Chapter 7
ADDISON
The green sundress lands on top of the pile already covering my bed.
It’s too casual. The white button-down follows it a second later because it makes me look like I’m interviewing for a job instead of meeting someone to play chess.
I stand in front of my small closet in my bra and jeans, wondering when I became the kind of person who cares.
My opponent could be a seventy-year-old groundskeeper. It could be anyone, really. And first impressions are important. The handwriting on the notes is confident, almost arrogant, but that tells me nothing about who’s holding the pen.
I grab the black silk blouse I rejected twenty minutes ago and slide it back on because I’m overthinking everything. I add small gold earrings and leave my hair down, then turn away from the mirror before I can second-guess myself again.
Whoever this person is, they’ve helped me get through my week, and I owe them a thank-you. I’ve spent more time thinking about chess moves than I want to admit.
The walk to the east wing takes longer than I remember.
I pass the portrait gallery and look up to notice a large canvas of Louis that I missed before. It makes me take pause as I admire it in this low-lit light. He must’ve been in his early twenties, carefree, with eyes full of hope. That spark has disappeared.
My hand drifts up to my jaw, and my fingers press against the spot where he touched me last night.
I can still feel the warmth of his thumb tracing along my cheekbone.
We were so close that our breaths mixed right before Delphine’s voice ripped us from the moment.
I drop my hand and shove it into my pocket.
I have to stop daydreaming about Prince Charming before he destroys me like the fuckboy he is.
With a shake of my head, I continue to the study and run through what I’ll say to my opponent. When I arrive, warm light spills out from the gap underneath the thick oak door. I can hear a fire crackling and the soft clink of a glass against wood. Someone is inside, and they’re waiting for me.
I check my phone and see it’s 8:58 p.m., which means I’m early, but so are they.
I lightly tap on the door, then push it open with a grin already forming on my face.
At the mantel stands a man—tall, with messy hair.
He turns from the fireplace, and every word I was going to say disappears.
Louis is holding a glass of bourbon, and the firelight lights his face.
When his eyes meet mine, he goes completely still.
We stare at each other while the fire pops and hisses behind him. The smell of woodsmoke and aged whiskey fills the space between us. I stand in the doorway with my hand still on the brass handle, wanting my brain to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. I ask my heart to be still.
He’s my chess opponent. He wrote those notes.
“You,” I finally manage.
He sets his glass down on the mantel, like he’s buying time to process this revelation. “Seriously?”
The silence stretches between us. I should say something smart, but instead, I’m replaying every charged note we exchanged, every move on that board. The person who challenged and matched me, who kept me up at night, strategizing, was him the whole time.
“Too many invisible strings keep pulling us together.” He takes a sip of his bourbon.
“Why do you think that is?” I ask, stepping inside and closing the door.
“You’re my karma.” His mouth curves into a smirk. “For breaking so many hearts.”
“Yikes. I’m so sorry. Condolences.”
“Appreciate it.”
The chessboard sits on a small table between two leather chairs. The pieces are exactly where they were in the nook. The last three days, I memorized the positions and ran through every possible scenario. He’s trapped, and I wonder if he knows it. Of course, he does; he’s brilliant.
“I can’t wait to watch you lose,” I say, smirking with a brow popped.
He pushes off from the mantel and moves toward me. My eyes scan down his body. Tonight, he’s wearing a light sweater and jeans. It’s casual, relaxed, even for a royal.
“Should’ve known you’d talk shit, like your asshole brother.”
“Actually, I make Patterson seem calm. It’s in my bloodline,” I throw back. “Get ready to get your ass kicked, Princey.”
“Do you play everything like you have nothing to lose?” He stops a few feet away.
“The answer is yes—because I don’t.”
“Everyone has something to lose, Addison.”
“You only get one life, Louis. Make it count,” I say.
I see him slightly chew on the corner of his lip, and it sends heat across my skin. Suddenly, I’m replaying last night, knowing I shouldn’t do that.
But what if …
That’s the question that keeps repeating in my mind.
“Please sit,” he offers, gesturing to the chair behind the white pieces.
“Bossy.”
“I said please. Would you like something to drink?”
“How very polite of you. Yes. A proper pour, please,” I say.
He grabs the bourbon and pours a glass for me while refilling his own.
“Thank you,” I offer, shooting the entire thing back, needing to relax.
His eyes widen. “You’re something else.”
“You are too.”
I sit, and he sinks into the chair across from me. The intense eye contact he’s giving me sends a jolt through me.
“It’s your move. Please hurry,” I tell him as the bourbon mixes with my blood. “You’ve been edging me for days.”
He looks back at the board. His king has one legal move, one square he can escape to, and we both know it leads to nowhere. I wait for him to reach forward to touch his piece, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he places the crystal of bourbon to his lips and takes a slow sip.
“Play, Your Highness,” I say between gritted teeth.
“No, thank you.”
I glare at him. “You literally have to move.”
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.” His eyes continue to hold mine.
“That’s not how chess works.”
“In Montclaire, that’s exactly how it works.”
“So, you’re refusing because you’re losing?”
“Nope.” He leans forward, removing some of the space between us. I can smell the hint of his cologne. “I’m refusing because once I do, you’ll win, and then the game is over.”
“That’s the point.”
“It’s not.” His voice drops lower. “When the game is over, you’ll go back to your cottage, and I’ll still be here, wanting more time with you. I’m not finished with you yet.”
My pulse is loud in my ears. “So, we sit here and stare at one another all night?”
“We could.” He smirks.
“You’re an asshole.”
This seems to please him.
I stand and pour more bourbon into my glass, then return to my seat.
I lean back into a more comfortable position and let out a controlled breath as I meet his eyes.
It’s the last thing I should’ve done because he captures me in his spell.
My face relaxes, and I don’t want to be the one to look away, not this time, not even if my entire body is on fire.
“You’re playing games,” I whisper.
“You are as well,” he says.
“Ah. Then I suppose you’ve also met your match.”
“Indeed, I have.” He leans forward and picks up his king, only to tease me with a move.
The game is just the game. But this room, the fire, and the way he’s undressing me with his eyes—it’s something else completely. This man unravels me in the worst possible way.
He returns his king to its original square. “Why didn’t you tell me you painted the subway collection at the gallery?”
The fire flickers, casting shadows against the wall. Every few seconds, it crackles. The clock on the mantel ticks, and I wonder how old it is. I contemplate his question and give him the real answer.
“Because I don’t need recognition. And most people aren’t completely honest to an artist’s face. They’re kiss-asses. I prefer real opinions.”
“I made a fool of myself,” he says.
I shake my head. “You told your truths. Isn’t that more valuable? Even if you said I stole souls and painted them.”
His blue eyes darken, and I see the edge of his mouth quirk up. “You do steal souls, Addison.”
“Watch out. I might steal yours,” I say with a wink.
“Ahh, part of me feels as if you already have.”
My heart races as I stare at him. “Your fuckboy lines won’t work on me, Louis. Try harder.”
“Sure about that?”
He moves his king, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Fuck. You’re irritating sometimes,” I say, sliding my bishop into position. “Check.”
“Oh, the American plays by the rules and politely calls check. How lovely of you.”
I scoff. “Are you shit-talking me, Princey? Your move.”
He chuckles and returns back to leaning. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll make my next move, and you can have your win.” He leans closer. “But I want an immediate rematch.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I sit here all night.” He squeezes gently. “Refusing to move for eternity.”
A log shifts and sends sparks up the chimney, and I’m suddenly aware of where I am. And that we’re alone.
“Is this against the rules? Will I get in trouble for spending time with you alone?”
His brow perks up. “I’m thirty-six years old, Addison. That’s fucking hilarious.”
He studies the board even though we both know there’s only one option. His fingers hover over his king for a moment before he moves it to the corner.
I pick up my smooth ivory queen, and she is cool against my fingers. I hold her for a beat, letting him wait, then set her down three squares from his king.
“Checkmate, Your Highness.”
He exhales through his nose and grins, but this time, it’s real. “Well played.”
He holds his hand out, and I take his, shaking it.
“Thank you. You have no idea how hard it is for me not to gloat,” I tell him.
“Help yourself,” he tells me.
I stand up and do a victory dance. “I beat you! I beat you so good. Ha-ha-ha! In your face.”
Laughter falls from his lips, and I actually love the sound of it.
“You’re so damn … cocky.”
“Accurate.”
He reaches forward to reset the board, and I help him arrange the pieces. Our fingers brush when we both reach for the same pawn, and neither of us pulls back. His skin is warm against mine, but his hand is rougher than I expected for a prince.