I have no idea why he’s suddenly brought an impromptu quiz to the table, but now I’m as mentally on my toes as him. “Oslo,” I reply. He knows I’d never get this fact wrong, so I can’t fail on purpose here.
Try again, Richard.
“And the capital of Estonia?” he quizzes.
“Tallinn.” I narrow my eyes. “C'est tout?” Is that all?
He knocks my queen over with his bishop. “Check.”
My king is unprotected. I graze over the board quickly. “I see no way to win. Congratulations.” My voice is so tight that I can hardly swallow.
“There are two moves you could make, and you’re saying that you can’t see either?”
“That’s exactly what I just said,” I snap and push the chessboard at him, pieces tipping over and scattering our bed. “You can gloat about it and take your win.” I try to seem upset about the loss, but I’ve never claimed to be good at acting.
“What’s the capital of the Philippines?”
Manila. “I don’t know,” I say hastily and then climb off the bed. “It should be enough that you’ve won this game. You don’t have to keep testing me.” As I turn and face him, I go very still.
He knows.
“You let me win. There’s no satisfaction in that.” He rights the chess pieces on the board. “The fact that you’d even think I’d believe you’d relinquish your queen is not only insulting to my intelligence but to your own. And you know every capital in less than a second.”
“You can’t know my knowledge of capitals.” I can’t believe I’m downplaying my intelligence to make a point.
I’ve never done this before.
Connor keeps his emotions padlocked, and I wonder if he’s as dismayed as I am. I’m trying to convince him that I’m a playful house cat when I’ve positioned myself as a fierce lioness. I near my end table and listen to his calm response.
“At Faust, Matthew Wellington said he challenged you in capitals for a kiss.”
I gag at the memory. “He told you that?”
“He told all of Whitman Hall that.” Whitman Hall. The name of Connor’s boarding school dormitory. There were four Halls, all titled after poets. I find myself entranced with the facts, all void of emotion so I don’t crumble at my husband’s feet.
You broke a promise, Rose.
I’ve never had to apologize for something like this, and I thought I’d begin my penance by padding his ego with a win or two. I don’t intend for him to go easy on me because I wouldn’t want him to. I deserve to be swept in the natural disasters I produce.
It’s only fair.
I carefully sift through the drawer of my end table. “Matthew Wellington was a little weasel.” I was fifteen and would never give my first kiss to him. I was certain I’d win that bet because, as Connor noted, I knew every capital in under a second.
If I won, I was allowed to take his Gucci sunglasses. That weekend at the Model UN conference, I wore his sunglasses every time I saw his face. Just to rub it in.
“I still have Matthew’s sunglasses,” I note with pride.
“You mean the sunglasses that he told everyone he lent you, and you were so ‘infatuated’ with him, you wore them all around the conference? Those sunglasses?”
I gape, my eyes scorching hot. “What?” Matthew wasn’t just a little weasel apparently. He was also a little prick. “Did you dispel that lie?”
Connor keeps my queen between his fingers. “I called him out for twisting facts, but I still couldn’t believe you’d play games with Matthew Wellington for a kiss.”
“Because you hoped I’d play those games with you?” I question.
Connor doesn’t deny this. “You hated Faust boys, and I wanted to be the one you hated most.”
Translation: I wanted to be the one always on your mind.
I fight a mounting smile. “You succeeded.”
Connor grins. “I know.”
I roll my eyes dramatically and continue my search through the drawer. Now that he knows I’ve let him win, I can’t hide my treachery any longer. I find my self-defense knife, the hilt blood-red. I quickly set it beside the chessboard, nearest Connor, and then reclaim my spot on the bed.
He hardly looks surprised or like someone who was just handed a weapon.
He picks up the knife. “Explain.”
“You can stab me in the back like I’ve stabbed you.” My nose flares, restraining an onslaught of guilt and regret.
Connor rubs his lips, but I can’t tell if he’s pieced anything together yet.
“I deserve punishment.” There I said it. I tie my hair into a pony, ready for whatever he wants to dole out.
“We’ve been through this, Rose,” he says so calmly. “I’d never hurt you, not even hypothetically.”
“Not even if I cheated on you?” I test.
“You didn’t.” His tone is matter-of-fact. Like in no realm of possibility does that scenario exist. I can’t even imagine putting a pinky toe in that direction either. I’m so tragically in love with him. To the point where breaking a simple promise has my stomach twisted. It’s not nearly as catastrophic as infidelity.
Connor stands off the bed, knife in hand.
“Not even if I cheated on an exam?” I try again, watching him and his supreme poise.
“I’d think less of you because I know you’re better than that.”
“Then you must think less of me now.” I cast a glare at the ceiling. Just say it, Rose. Let your impulsive misstep out into the world.
Connor speaks before I do. “Because you went to the doctor without me?”
He definitely knows.
Connor clasps my ankle, sliding me to the edge of the bed until my legs fall off. He stands tall above me. “Because we made a promise that we’d go together?” He kicks my ankles apart, spreading my legs wide.
I eye the knife in his hand.
Not even a second later, he places my knife back in the drawer, as though to say, never will I harm you. And then he returns to me.
“I wouldn’t think less of you because of this.” He steps nearer. “Because I know who you are. Because I know exactly why you would’ve broken our promise today and why you couldn’t wait longer than a night to confess.”
I breathe shallowly.
Connor presses his hand to my breastbone, and I follow the force of his palm. Until my back meets the soft comforter. “Because you’re impetuous.” He stretches my arms above my head, crossing my wrists. “Because you see our promises like vows of love and death.” I do. “Because you feel like you broke something that’s unbreakable.”
I shiver, cold sweeping my arms and legs.
He fits something in my hands and closes my fingers over it. A chess piece.
My queen.
Connor hovers above my frame, his hands on either side of me, his lips only inches away from mine. My legs curve around his waist, my bare skin beginning to heat.
Very deeply and very hushed, he says, “If you were anything other than a torrid fire, you wouldn’t be the woman I’ve admired and loved. I understand your reasons. I respect them and adore them because they belong to you.”
I inhale sharply, my back arching and body rising against his. He lets out a deeper breath, skimming me for a moment, before meeting my eyes.
I clutch my queen tightly. I’d give her to him again, but not in the same way. I’d love her more beforehand.
“It drove me insane not knowing if I was pregnant,” I explain. “I thought I’d just be in and out and nothing would be changed.” Before going, I took two tests. One said a faint yes and the other said fuck off no way. I convinced myself that the doctor would say you’re not pregnant.
Connor isn’t surprised. Though he never really is. “I’d rather have this moment with you than have an ordinary day with anyone else, Rose.”
“I won’t break another promise, so don’t get used to this,” I say in a softer tone, much softer than my usual voice. I’m melting beneath my husband and his words and reassurance of his love for me. The me that can be unpredictable and fiery and full of contradictions and all the other personality traits I spent the day loathing.
As I attempt to bring my arms down, he grips my wrists together, cementing my hands where he first placed them. Heat stirs between my legs, and his dominance pours over me.