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Ah, dear reader, did I catch you sighing or smiling just now?

I suppose I can’t blame you.

The word “chemistry” won’t exist

for another few centuries, but I assure you, when it does, the dictionary will feature a lovely little engraving of these

two as an example of its less scientific meaning.

I feel I must caution you, though: you may wish to wipe that grin off your face.

If you’re one of those who likes to put down

the book when everyone is happy, this is your chance.

But, Unnamed Narrator , you cry, surely you are wrong!

There are no misunderstandings, no convenient obstacles, no sign of the devices storytellers often use

to keep star-crossed couples apart.

And no mixed love languages or clashing attachment styles to drive a wedge between them.

All is well, no?

All is not well.

After all, Gwen has not let herself think about what will happen when—not if—she fails to win the tournament.

And Isobelle can’t imagine a future in which Gwen does not succeed.

Reality is a far harsher mistress than either of them expects.

I can see you considering turning the page anyway.

Fine, keep reading and ignore my caution—you readers are all alike.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.