She'd so often wondered what her life might have been like if she'd politely declined to stay around in France, watching the rest of the match. Her manager had flat out told her not to, and Brent had made a little hissy fit. But she was in charge back then. It was her way and all of them knew it. Yes, she'd lost, and it was disheartening. But the American, with his cocky swagger and sneak attack moves, intrigued her. She wanted to see him play, and secretly wanted to see him take down the Frenchman, despite him having beat her. Hell, maybe because of that. Because Florence knew that, though she may not have been the best the world had seen, she was damn good. And he'd come along and pulled the rug out from under her with barely a battle wound. Oh, she'd gotten her best plays in, and from time to time, it had worked to her advantage. But Freddie was bold, creative in the ways he chose to take each turn, and she'd become quickly fascinated.
So being approached by de Courcey hadn't really been a difficult choice for her. She'd already seen what Freddie Trumper could do. She wasn't coming along to take that crown any time soon. Why not take advantage of a great opportunity and get to spend more time with a man with more personality than every one her mother had ever attempted to set her up with? It had potential. Unfortunately, the potential was just as negative as it was positive.
"She never could tell me what to do," Florence admitted, her smile somewhat shy. "I knew what I wanted and I knew I was going to have it. Even if it was the guy from the bad home in New Jersey. Which he rose above, and shouldn't that be commended anyway?" Of course it should have. And her mother probably would've seen that, in time. But Florence and Freddie were live wires around each other, and they'd spent their time between two continents, half the time arguing and the other time being passionately in love. It really wasn't any wonder her mother had ignored him, even shunned him.
She grinned at his comment about the cultured lady she was meant to be. Which was a far cry from the fierce competitor she'd become instead. "Prima ballerina, concert flautist, and tea party thrower extraordinaire, thank you," she informed him with a fake little curtsy. Which was interrupted by the cab arriving. And all thoughts of it were gone as she held his gaze as he brushed her hair back. And suddenly she was very glad she'd left it loose that day.
"As I'll ever be." Which may have come off a bit challenging, but she couldn't really be blamed, could she? There was so much that could go wrong that evening. Everything they'd worked for could just as easily fall apart. Or, it could all go brilliantly and they'd do it again and again until they had to admit to being a couple again or look ridiculous for pretending it wasn't true.
She slid into the cab, moving all the way over to make room for him. Really, she should've made him get in first. It was hardly ladylike to be sliding all around a taxi cab, now was it? Not that she'd paid attention to that in ages, but this was different. She didn't want to be the woman he'd parted from a year ago. She wanted him to remember the woman she was when they'd first met, practically still a girl in a lot of ways, and with all her mother and her management's teachings still very much ingrained in her.
Oh, well. If her adult self wasn't enough for him, they weren't going to work out anyway, were they?