I scowl harder. “Is that why you were late for the press conference?”
He nods. “Darcy needed to try every single flavor before settling on an order. A problem, since samples are not a thing in Italy.”
“Did you have to fisticuff a brawny ice cream man with a gold necklace?”
“Depends. Would that make me more or less cool than bribing him with fifty euros?”
I laugh into the back of my hand. And after that I look at him, and he’s serious once again.
“Nolan— ”
“I’m sorry, too. About what I said. I had no right to imply that what you’ve been doing for your family is not the right thing. And I know I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with your dad.”
“Actually, I think you can.”
He studies me for longer than is comfortable. Galaxies pass through his black eyes, and I wonder whether this second could last a century. Whether the universe could be just me and him, understanding each other on a forever loop. “Yeah. Maybe I can.”
I clear my throat. Okay. Here goes.
“In the spirit of acknowledging that I’ve been hiding behind . . . a bunch of stuff— mostly Mom, and my sisters, and Dad— and that I’ve been using what needed to be done as a shield, I’ve been trying to practice verbalizing what I want. So that I can, you know, live my life for myself.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. For instance, I know now that I want to keep on playing chess. Professionally. I want it to be my job.”
Nolan’s mouth twitches. His eyes widen with that boyish gleam that I’ve come to love from him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So I’ll do that. Or at least I’ll try. And . . . My friend Easton is here, which is nice. And we made up. But once we leave, I’ll still want to talk with her every day. So I’ll just . . . call her myself. I’ll make it happen. If we’re not up in each other’s business till the day we die, it won’t be for my lack of trying.”
He nods. “Fair.”
“And also, I’ve been talking about Dad at home. Slowly. But more and more. I’ve been looking at some of his games. I’ve been showing them to Darcy as I teach her how to play. Because even if I can’t forget the bad, I want us to still remember the good.”
He knows exactly what I mean. I can tell from the rueful twist of his smile. “You should.”
“And also . . .” I swallow past the lump in my throat, nearfrozen toes curled into the floor. “Also, I’ve been considering things like fate, and coincidences, and the past. Sappy, I know. And you probably never thought of it, but when I was a kid, and you were a barely older kid, we both played chess, both in the same geographical area. And for some reason we never met, but I have to wonder if maybe we were at the same tournament or at the same club, just in different divisions. I have to wonder if maybe we played on the same chess sets, one after the other. I have to wonder if we were meant to be, and only missed each other narrowly. Because when I stopped playing, I was done. Done. Years passed, and it should have been it for you and me, we should have been that narrow miss and nothing more. But Defne’s tournament happened, and it was . . . a second chance.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t think I believe in destiny. I believe in solid openings, and middle games that show initiative, and swift transitions to end games. But I can’t stop wondering if maybe the universe was trying to tell us something, and— ”
“I can’t believe you prefaced all of this with ‘you probably never thought of it.’ ” Nolan’s tone is dry and amused, and I can’t keep the words inside me anymore.
“I want to be with you,” I push out. Shaky. And then, when nothing explodes at the revelation, I repeat it more firmly. “I want to be with you. As much as I can. As much as you’ll have me.”
I’ve said it. It’s out there. I’ve set it free, and I watch Nolan hawkishly, on the lookout for an answer, for any kind of emotional reaction. But his dark eyes are as inscrutable as ever.
“I’m glad you said that,” he tells me. Like he’s complimenting a good chess move. Like this is not the biggest leap I’ve ever taken.
“Why?”
He’s staring at me with a small smile. It’s barely noticeable, but somehow manages to make the entire earth tip over. “Because now I can say it back.”
I close my eyes, feeling like my every atom is in the middle of a seismic event. But Venice is still witching-hours calm, and Nolan’s heat is so close, it centers me, grounds me more than I thought I could ever be. “The last time we talked, I said a lot of things that weren’t true. And I forgot to say one thing that was. Which is that I was happy with you. The days we had in New York were . . .”
He seems vaguely amused at my inability to articulate my emotions. “Good?”
“Yeah. Very. And I’d like to have more. A lot more. Starting . . . now, if possible. Even though . . .” I look around and let out a choked laugh. “This is really poor timing on my part.”
He smiles. “I don’t know if I agree.”
“Why?”
He gestures to the board with his head. “We are about to spend a lot of time together.”
“Right. There is that.” I scratch the back of my neck to stop myself from reaching out for him. I want to. But maybe I shouldn’t. But I want to. “By the way . . . since you’re not a newbie like me, do you have any advice?”
He tilts his head, pensive. “Make sure you have breakfast.”
“Right. Breakfast.”
“Something with protein, if possible.”
“Okay.” I wait for him to continue. Frown when he doesn’t. “Really, that’s it? Are you hoarding advice?”
He shrugs. “That’s all I have.”
“Come on, Nolan. You’ve done three of these.”
“Yeah. But this one is unlike any other championship.”
“Why is that?”
I look at him looking at me, and overflow with something I cannot put a name to. “Because when I’m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.”
My eyes begin to tear up, but I’m not sad. For the first time in a long, long while, I’m a million things, and sad is not any of them.
“You know,” I say, taking a step closer. Then another. Then one into him, and it’s like stepping into a new world. A new era of my life. “I’ve been reading a lot of chess theory. Big, tedious books. And they all say that when chess is solved, when the perfect game is played— they say that it will be boring. Because it will inevitably end in a draw.”
I feel his smile in the beat of his heart. “They do?”
I nod.
“Well, then.” His arms close around me. His lips speak into my hair. His chest rises and falls against my ear, and I know it in my gut, like I know chess, that this is where I’m meant to be. “It will be fun when we prove them wrong.”
Six and a half hours later, the mayor of Venice, a tall man with a thick black beard and a hard-to-pronounce last name, sets my queen’s pawn on d4 in the ceremonial first move of the World Chess Championship.
The cameras click.
The spectators clap.
The waves push patiently into the lagoon.