Chapter 9: Cheers for Claire

Claire's breath caught as she reached for it but Nathan got there first. He looked at the face in the drawing and his mouth curved into something cold.

"So that's what's had you so worked up with me lately. Still thinking about someone from your past."

He knew about the ex a mixed-race boy Claire had known since middle school, gone through university with, dated for years.

Young love was a house built on air. Unstable. Never meant to last.

Five years had passed. He'd assumed she'd let go of that boy a long time ago.

He crushed the drawing into a ball and dropped it in the trash.

"I don't want to see those blue eyes anywhere in this house. Ever again."

Claire retrieved it, smoothed it out carefully in front of him, folded it, and tucked it into her bag.

"Your ex-fiancée moved into this house. Why exactly can't my ex-boyfriend's face exist in a drawing?"

Her voice stayed level, but something bitter turned over in her stomach the kind of sour, fermented taste she remembered from lemonade gone warm at fifteen.

Something in Nathan's eyes went ice-cold at that, and the whole room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"That's different, Claire. Don't push me."

Claire's brow furrowed, a flash of real pain cutting through her. Nathan shouldn't be capable of sounding like this so dark, so absolute.

She left the house not long after. It was Saturday, no work to worry about.

She'd already arranged for Rose Heart to be delivered to Sophie's apartment for safekeeping.

Sophie lived in a spacious flat with a cat and two dogs, and a housekeeper on staff to look after all three.

"Prancer, Blitzen, Comet mama's home~"

Claire scratched the cat behind the ears, then gave the dogs a good rub down.

Prancer, aloof as ever, yawned, curled up on the windowsill, and ignored her entirely.

Blitzen and Comet wagged their tails and circled her happily instead.

Sophie locked Rose Heart into her safe and checked the time. "Any plans today?"

Claire sat on the floor, Blitzen tucked under one arm, Comet under the other.

"I have a match tonight. Come watch?"

"Wait seriously? I thought you dropped every hobby the second you got married."

Sophie was so excited she nearly stepped on Comet's tail.

"It's amateur-level. I should manage."

Sophie pressed her hands together. "Thank you, Diana."

Claire laughed. "No thank me. I'm the one who's still standing."

Diana's arrival had done real damage. But Claire had found her own way to claw back out of it.

Tonight felt like the right night to let everything she'd been carrying finally out.

—

That evening, the two of them arrived at the venue together.

Claire checked in at the door, got Sophie settled with a good view, then went to change.

Outside, Nathan, Diana, and Oliver stepped out of the car. Staff led them to the VIP section seated, as luck would have it, right next to Sophie.

Nathan spotted her pink curls instantly, and his expression turned wary.

"What are you doing here? Where's Claire?"

Claire had told him that morning she was going to see Sophie.

Sophie ignored him, glancing instead at Diana and Oliver.

"Wife number two, is it? Looks like he traded up for the discount package."

Nathan had no idea Claire could fence in fact, almost no one did.

Claire had never had a formal instructor. Her first love had taught her everything she knew, blade in hand.

She had no intention of telling Nathan that either, not when he'd only find some way to shut it down.

Diana bristled. "How dare you speak to me like that."

Sophie glanced sideways at her. "Forgive my terrible memory, are you wife number two, or three?"

"You!"

"Let's just watch the match," Nathan cut in, steering Diana into her seat before she said something worse.

Claire had clearly been spending too much time around Sophie lately the sharp tongue was rubbing off.

Sophie noticed Oliver glaring at her, going so far as to flip her off.

While Nathan and Diana were distracted talking, she grabbed the boy's hand and shoved his own middle finger straight into his mouth.

"Bleh!"

He didn't have time to pull back before his finger hit the back of his throat, gagging him until his eyes watered.

"Do that again and I'll take the finger off with my sword."

Diana pulled Oliver protectively into her arms. "How could you do that to a child?"

"Consider it a lesson. You're welcome."

"They say the crooked beam at the top bends everything underneath it. Guess we know where he gets it from."

Sophie clicked her tongue, eyeing Oliver with mock sympathy.

Nathan's patience snapped. He waved down a staff member. "We need different seats."

He hated crowds anyway, and had zero interest in fencing. He'd only come along for Diana and Oliver's sake and clearly, that had backfired.

Once they'd gone, Sophie felt the air around her clear considerably and settled in to actually watch.

The tournament ran on an elimination-ladder format winners stayed on the mat to face the next challenger, scored by how many rounds they survived. Equal parts stamina and nerve.

The first few competitors barely lasted three rounds each before Claire finally stepped up.

Masked, unrecognizable by face but Sophie knew that custom fencing uniform anywhere.

At the referee's signal, Claire drew her blade for the first time in five years.

A clean parry opened the match, deflecting her opponent's first strike beautifully.

Years without practice showed fast, though her form was rusty, and she quickly found herself on the back foot.

Still, she held her composure. Her instincts stayed sharp, and a string of unexpected counters kept her on the mat.

She lasted five rounds before exhaustion finally took her out.

The tournament wrapped late into the night, and the host stepped up to the mic.

"Announcing our top three finishers..."

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oliver needs to be in bed."

He gathered the boy up, draped his own jacket over him, and had his assistant wheel them both out.

—

Backstage, the tunnel lighting sat dim, separated from the noise and glare of the arena by a single door.

Claire leaned against the wall, a tangle of feelings she couldn't quite name settling over her.

She closed her eyes. The clash of blades replayed behind her eyelids, and despite everything, a small, satisfied smile crept onto her face.

"Third place: Claire Whitfield!"

The announcement carried through the door, and she strode out onto the stage.

A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd. The masked fencer, unmasked now, was radiant striking in a way that went beyond simple beauty, carrying herself with real presence.

Claire waved to the room, bowed, and blew Sophie a kiss.

It had been a mixed-gender bracket. Standing beside two male finalists, she held her ground without flinching, matching them stride for stride.

Somewhere in the crowd, a man in sunglasses sat back with his arms crossed, a black cap pulled low over golden-brown hair.

The departing crowd streamed past him, still buzzing about the match about the stunning finish from the woman in third place, most of all.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. As if none of it touched him at all.

Behind the sunglasses, his gaze tracked her, the slim, familiar figure crossing toward the exit and a slow, faintly mocking smile crossed his mouth.

Only once she'd reached her pink-haired friend, laughing, chatting, and disappeared through the exit did he finally tug his cap lower, rise, and melt back into the crowd.