Page 75 of Love Is A Draw
Rachel Pearler arrived last, her grace unmistakable even without the finery she often wore. Two servants trailed her, baskets in hand. She gave no speeches, made no gesture of magnanimity. She simply directed the baskets to be set down, their lids lifted to reveal sweet buns and apples, steam still curling from the bread.
“One thinks better in chess on a full stomach,” Rachel said lightly. And just like that, the children fell upon the food, buns vanishing between hands and bites taken mid-game, laughter bubbling fuller now. No one thanked her, and she did not expect it. The thanks were in the children’s eagerness, in the crumbs falling onto chessboards, in the way the apple juice dripped down a boy’s chin as he moved his knight with newly-learned care.
Victor looked up from his table, pausing to take it all in. The boy who once carried a knife now carried a white queen. A girl with torn boots lifted her rook as though it were a banner. Dmitry was roaring again, Rachel overseeing quietly, Maia beaming as if she’d conquered an empire when she mated the boy who was older and taller than her. And Gail—his Gail—was kneeling in the grass beside a child, patient, radiant, every inch of her lit with the joy of teaching.
Victor’s chest ached, but not from fear or loss. It was something brighter. Not the triumph of winning, but the triumph of giving.
“This,” Gail whispered beside him, as if she, too, understood the moment, “this is the real way that chess is like life.”Like love. It’s the only thing in the world that increases when shared.
Victor’s hand sought hers, lacing their fingers together. “I have an idea,” he said quietly, his gaze sweeping the meadow alive with laughter, boards, and possibility. Dmitry’s eyes gleamed toward a horizon wider than London, Rachel’s servantspoured cider into wooden cups, children leaned over pawns as if they held crowns in their hands.
“We’ll try to open the tournament to more than international players. We’ll open it up to all. This is only the beginning.”
