Page 56 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“But there's some amount of money I could win from these bets that you think would be worth selling out for.”

“Of course,” Deepa said with an easy smile. “Everyone has a price, don’t they?”

Roz withdrew. Not just her hand from Deepa’s knee; the loss of that contact was instant; but all of her, drawing in and shuttering as if putting on a coat of armour to protect herself. In response, Deepa drew one leg up, planting her heel against the bench and adjusting her borrowed shirt to cover her lap. Her hand felt like it was resting atop a marble statue.

“I don't have a price,” Roz said.

“I do,” Deepa said slowly. “I have a hundred different prices for a hundred different lines I'm willing to cross. Appleton pays me ten pounds for every outing I make with him, and that’s only one of a dozen such deals I’ve made in my time. Do you think less of me for it?”

Roz shook her head immediately, but she didn’t meet Deepa’s eyes, and Deepa’s heart dropped.

“You’ve been upfront about your dealings from the start. I said I didn’t have a problem with it, and I don’t. But I could throw every fight for the rest of my career, and I’d never make enough money to live the kind of life you’re aiming for,” Roz said, finally looking at her. “You said we could try to make this work, but I'm never going to be anything but working class. And me, I’m fine with that. I might not have the wealth you want, but I’ve got my pride, and I’ve got my honour. And yeah, that is more important to me. If I’ll never be rich no matter what, then I want to live with integrity.”

“I lack integrity,” said Deepa.

“No,” Roz cut in. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s true. In your position, I would throw the fight and take the money. And I would feel no shame concerning it. My mother came from a good family, for all the good it did her. When she left my father, she brought me here with nothing. We must work to get by, the same as you. If I don’t cheat and scheme to get what I want, I won’t get it at all.”

For a long minute, Roz didn't speak. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.

“Boxing isn't a means to an end for me,” Roz finally said. “I do it because I love it. And I won't cheat like that. If that means I can’t make the kind of money you need from a partner—”

“When have I expected you to pay my way?” Deepa demanded, the last of her patience frittering away. “When have I ever asked you—”

“But you want me to.” Roz’s expression was as closed-off as her words. “You want someone to provide for you. You’ve been clear about that from the start. I’ve seen the things you get at The Songbird, the gifts and the money it takes to buy all your spelled-up dresses. And I can provide a lot of things, but not a king’s ransom.”

“I haven’t asked it of you.”

Shaking her head, Roz got to her feet, moving out of Deepa’s reach as she headed for the exit. The chasm widened.

“I want to give you everything without you having to ask. That’s how I do things. I need to feel useful. Whoever I’m with, I want to provide for her. If I can't, how will either of us be satisfied?”

With one hand on the door, Roz turned back to look at her. “You asked me earlier if I’d ever been in love,” she began in a low voice, and Deepa froze. “And yeah, I have, or at least, I thought it was love at the time. I thought she loved me, too. We were dreaming of making something together, but she got cold feet at the last minute and left me for a man. Told me she didn’t love him, but that it didn't matter who she did or didn’t love, because she had to think about it from a security perspective. She figured he could provide for her in a way she couldn’t count on me to do.” Roz shrugged, eyes downcast. “She’s got a kid with him, now. No idea if she’s happy or not, but I guess it wasn’t about happiness, for her.”

“I'm sorry.” Deepa felt like Roz had dropped a bomb on her, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. There must be any number of women who explored their options before resigning themselves to a traditional marriage. With Roz’s charm and good looks, it held that she should be unlucky enough to attract more than her fair share of them.

Roz shivered, a little flinch through her shoulders like she was shaking off the memory. “Like I said, I get where you're coming from. Just want you to understand where I'm coming from, too.”

“I’m never going to do that,” Deepa said firmly. “Not to you, and certainly not to myself.” She took a deep breath. “But I won't give up my livelihood just to earn your trust.”

Looking at her warily, Roz said, “Not asking you to.”

“I have to earn it somehow, though, don’t I?”

“Just tell me. Even if you keep working, keep going out with men like Appleton. Tell me I could be enough for you.”

Standing, Deepa stalled for time. Roz’s shirt was long enough on her to reach her thighs, a powder blue, cologne-scented veneer of modesty. As she rolled the hem between her fingers, her mind raced, desperately trying to find an honest answer that would keep Roz from walking out that door. She would have to mean it if she said she didn’t need riches to be happy. She would have to mean it with every piece of her heart, because otherwise, Roz would see the truth — maybe not right away, but soon enough — and feel inadequate.

At the end of the room, Roz waited with one hand on the door, her back to Deepa but her head turned ever so slightly, giving Deepa the chance to call her back.

Deepa couldn’t force her voice to cooperate. She couldn't renounce her dreams of living as London royalty, not even for Roz’s sake.

When no words came, Roz’s shoulders slumped, her head dropped, and she exited the changing room, leaving Deepa alone in nothing but her hand-wraps and Roz’s borrowed shirt.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IN WHICH A DISASTROUS NIGHT OUT ENDS IN ATTEMPTED MURDER

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