Page 69 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“She can try. She’s already taken some good hits. If she gets knocked down—”

“I wanted her to take the deal and throw the fight because it was the smart thing to do, but I don’t want to see her lose like this.”

A silver whistle split the air to end the first round, and the fighters retreated to opposite corners of the ring. They both looked tired, but Roz was in considerably worse shape.

Cherie gave Deepa a little shove, toppling her off her crate. “Go cheer her on, then!”

Deepa dug her heels in. “I’m the last person she’ll want to see right now.”

Kelly and Roz’s manager were there with her in her corner, Kells dousing her with water to rinse the sweat away as her manager leaned in too close, whispering conspiratorially in her ear.

“Second last,” Deepa amended. She couldn’t see Roz’s face, but she could imagine the disgust curling her lip in a sneer.

“She’ll want to see you now that you want her to win,” Aaliyah said.

“If she's losing, I can’t magically turn that around for her!”

“You can make a difference,” Jasmine said, coaxing Deepa forward. “Trust me, you can help.”

“Go now,” Elizabeth urged, “before the next round starts!”

On feet she couldn’t feel, Deepa made her way to Roz’s corner, sliding through the crowd until she reached Roz’s back, staring at the broad slope of her shoulders. It was Kells who noticed her first, cutting her an assessing look before nodding and moving aside, allowing Deepa to approach.

“No distractions,” the manager barked when he noticed her next, but Deepa ignored him as easily as a fly. The man was a nuisance not worth her effort.

“Roz,” she said, and when Roz turned to look at her, it was as if the rest of the world fell away.

Deepa hadn’t seen her since Saturday night, and though their argument was as stingingly fresh as if it had happened minutes ago, it felt like they’d been parted a year. She wasn’t angry anymore; she didn’t want an apology or for Roz to admit she was right. The nuances were more complicated than that, because life was complicated, and relationships even more so. There was a reason she’d been adamant about avoiding them for so long, after all.

“You came,” Roz croaked.

“Now's not the time,” her manager began.

“Quiet,” they said in unison, neither of them sparing him a glance.

“I know how this looks.” Roz had a stubborn set to her jaw and a gleam in her eye that spoke of defiance, despite how she was bruised and beaten. The pride she valued so much more than money was still pumping strong in a way it wouldn't be if she’d taken those hits after agreeing to her manager’s deal.

“I know,” Deepa said. “Listen.”

Having spent the better part of the week on the outs with Roz, seeing her again left Deepa with no question that this was what she wanted. If love was a choice, then she was choosing Roz, and if that wasn't enough to break the curse, then the fault lay with Phillip’s magic, not with either of them. If Deepa’s curse never broke, if she spent every night as a leopard for the rest of her life, with the curse insisting that their love couldn't be true, then she would choose Roz anyway, and keep choosing her every day.

Taking Roz by the face, two slender fingers on her jaw and her thumb on Roz’s chin, Deepa looked her in the eye and said, “I want you to win.”

Roz’s breath hitched and wonder sparked in her grey eyes. When the whistle pealed, she got to her feet without help and returned to centre ring without taking her eyes from Deepa until the last second. Another whistle marked the beginning of the next round, and Roz threw herself into the fight with renewed energy.

It wasn't enough. Roz might worship her as a goddess, but Deepa couldn’t work miracles. Roz was already tired from the first round. Whatever had gone wrong had happened early on, before Deepa had arrived. She had the awful feeling that it had actually gone wrong before Roz had even set foot in the ring, and that it was her fault Roz was performing badly. If Deepa had supported her from the beginning, backing her decision to win, Roz might have entered the ring balanced and confident. Deepa didn’t know if her presence now was enough to reverse Roz’s fortune. It seemed naïve to think Roz could draw on her as a source of strength, like having Deepa’s favour was enough to turn the tide.

Like a knight fighting for her lady, Deepa recalled, and unwound her scarf from around her neck.

The second round ended in an apparent draw, both fighters having dealt and suffered an equal number of hits. Roz was still the underdog, trying to make up ground from that weak start, far behind her opponent now in terms of strength and stamina. But she looked more solid than she did in the beginning, like she’d regained her drive, even if it didn’t make up for the darkening bruises.

When she returned to her corner for water and a moment’s rest, Deepa raised her silk like a flag.

“What's this?” Roz asked, a mouthful of water spilling carelessly down her front.

“A token.” Deepa reached through the ropes to tie the scarf around Roz’s waist. “Will you win for me?”

“For you,” Roz repeated. “I didn't think I'd see you here tonight.” Her voice cracked, vulnerable.

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