by Molly Joseph
It was the wrong thing to say. It sounded cruel and distancing and defensive, and Grace flinched a little. He was a fucking jerk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I lied to you about how I learned Arabic. I’m sorry I hid my Syrian heritage from you.”
“No, I’m sorry I confronted you about it.” Grace looked down at her phone. “I guess it’s none of my business anyway, now that we’ve...”
Broken up. You broke up with me, Grace.
“And I’m sorry that Fredrik... That he called you that name when you were fighting.”
“Raghead? I’ve heard it many times, along with worse names. It doesn’t bother me anymore.” Liar. It bothers you. He rubbed his forehead and reached to cover the notes she’d typed on her phone. “How do you ask for help, Grace?”
“Saa’adnii,” she repeated dutifully.
“Good. And Shukran is the way to say ‘thank you,’ in case you wanted to know. It’s an easy word, and a good word to say if you’re trying to be polite. Arab society can be very polite, very cordial. Women especially...” He had to tread carefully. He didn’t want to set her off again. “Women especially are expected to be polite.”
“You mean deferential.”
“Yes. If you get in a bind, be deferential. I’m saying that because I want you to be safe. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Again. She’d be in danger in Dubai. There were people who genuinely wanted to hurt her, for hatred and zealotry, and a warped sense of honor. He was half-Arab. In Dubai, he wouldn’t let her move from his side.
“Thank you for teaching me this stuff,” she said. “I’m glad you’ll be there to help me. I’ll try to behave.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” He’d come to despise those words, because he missed being more than her bodyguard. “Okay. Tell me one more time how to ask for the American Embassy.”
“Wayna al-sifaara al-amerika? Amriikiiya.” She corrected herself without looking at her phone. She was a freaky little genius. He’d known that all along.
“Good.” He adjusted one of the pawns on the chess board, bringing it into line with the others. “Are there any other words you want to learn? Anything you want to know about where we’re going?”
She rested her head on her hands. She looked so tired and stressed. She stared at the chess board, then looked up to meet his gaze. “How do you say ‘forgive me’ in Arabic? Like, if you made a mistake and you wanted to apologize?”
He thought a moment. “You can say Ana aasifa jidan, semehni. I’m very sorry, please forgive me. Or min fadlak iqbal i’iitizari, please accept my apology.”
“Ana aasifa jidan,” she said, slaughtering the pronunciation. “Sam, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“For what?”
Her lower lip trembled. She moved the chess board to the side and laid her forehead on the table. “For everything. For pushing you away and acting like an idiot. And just...being so stupid.”
He moved his fingers to touch her hair. “I forgave you for that a long time ago. Days ago. Whenever it was that you told me you didn’t want me anymore.”
“You shouldn’t have forgiven me, though.”
“Too bad. I did.”
Her lashes fluttered. “I’m sorry I ended our relationship so abruptly. I’m so sorry for everything.”
He stroked her shorn, French-waif hair and held the edges beneath his fingertips. What did that mean? Was it just an apology, or was it something more? Did she want him back? Did he dare go back to her and risk another evisceration? He sighed. “I miss you, Gracie.”
She reached for his hand and pressed her cheek against it. His thumb trailed a line along her jaw. “I miss your smiles. I miss you being happy,” he said.
“I haven’t felt very happy lately.”
He was back to the beginning again, that point where he had to argue with himself and say, no, you shouldn’t do this. You can’t do this. It isn’t professional. Even if you want her more than life itself.
He lowered his head beside hers and kissed her temple. A whisper, the lightest kiss. He could see tears squeezing from under her lids.
“I don’t know what to say to make things all right between us,” she said.
“I already told you you’re forgiven.”
“Would you ever take me back? I mean, I’m sure you don’t trust me. That you couldn’t trust me after what I did to you.”
No, he didn’t trust her. He was still kind of angry that she could throw him away so easily. But he still loved her. That had never gone away. “I think this is a really difficult time in your life, Grace. I’ll never understand what you’re going through. I’m trying to understand but I know I’ll never really know how you feel.” He brushed away one of her tears. “I know you’re struggling with a lot of things and I understand that you need space.”
“The thing is...” More tears fell. It slaughtered him to see her so sad. “The thing is, I think I need you more than I need my space. But I don’t deserve you. But still…still…I wish you would take me back. I wish you would give me another chance. I wouldn’t be so stupid this time.”
She reached for him and he took her hands, and then they were kissing across the table. Yes, he thought. Yes to everything.
He knew things would likely get worse before they’d get better. He knew Grace would have dark days and erratic meltdowns, and that their relationship would run a gamut of ups and downs. None of it mattered. He loved her. Would he give her another chance? Yes, he would, in a fucking heartbeat.
“Come here. Just fucking come here and stop crying.” He couldn’t bear her tears, and he couldn’t get close enough to her—especially with the table between them. He grasped her arms and hauled her over it. The chess board and pieces fell to the floor.
He gathered her against him, his whole body reacting to her warmth and closeness. He twisted fingers in her soft, fragrant hair and ravaged her mouth. He wanted to fuck her, yes. He wanted to take her upstairs and possess her, and slide inside her body, but he wanted to connect to her too. He made her stop and look at him. See me here. I’m not just your bodyguard. I’m the man who took your virginity. I’m the man who loves you. I’m me. I’m here. “You can’t throw me away again,” he said. “If we do this, you can’t throw our relationship away because of life, or pressure, or chess. We have to talk when things are bad.”
“Yes.”
“We have to forgive each other when we’re angry, when we make mistakes.”
“Yes, I promise.”
“You can’t break my heart again, damn you.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. I promise that too.”
He picked her up and carried her to the stairs, because he wasn’t willing to let her go. He took her to his room instead of hers, and laid her on his narrow bed, because that’s where the condoms were, and because this was what she’d done to him. She’d made him wait for her here, and ache for her, fearing he’d never have her again.
He took off her glasses and her sweater and her jeans, and her bra and panties, and threw them on top of his luggage. He stripped too, and dug for the rubbers. He protected her in all things, even though he wished he could drive inside her bareback. It was too much of a risk for now. Maybe someday, after Dubai. There was an after Dubai again, something to look forward to. She was here with him, waiting on his bed. Beautiful breasts, hips, legs, pussy he couldn’t wait to taste.
He threw the condoms on the side table and fell on her, parting her thighs, reacquainting himself with her sensitive spots, and her excited gasps and sighs. She stroked fingers through his hair, tracing his scalp. All his gray matter and synapses were going mad for her, this lovely genius whom he could never hope to outwit. He still loved her. She was more than sex to him, much more, but he needed this re-connection, and based on her reactions, so did she.
“Please,” she begged, arching her pussy into his mouth. “Please hold me down. Please take me.”
He wrapped his arms around
her thighs and ran rampant over her pussy, licking, sucking, reveling in her taste. He slipped his tongue around her clit and teased her to near crisis, but he didn’t let her come. Not yet. A bit of revenge for making him wait and suffer.
“Do you want me, baby?” he asked.
“Yes. Now.”
“Right now?” His cock was throbbing along with his heartbeat. “You want me inside you, fucking you hard and dirty? Making you come?”
“I need you inside,” she whined. “Please.”
“Remember what you promised,” he said, taking her arms and pressing her down to the mattress. “I’ll hold you to everything you said.”
She would have promised him anything then. He wasn’t playing fair, but she didn’t always play fair either. She nodded and squirmed beneath him. “Please, Sam. I’ll remember. I’ll be a good girl. Please.”
A good girl. It would be fun to play around with that later. For now, he’d teased her enough. He pressed into her tight warmth, inch by breathtaking inch. She groaned so loud he had to smother her with his palm. “Renzo will hear,” he whispered.
“Don’t care,” she moaned behind his fingers.
She was so alive when he was inside her, twisting and arching, and squeezing his cock with her inner muscles until he almost lost his mind. I’ve missed you. God, how I’ve missed you. But now he’d have to live with the fear of losing her again. He held her down, fucked her hard and dirty as if that could keep her. Mine, mine, mine. He wanted to be the first and last man inside her. He didn’t want any other man to touch her ever again.
“Good girl,” he growled. He captured her lips and surged inside her to the hilt. At some point he’d have to fess up to his repeated breaches of professionalism, admit that he’d carried on a sexual liaison with a client. Someday people would know, but tonight it was just him, and her, and her thighs clenching around him.
“I missed this so much,” she gasped. “I missed having you inside me. It feels so good, like...”
He adored the way she babbled during sex. “What does it feel like, baby?” he asked.
“It feels like the harbor. Like the distance. Endless. It feels...endless, like it goes on forever.” She clung to his shoulders, gazing up at him. “Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.” He buried his face against her neck, breathing in her scent. That too would remain with him endlessly, forever. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Maybe it’s like that for us. Maybe...” Whatever else she said was lost in her cries of ecstasy.
He didn’t even attempt to muffle her this time.
*** *** ***
Grace floated through sensuous, erotic dreams, or maybe those things had all really happened. The bed was so warm and cozy. It smelled like Sam, like fresh soap and male. Someone nudged her shoulder.
“Grace?”
“No,” she moaned. She didn’t want her dreams to end.
“Yes, sleepyhead,” came Sam’s rumbly voice. “Wake up, baby. It’s time.”
She blinked her eyes open. He stood beside the bed, suited and necktied, his hair dark and wet from the shower. “Time for what?” she asked.
“Time to vanquish your enemies.” He leaned down and kissed her, a long, slow, hot, tender kiss that made her want to pull him back into the bed, necktie and all. “No,” he said firmly. “Be a good little chess grandmaster. Get up and get ready. The cars will be here in less than an hour.” When she groaned, he kissed her again. “I know. But you’ll have time to sleep on the plane.”
The plane. Dubai. The black, tinted cars that would whisk them to the airport and onto the chartered flight. The World Championship Match: twelve games to determine the winner. She sat up in bed, blinking, wiping the sleep and the erotic memories from her mind, then she looked at Sam again.
Jesus, her bodyguard looked fine in a suit.
She was only a little sad to say goodbye to Helsinki and the house on Huvilakatu. She’d miss looking at the harbor, the icebound water stretching out into a greater sea. Some things she’d take with her, like the Marie Antoinette dress, which was being shipped to Zeke’s house in New York. But she was leaving behind the fears and doubt, and all the drama with Fredrik. Gone. Done. Moving on.
Renzo and Krishna were in high spirits as they piled into the hired cars with the government drivers. QueenOps. Sam told her all about it. He’d been communicating with them all day yesterday. She thought she recognized some of them from the plane ride over. Had it only been six weeks ago? She’d changed so much since then. She and Sam’s relationship had changed so much, although they both decided to keep it a secret until after the match. Well, Renzo and Krishna knew—Sam said she was too loud in bed—but they were her seconds and they’d never tell anyone.
She felt cushioned in a circle of trust. Fuck Fredrik. Renzo and Krishna had helped her put together some great strategies in the past week, and Zeke was a rock. He’d be watching every game from his computer in New York, with Mrs. Ferlander’s help, of course, and they would dissect each move afterward. It was going to be okay.
And Sam would be beside her for everything, so she wouldn’t have to be alone, or open her hotel room door when someone knocked. She hardly thought about that attack anymore. The world didn’t seem as dangerous as it used to seem, for a very good reason.
“All right?” Sam asked as he settled in beside her on the plane. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Everything’s good.”
The jet was slightly bigger this time. She couldn’t help comparing the flight to last time, when she’d been so nervous, and things had felt so awkward between her and her new bodyguard. This time, when they were airborne, Sam reached in his pocket and took out a small, square, tissue-wrapped package, and placed it in her hand. “Open it.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Open it. It’s just a little thing. A gift for good luck.”
She tore open a corner of the tissue and slid the box out. It was flat and rectangular. She lifted the lid to find a fine silver chain and a military-style dog tag. She touched the embossed surface and squinted through her glasses at the inscription. Courage is grace under pressure—E. Hemingway.
“It’s not new,” he said quietly. “I wore it with my other tags when I was in the Army. Maybe it brought me luck.”
“This was yours?” She closed her fingers around it. This tag had been to war with him, had been around his neck through violence and noise, and terrifying desert nights. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Because you’re the one headed to battle now. And your name is Grace, and you’re courageous. And under pressure, obviously. The chain’s new,” he added, as if she cared whether such a gift was new or not. Her throat burned against a rush of emotion.
“Wow,” she said. “But this must be special to you.”
“It’s very special. My mother gave it to me when I left for my first action.”
“But...” She didn’t want to refuse his gift, but at the same time she didn’t feel worthy of it. Going to war for your country was one thing. She only played chess. “Are you sure you want to give it to me? Forever?”
“I’m sure I want to give it to you forever. I’m not in the Army anymore, I don’t need it, and I decided weeks ago that you’d earned it. You’re so...” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “You’re so much braver than me. Braver than anyone I know.”
“I’m not braver than you. That’s ridiculous.”
“You are.” He put a finger over her lips. “Don’t argue with me. I know what I’m talking about. You’re not just brave. You’re an inspiration to people all over the world. How many kids have picked up a chess board and started playing since they learned about you, hoping and dreaming to be in your place some day?”
“Not very many. Chess isn’t a big deal anymore, especially in the U.S.”
“It wasn’t a big deal, until you came along. How many magazine covers were you on this month? How many people do you think you’
ve touched? How many kids have you inspired? How many women will start believing in themselves because of what you’ve accomplished? You’re literally changing the world, Grace.”
“I don’t know.” She looked away from him, turning the dog tag in her fingers. Across the aisle, two of the government agents slept, their heads tilted back against their seats. “I don’t know if I’m really changing the world. I’m just playing chess.”
“It’s okay to just play chess. The rest will take care of itself.”
“I don’t feel brave. I feel scared shitless.”
“That’s okay too.”
She wished they were alone so she could kiss him. She wished she could crawl inside him and live in his heart, where it was so safe and warm. “Thank you for accepting me the way I am. Thanks for understanding all my issues and craziness.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that I understand all your issues and craziness, but I love you. I’m going to stick around for a while after Dubai, if that’s okay with you.”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s absolutely okay.”
Some part of her still couldn’t believe he really loved her, that he could forgive her and take her back, and maybe even lose his job for her, but some other part of her was tired of doubting. Tired of being afraid.
“I’m going to try to be as brave as you think I am,” she said. “This is going to help.” She tucked the dog tag down inside her shirt. “I’m going to vanquish my enemies.”
“Damn straight you are.”
“Zeke and I always did this other thing for luck too. With our pinkies.”
He held his pinkie out. It was nothing at all like Zeke’s bony, bent finger but she hooked it with her pinkie and smiled at him.
“For luck,” she said.
“For luck. Not that you’re going to need it.”
The drone of the plane and Sam’s nearness relaxed her. She put her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. His dog tag warmed against her skin, under her two shirts and sweater, so the next time she moved she felt it there, a talisman for luck and love, and grace, resting right against her heart.