Page 71 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“You came,” Roz repeated, and Deepa might have worried she’d caught a blow to the head, but Roz’s eyes were bright and clear, albeit wary.

“I came,” Deepa agreed. Her heart skipped triple time at the thought that Roz might not actually want to see her. “I had to return your shirt,” she added, breaking eye contact.

“And mine, as well,” said Kells. She was eyeing the crowd, mentally calculating the take from the punters’ bets, but standing near enough to hear their conversation.

“Anyone else’s clothes you've borrowed since I last saw you?” Roz asked.

If Deepa weren’t so shameless, she’d have blushed. “I'm not going to apologise for encouraging you to throw the fight,” she told Roz in an undertone, “but I'm glad you didn't. Whether ornot you forgive me, I was pleased to see you win tonight. You were magnificent.”

Roz grunted. “I don’t feel it.”

She swayed heavily, and Deepa had to dart in to catch her before she fell. Plastering herself to Roz’s side, she took Roz’s arm over her shoulder, bracing herself to support the woman's weight. Roz sagged, her bones going heavy as the last of her adrenaline eked away.

“You took it hard tonight,” Kelly said. “You want me to give you a hand, or shall I leave you with this one?”

“Let me,” Deepa murmured, holding her closer. “I want to take care of you.”

Roz didn’t refuse.

In the changing room, Deepa waited until the other fighter and her entourage had left before coming to stand between Roz’s knees where she sat on the bench. One by one, she removed Roz’s boxing gloves and unwrapped her hands, not saying a word. Her heavy braid fell forward over one shoulder to hang between them like Rapunzel's rope, inviting Roz to climb up and come inside.

Roz was silent, watching her from hooded eyes, offering her first one hand and then the other. Every touch from Deepa was an apology and a request to try again, and there wasn’t a single touch Roz rejected outright.

When she was finished with Roz’s hands, Deepa smoothly lowered herself to the floor, folding up cross-legged to remove Roz’s boots. At eye level, Deepa could see the way Roz grabbed the edge of the bench until her knuckles were pale under her tan, trembling faintly as she resisted the urge to reach out and rest one hand on Deepa’s head. Deepa wouldn't have protested if she’d done it. There was an ache in her chest to think that Roz needed to ask permission before touching her now. One silly argument had undone so much between them.

“I missed you,” Deepa admitted, glancing up at Roz from her feet. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone before. But you’re under my skin, and I like having you there. I don't really want to dig you out.” Sitting up a little straighter, she plucked at the scarf she’d tied around Roz’s waist. “It’s not that I didn't think I could love a woman. I didn't think I could love anyone at all. But if this isn't love, I can't imagine what is.”

“Pearls and diamonds?” Roz offered in a barely-there voice.

“That was never love,” Deepa scoffed. “And I don’t care if you never give me a diamond in my life.”

“What about a man like Lord Appleton?”

“I was intoxicated when I told you Appleton would be the perfect man for me to marry, and you didn't let me explain myself.”

“Explain now, then. Because the longer I spend with you, the harder it is to ever want to let you go.”

Curling both hands over Roz’s knees, Deepa shifted closer, and felt Roz take a sharp breath in response. “I meant it as another game,” Deepa said, willing Roz to follow her, “but neither you nor Appleton were getting conned. If I could marry a man like that, I could get everything I've ever wanted: his house, his money, the respect of his peers.”

When Roz tensed under her, Deepa squeezed her tightly and rocked up onto her knees, putting them face to face. “But I would get to keep you, too. It would be the perfect arrangement, for me to enjoy all his assets without ever being asked into his bed, all my social hours and my nights free to spend with you. On paper, I might be his wife, but in private, you and I would be entirely each other’s. That was what I wanted, when I said I would have liked to marry him. He would have been an ally, not some boorish husband getting in our way.”

“What about now?”

“I won’t lie to you. I’ll never stop coveting wealth. But I’m choosing you over every man I've ever met.” Deepa hesitated before adding, with less certainty, “If you still want me.”

Roz exhaled in a long rush. “I’d be hard-pressed to ever stop wanting you.” Releasing the bench, she offered Deepa a hand, palm-up, allowing Deepa to slot their fingers together. “I need you to tell me what you want from me,” Roz said, looking at her intently. “Straight up. No subterfuge, no flattery. What do you want?”

“You make me want to be a softer person.”

“I thought that was a bad thing.”

Deepa shook her head, her earrings swaying against her neck and the loose gathering of her braid. “It’s not as bad as I thought.” Toying with the hem of Roz’s muscle shirt, she said, “Your bruises are going to turn very dark. You’ll be black and blue in a day.”

Groaning, Roz shifted forward to get to her feet. “They’ll need ice on them. I won’t find that here.”

“Come back to The Songbird with me.” Deepa caught Roz's other hand, holding her lightly so she was free to pull away. Roz didn’t move. “Let me get you some ice. Let me look after you tonight.”

“I can look after myself. Been doing that long enough, now.”

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