“A-ha, but don’t you see, not caring about the money, only caring about winning, that’s a luxury. You come from money, so you have the luxury of only caring about your accomplishments. If you had nothing to fall back on, if the threat of poverty was something to really be scared of, you’d care about the money then. The money would be all you’d care about, because it’d mean the difference between having food on your plate or going hungry.”

Our game of chess felt long forgotten as King stared at me for what seemed like forever. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. He knew I was right. And speaking of hunger, I hadn’t yet had the chance to touch my lunch, so I picked up my sandwich and began to unwrap it. I took a bite, chewed, and all the while King didn’t say a word.

Finally, he spoke. “Have you ever considered joining a debate club? You’d be a formidable competitor.”

I laughed. “Maybe I will.”

King watched me eat for a moment (which made me unusually self-conscious) before opening up the small food container he’d brought with him. It looked like some sort of healthy Asian salad.

 “Why did you bring your chessboard here? This is the same one we played at your apartment, right?” I asked as we both ate.

He cleared his throat. “It is. And to answer your question, I enjoyed playing with you. I thought we could make it a regular thing.”

His answer caught me off guard, and yes, I was also a little bit flattered that he wanted to play chess with me on the regular. “And you put it in your bathroom because…?”

He gave me a hint of a smile. “You’re oddly taken with my bathroom. I thought you’d be more amenable to playing if I put it in here.”

I laughed loudly, because even though it was so weird, it was also so right. “Oh, my God, you know me too well. It’s kinda scary.” I waggled my brow at him.

“I wanted to make an effort for my very first Sapphic friend,” he replied.

Christ, if ever there was a lie that would come back to haunt me, it was telling Oliver King that I batted for the other team. Still, it was a little bit funny he believed I was gay, and it was enjoyable to play along. I mean, even though I found him attractive, I had no intention of ever letting it go anywhere, so what was the harm in him believing I liked girls?

“If you’d really wanted to make the effort, you could have popped a few pictures of topless birds up on the wall. You know, so I’d have somewhere pleasant to rest my gaze.”

King chuckled. “My apologies. I’ll remember that for the next time I need to butter you up.”

***

Mum: Dinner’s on the table at 7. Don’t be late.

I got the text right after lunch, and remembered I’d promised my parents I’d come around for dinner that evening. King and I hadn’t managed to finish our game within the hour, so we’d left the board as it was with an agreement to pick up where we’d left off tomorrow.

Was he going to spend all his lunch hours playing chess with me in his bathroom?

The question gave me troubling butterflies in my belly, and I couldn’t deny I was flattered by how much attention he was showing me. I had the feeling Oliver King didn’t show attention to new people easily, so I knew there must be something about me that interested him. I was under no illusions that I was special, but I put it down to being different from the usual women who worked at Johnson Pearse. I didn’t mince my words, I said inappropriate crap, I acted inappropriately, and seemingly King found all of this endearing for whatever reason.

All I knew was, he wasn’t inviting Gillian to spend her lunch hours with him playing chess.

It was five past seven when I arrived at Mum and Dad’s. They lived in Hackney, in the same little house I’d grown up in. It was far from a perfect place. The house was old and worn and in definite need of a lick of paint, but it was home, even more so when it was filled with the aroma of my mum’s cooking. My mouth was practically watering at the scent of her special recipe moussaka.

“You’re late!” Mum said, one hand on her hip, her usually plump lips drawn into a thin line. “We’ve all been waiting.”

By “all” she meant her, my dad, and my younger brother Kain, who had just turned twenty-one and still lived at home. My older brothers, Leon and Matt, were married with children and had long since moved out.

“Sorry, sorry, today was my first day on my own, and it took me a little longer to finish up than usual,” I said, raising my hands in the air. I loved my mum to pieces, but she had a fiery temper and got mad easily. Lateness was one of her many pet peeves, especially when she’d gone to the trouble of cooking.

I almost laughed as I took off my coat and saw she was holding a spatula. She pointed it at me like it could’ve been used as a lethal weapon. “The next time I will make fish fingers! Then you’ll learn to be on time.”

Now I did laugh. Mum had only moved to the U.K. when she was twenty-three, so she still had an accent, and “fish fingers” just sounded hilarious when coming from her. I stepped forward and gave her a hug, which seemed to placate her mood.

“I’m sorry, mamá, it won’t happen again.”

She sniffed. “Yes, well, see that it doesn’t. Now come on, you look starved.”

I followed her inside the kitchen, saying hello to Dad and Kain as I took a seat at the table. I filled them all in on the details of my new job, and I didn’t fail to notice the look of pride in my dad’s eyes when I spoke. I knew the fact that I’d gone back to school meant a lot to him. He’d always told me I had brains to burn, and that I was wasting my time working in a bar. I wasn’t quite sure that I’d ever go much further in my career than working at Johnson Pearse, but at least it was something.

We were just done with dinner when my phone began to vibrate. Since texting at the table was another of my mum’s pet peeves, I excused myself to the living room to check my message.

Oliver King: Are you busy?

Alexis: Just finished dinner. What do you need?

Oliver King: I’m at a meeting that’s running late. I was due at my mother’s an hour ago, but it looks like I’m not going to make it. Can you pick up some flowers and deliver them to her?

I frowned at his message. I didn’t want to blow off my family, since I usually stayed and watched TV with them after dinner, but I was really curious to meet the elusive Elaine King. Okay, so I was morbidly curious. She hadn’t been seen in the public eye for more than a decade, and there had to be a reason for it. Plus, she’d been the one to teach King how to play the piano so beautifully, and I was a little in awe of her for that. Finally, I replied.

Alexis: Of course. Send me the details.

Needless to say, Mum was none too pleased when I skipped out on her early. I left with a promise to visit again at the weekend, and that kept her happy. When I arrived at the florist, there was a huge bouquet of red and yellow lilies waiting to be collected. I picked them up, careful not to damage the petals, and went outside to thumb a cab.

Elaine King lived in a four-story period house in Bloomsbury, a very exclusive and expensive area of London. I stood outside for a moment, gathering my nerve. I’d never stepped foot in a house like this in my life, and it was slightly intimidating. Finally going for it, I pressed the doorbell, and a moment later a female voice came through the speaker.

“Hello, is that you, Oliver?”

“Mrs King, my name is Alexis. I’m your son’s assistant. He had a meeting run late and asked me to deliver some flowers. I hope that’s okay?”

“Flowers? Oh, yes, flowers. Okay, I’ll be right there.” There was something manic and airy about her voice that sounded kinda off. I was standing there for a good five minutes before I finally heard the door being unlocked. She opened it slowly, and I was met with an older pair of ice-blue eyes that were almost identical to King’s.