"Freddie, it's just a bloody game!" She hadn't meant to snap, but she couldn't help it. Florence had loved the game, dearly. It had been her safe place when she was a child, and had brought her all the things she could have asked for as an adult. And she was good. Oh, sure, Freddie had beaten her. So had Anatoly, and probably several others could have as well if she'd continued to play on her own instead of as Freddie's second. But she was still one of the best, or she never would've been Europe's top player. It was still only a game. It still wasn't worth losing the only two men she'd ever loved, and it had cost her both of them in the end, even if only indirectly. "It was different back when we played just because we enjoyed playing. But then Decourcy got involved and Global and I don't even want to talk about the damn Soviets."
Yes, she was riled up. She had a temper, and this was a subject that hurt her more than most. She was angry. All she loved was taken from her, and for what? For people who had taken the most innocent game, an ancient game, and turned it into the ultimate power struggle. And dammit, it wasn't fair.
She didn't even bring up what he'd said 'while angry'. It seemed Freddie was almost always angry, especially those last years. Always fighting to stay on top, always pissing off whoever he could to keep himself in the papers. She'd tried so hard, too hard sometimes, to smooth things over. And that was, after all, where it all went wrong.
Still, this wasn't the time or the place. Florence took several slow breaths before looking back up at Freddie, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Besides, what if I did beat you? Your precious ego couldn't take it." Which, sadly, was likely the truth. Freddie didn't take failure well, most specifically his own.