want to sit here and talk about Alik Svensson, the poor sap.
“Look, I’m sorry to show up here like this.”
“I’m not sorry,” Scarlett said, hoping he would know she meant it differently—so differently—than the last time she’d said that to him.
“Good. I just ... I realized there were things I needed to say to you, and I couldn’t wait to say them. But I want to be clear: I don’t want to steal your thunder, and I definitely don’t want to throw off your game. I know that you have to play again tomorrow. So if you want to wait and talk when you’re done, I would understand.”
“And if I don’t want to talk at all?” Scarlett did , but she was curious how Jaime would answer that.
“Then I’d leave you alone. You don’t owe me shit, Scarlett. I’ve used up more chances than you should’ve given me, that’s for sure.”
“How nice of you to see that now.” But this was the problem, wasn’t it? She could be snide, or she could find out what he was doing here. “But no, please, talk. My brain is shot, but I can listen.”
His face went serious as he looked her dead in the eye and said, “You were right.”
Mother of pearl, those were the sexiest words on earth, right there.
“About?” she prompted.
“You were right to call the cops on Dad. When you told me, it made me feel ... like you didn’t trust me. And it made me feel guilty that I hadn’t seen it. I’ll always wish I had, maybe because I dream that if I’d known, I could’ve convinced him to stop. Isn’t that stupid? I’m so full of it, Scarlett. You’re the real deal, and I feel like a poseur.”
“You aren’t a poseur.” It was all Scarlett could get herself to say. The rest of what he’d said was still working its way around the circuits in her brain, and given how sluggish she felt, it was going to take a while for her to make sense of everything.
But her tear ducts were already feeling full and hot, and if he kept this up, she was going to shed tears.
Lots of stupid, happy tears.
“I think I am,” Jaime said ruefully. “And I think that’s fine. After Dad went to prison, I grew up real fast. I wanted to make up for what he’d done, and I had to stop myself and my family from spiraling. But I began to believe my own story.”
Scarlett reached out and set a hand on Jaime’s forearm. His skin was warm and his muscles firm. For the first time, he felt certain to her touch. Whether that radiated from him, or from her or from both of them, she couldn’t say. But she was grateful for it.
“It’s a good story.”
“Not if it keeps me from being with you. The truth of what happened and why felt ... threatening, I guess. And it’s taken me way too long—way, way too long—to realize that you did it to protect me. You were right: if I really could’ve held Dad responsible, it would’ve messed me up, more than I got messed up. I didn’t even thank you for planting that story to protect my family.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I do, though. You know what else is really crap? All this time, I never checked in with you. I was so focused on me, I never asked how you were doing and what I could do to help you heal from the immensity of what you were dealing with.”
The tears were coming fast now, pouring down Scarlett’s face in rivulets and gathering together on her chin. Her dress was going to get soaked if he kept this up.
Jaime gently turned them, putting his back between her and the room, to give her some privacy. He curled one of his hands around her nape. “You’re everything that I want to be, Scarlett Arbuthnot. But ten times prettier.”
“Only ten?” she asked, which would’ve been coy if her voice hadn’t broken as she said it. Scarlett could fake a lot of things, but not that eruption of emotion.
This was too much. And it was exactly the right amount.
“Infinity,” he said, and at that, she fell forward onto his chest.
She would make her own confession at some point, after she’d eaten, after she’d fallen asleep smooshed against Jaime’s side.
And not to brag, but whatever speech she made would be amazing. He’d be dazzled.
But for now, this was enough.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me. I know why you feel like you have to fight all of your battles alone. And if you keep making decisions on your own, I’d be okay with that because I trust you and your brilliant mind.”
Scarlett appreciated Jaime recognizing her brilliance, but she knew that things had changed. Everything had changed. “Hmm. What if this feral cat kind of liked it when you domesticated her?”
Her meaning hit Jaime slowly. His eyes lit first, then his mouth curled up in a smile, and finally the lines of his body softened. He’d been trying so hard to convince her—to convince both of them—that he would’ve been satisfied to be with her no matter what. What he really wanted, though, was to be with her as an equal. As a unit. Luckily that was what she was offering.
“Well then,” he said, sounding very, very satisfied indeed, “I’d do my best to take care of her every day from here on out.”
Which was exactly what Scarlett wanted too. “I’m tired of fighting on my own, Jaime. I couldn’t have prepared for this tournament without Kit and Martina, and I know now that if I stopped playing after this that they would still be my friends. Our bond is real , you know?”
“I do.”
“And it’s not only them. It’s also Evelyn, and Alma, and Clara, and maybe the people in Emery’s book club. And it’s you. Most of all, it’s you. I am not alone in some spaceship flying through the void. I want to let you all in more. And if you can be patient with me, I think I can learn how to do that.” She’d learned much harder things, that was for sure.
Maybe there was a book of communication openings she could memorize.
“Even if you don’t, being together would be enough.”
“Are you sure?” Scarlett didn’t mean to sound so vulnerable, but, well, she didn’t want him to change his mind again.
Jaime seemed to understand. He pressed his mouth to her temple in gentle reassurance. “You know how bad it’s been without you?”
That was like asking if she knew water was wet. “I have some idea, yes.”
He chuckled so softly that she felt it more than she heard it. “The last few days, I started playing chess on the CheckMate.com app. It made me feel closer to you.”
She laid her cheek on his shoulder so she could look him in the eye. He wasn’t kidding. “You’re playing chess?”
He shrugged and resettled his arms more tightly around her. “I wouldn’t call what I do playing , but yes. I keep getting my ass kicked.”
She had ten thousand questions about how he played and what openings he liked and what his rating was. But they had time for those. That was the amazing part: now that Jaime had come to his senses, they had all the time in the world.
So with the promise of that time, Scarlett was able to let him take more of her weight, to let the questions simmer, and to simply say, “It’s your fault you weren’t actually close to me, you dingus.”
With all seriousness, Jaime replied, “I don’t deserve this, Scarlett, I realize that I don’t. But you were right: we love each other. I know who you are, and I adore every bit of you. I’m not going to get in a snit again because you outsmart everyone else in the room.”
“What will you do the next time we have a fight?”
“Remind myself that you’re always right.”
“Damn straight.”
Then Scarlett popped up on her toes and planted her mouth on Jaime’s. This was one victory she was going to savor.