It was that night, he knew it was. He knew he’d turned up, shown Florence his love for the game they both shared a passion for and then left again knowing he was all she’d be thinking about. The rest, the stuff that came later, there was no point in thinking about it. As perfect as they could be together in some ways, in others they were their own worst enemies. Their fights were legendary, almost as famous in the media as his dramatics were. But being here had made him start to see some things differently. And losing her had done the same. He didn’t want that to become all they were. They could come back from it. He knew they could. They were stronger than they gave themselves credit for.
When she mentioned the match he laughed, she’d played her best, used every trick she knew, and on that occasion, when his title was at stake he’d taken her down after a few games. But she’d fascinated him and he’d asked her to stay around for the final against that ridiculous Frenchman. Watch the game, see how it played out. And Florence had done so much as her people hadn’t wanted her to. And Walter, well he’d seen dollar signs. A couple, a Chess Champion and the mysterious British raised Hungarian. They’d started a golden era. And the game of chess had become a money spinner. And Freddie earned, in all the ways it was possible to.
He looked up as she spoke about the match and caught her eye, she really did care. He could see that, scared as hell of how this would play out but she cared about him and in many ways that was all he needed to know. He had to believe he could trust her again if this was going to work. It would work though. It just would. “You played alright for a Brit.” he told her, remembering how it had gone when she did get one up on him. Usually cause she flirted at him ridiculously. Oh occasionally she’d actually pull off a move he hadn’t expected but she never expected the plays he went for. Usually, it was the flirting.
They reached the lobby and Freddie looked at his watch, the cab should be along soon enough to bring them to the restaurant he’d chosen for them. “She didn’t like me.” he told her. “I was tolerated, the phonecalls to you after the latest papers that called me whatever they used to? She wanted you with a proper little Englishman, someone with land and prospects, someone like Brent? The guy from a bad home in New Jersey? Nah.” Not that he was ashamed of his past, it made him who he was. But Edita Vassy had always wanted better for Florence. “Oh and there was the fact we were unmarried and not planning a family.”
The comment about liking the new him made him smile a little, maybe she would have. He wasn’t so far from that Freddie but he did okay. “Ballerina...that’s right, you did all the proper little cultured lady stuff didn’t you? “It was kind of amusing to him imagining Florence the ballerina. He was glad she hadn’t, glad she was doing something that used her brain. She’d be lost without Chess, even if she’d once yelled at him that it wasn’t life, in some ways it really was. He let her lean against his arm not mentioning it, just letting it happen. She’d set the pace for the night that was fine with him.
When the cab arrived finally he moved his arm, brushing her hair back out of her eyes before moving to open the door for her. “Ready?” he asked.