Chapter 3 #2
After dinner, we walk through the city. Thad keeps his hand on my lower back, guiding me through the crowds.
His touch is constant—adjusting my hair, brushing my shoulder, his fingers trailing down my arm.
It's too much, too constant, and I find myself creating small distances that he immediately closes.
We end up at the rooftop bar he mentioned, and the view is spectacular. The city is spread out below us, lights twinkling like stars. It should be romantic. It should make my heart flutter.
Instead, I feel trapped.
Thad orders cocktails for both of us. Mine is something with gin that I don't particularly like, but I don't protest. We find a corner with a view, and he pulls me close against his side, his arm around my shoulders.
"This is nice," he says, his lips close to my ear. "Just the two of us. No distractions."
His hand slides down from my shoulder to my waist, then lower to my hip. I shift away slightly.
"Thad—"
"What?" His voice is innocent, but his hand doesn't move. "We're engaged, Savannah. We're going to be married. This is normal."
"I know, I just..." I search for the right words to deflect without offending him. "There are people around. It's not appropriate."
"Not appropriate." He pulls back slightly. He looks annoyed now, his eyes turning flinty. "You sound like your mother."
"I just think we should wait. Until we're married. It's important to me. My faith, my values—" The words sound hollow to me, because I don’t actually mean it… I just don’t want him touching me, and this is the quickest way to slow him down.
"Your values." He takes a drink, and his jaw is tight. "Right. Your Southern belle routine."
The words sting, but I keep my face neutral. "It's not a routine. It's who I am."
"Is it?" He studies me for a long moment. "Or is it just another way of keeping me at arm's length?"
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it?" He leans closer, and his voice drops. "We're engaged, Savannah, and you barely let me touch you. A kiss here and there, always chaste, always appropriate. I'm starting to wonder if you're actually attracted to me at all."
My face flushes. "Of course I am. I just... I want to do things right. The way I was raised."
He's quiet for a moment, then his expression softens. "I know. I'm sorry. That was unfair." He kisses my temple. "I just miss you. And sometimes it feels like you're a thousand miles away, even when you're sitting right next to me."
He's right. I am a thousand miles away. I've been a thousand miles away since my father first suggested the match, and I realized that my life was being planned without my input.
But I can't say that. So instead, I lean into him and smile. "I'm here. I promise. I'm just... adjusting. To all of this. To us."
"I know." He kisses me then, and it's more aggressive than usual. His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place, and I have to resist the urge to pull away. When he finally releases me, I'm breathless, and not in a good way.
"Let's get you home," he says. "It's getting late."
The car drops me off at my building, and Thad walks me to the entrance.
In the doorway, he backs me against the wall, his body pressing against mine, and kisses me with an intensity that feels even more possessive than the kiss he gave me at the bar.
His hands are on my waist, my hips, sliding lower, and I have to physically push against his chest to create space between us.
"Thad," I say, breathless. "Not here. Someone might see."
He glances around the empty lobby, and I can see the frustration in his eyes, but he steps back. "Right. Of course. Wouldn't want to damage your reputation."
"I'll see you tomorrow," I say quickly. "You said you wanted to do brunch?"
"Brunch." He nods, but his jaw is tight. "Sure. I'll text you in the morning."
He kisses me again, briefer this time but still possessive, his hand cupping my face. Then he's gone, striding back to the waiting car. I'm left standing in the doorway, trying to catch my breath.
Upstairs in my dorm, I lean against the door and close my eyes. The relief I feel is so profound it's almost shameful. I should miss him. I should be sad that our evening is over. Instead, I feel like I've been released from prison.
I change into pajamas and wash my face, scrubbing away the makeup, and stare at myself in the mirror. Who is this woman who smiles and nods and lets her fiancé order her meals and plan her entire future?
I don't recognize her.
Or maybe I recognize her too well.
—
Saturday morning, Thad texts at nine: Brunch at 11? There's a place in the Village I want to try.
He takes me to a trendy bistro with exposed brick and Edison bulbs, and he’s in a better mood than last night. He's more relaxed, and he doesn't push when I order my own food—eggs Benedict and fresh fruit.
He also does most of the talking. My classes don’t feel like a safe topic, so I just listen as he talks about work and his business with my father and his plans for the future.
Our future, he keeps saying, like it's already decided. Like I've already agreed to all of it.
After brunch, we walk through Washington Square Park, and Thad keeps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his side. Every few minutes, his hand drifts lower, and I have to subtly redirect it.
"You're tense," he observes. "Everything okay?"
"Just tired. Long week."
"You're working too hard." His hand squeezes my shoulder. "You need to take better care of yourself. Get more sleep. Maybe cut back on some of your coursework."
I glance at him with barely disguised annoyance. "I can't cut back. It's a full-time program."
"I'm just saying, you don't need to push yourself so hard. It's not like you're going to need this degree for anything."
The casual dismissal makes my jaw tighten, but I don't respond. There's no point. We've already had this conversation.
We spend the afternoon wandering, and everywhere we go, Thad's hands are on me—my back, my waist, my hip. It's constant, possessive, and I find myself creating small distances that he immediately closes.
By the time evening comes, I'm exhausted. Not physically—we haven't walked that far—but emotionally. I feel wrung out, like I've been performing for hours and can't quite remember who I'm supposed to be.
Thad suggests dinner, but I make an excuse about needing to work on a paper. He's disappointed, but he doesn't push.
"Tomorrow then," he says. "Before I head back. One more meal together."
"Of course.” I try to sound enthusiastic.
Sunday brunch is easier than Saturday. Thad is already thinking about his flight back to Charleston and the work waiting for him, and he's less focused on me. We eat at a café near my dorm, and the conversation is light and superficial.
When it's time for him to leave, he kisses me goodbye on the street corner. It's possessive, like before, his hand tight on my waist, and I'm aware of people walking past, watching us.
"I'll call you tonight," he says. "I love you."
"Love you too," I say automatically. Then he's gone, climbing into a taxi, and I'm left standing on the corner.
The relief that washes over me is immediate and overwhelming. I can breathe again. I can think again. I don't have to perform anymore.
I walk back to my dorm slowly, and for the first time all weekend, I feel like myself.
—
Monday morning, I go to the coffee shop near campus before my nine o'clock class.
I'm waiting for my latte, lost in thought about the reading I need to finish, when I glance up and see him.
The dark-haired man from my seminar. He's at a corner table, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever he's working on.
He doesn't look up, doesn't seem to notice me, and I tell myself it's just coincidence. Lots of students come to this coffee shop. It's close to campus, the coffee is good, and it's quiet in the mornings.
I take my latte and leave before he can see me.
On Tuesday, I'm at the library, tucked into my new favorite study carrel on the third floor. It's quiet up here, away from the main reading rooms, and I can focus on my work without distraction.
I'm deep in an article about Minoan religious practices when I see movement in my peripheral vision. I glance up, and there he is—the dark-haired man from the seminar, walking past with an armful of books, heading toward the stacks.
He doesn't look my way or seem to notice me, and I tell myself again that it's just coincidence. The library is huge, but graduate students tend to gravitate toward the same areas. It doesn't mean anything.
Wednesday feels stranger. I'm leaving my building to go for a run when I see him across the street.
He's on his phone, talking to someone, and his brow is furrowed, as if he’s having an intense conversation.
Our eyes meet for just a second, and I feel that same electric jolt I felt in the seminar.
Then he turns away, continuing his conversation, and I'm left standing on my building's steps, my heart pounding for no apparent reason.
It's a coincidence. It has to be. New York is a big city, but the university area is small. Of course I'm going to run into classmates occasionally.
But something about the frequency of it, the way he always seems to be just there, makes my skin prickle with awareness.
On the next day that I have Dr. Kouris's seminar, I arrive early and take my usual seat, pulling out my notes from last week's discussion. The classroom fills slowly, and I'm hyperaware of every person who walks through the door.
When he finally arrives, he takes the same seat he had last week.
Back row, but positioned so he has a clear view of the entire room.
Our eyes meet for just a moment, and he gives me a small nod, nothing more.
I turn back to my notes, but I can feel his presence behind me.
His attention feels like a physical weight.
Dr. Kouris begins the seminar, and I force myself to focus on the discussion. But I'm distracted by the awareness of him sitting behind me, by the memory of seeing him at the coffee shop, the library, outside my building.
It's nothing. It's coincidence. I'm being paranoid.
But when class ends, and I gather my things, I can't help glancing back at him. He's talking to another student, completely absorbed in the conversation, and he doesn't look my way.
I leave quickly, before he can notice me watching.
—
That night, Thad calls. He's back in Charleston, back to his normal routine, and he wants to tell me about his day. I listen and make appropriate responses, but my mind is elsewhere.
I can’t stop thinking about the weekend—the way Thad ordered my food, dismissed my academic interests, touched me constantly despite my discomfort. About the relief I felt when he left.
I also can’t stop thinking about the dark-haired man from the seminar, about the way I keep seeing him around campus, and the electric awareness I feel every time our eyes meet.
As Thad chatters on, I think about my father's expectations, about the life that's been planned for me, about the future I'm supposed to want.
And I wonder what's wrong with me that I can't just be grateful for what I have.
That I can't just accept the good fortune of being engaged to a successful, handsome man from a good family.
"Savannah?" Thad's voice pulls me back to the present. "Are you listening?"
"Sorry, yes. I'm just tired."
"You're always tired lately." There's an edge to his voice. "Maybe you should see a doctor. Make sure everything's okay."
"I'm fine. Just adjusting to the program."
"Well, adjust faster. I miss my girl. The real you, not this distracted version."
The real me. I wonder if he's ever actually met the real me. If anyone has.
"I'll try," I say. "I should go. I have reading to finish."
"Okay. I love you."
"Love you too."
I hang up and stare at my phone for a long moment. Then I open my laptop and try to focus on my work, but the words blur together on the page. I keep thinking about Thad's words: Once we're married, you'll be too busy with charity work and hosting to play in the dirt.
I keep thinking about the life he's planning for me, the future he's already decided on without my input. I fall asleep with my book open on my chest, and I dream of ancient ruins and summer sun and dark eyes that see right through me.
When I wake in the morning, Thad has sent a good morning text, reminding me that he loves me, that he's thinking about me. I respond dutifully, playing the role of a devoted fiancée, saying all the right things.
But inside, I already feel like I'm drowning, and I don't know how much longer I can keep my head above water.