Chapter 5 Savannah
SAVANNAH
Dr. Kouris announces the group project assignments at the end of the next week’s seminar, and I feel my stomach drop when she reads my name paired with Romeo's.
"Beauregard and Ciresa—you'll be analyzing the relationship between Minoan religious iconography and the architecture at Knossos. I want a twenty-page paper and a presentation to the class. This is worth thirty percent of your grade."
I glance across the seminar table at Romeo.
He's watching me, his eyes focused on me so intently that I have a sudden, odd feeling of being under a microscope. It’s unsettling for a moment, but that feeling doesn’t last. When our eyes meet, he smiles—not the charming, easy smile he gives other people, but something smaller, more private.
It makes my pulse quicken.
"Looks like we're partners," he says after class, as we're gathering our things.
"Looks like it." I'm aiming for casual, but my voice comes out slightly breathless. I clear my throat. "When do you want to meet? To start working on it?"
"Tomorrow? We could meet at the coffee shop or the library. Say, two o'clock?"
"That works." I bite my lip. “You probably need my number, huh?”
Romeo grins. “Probably.”
On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with this. We’re project partners, and we need to be able to coordinate meeting up. Texting is a lot easier than emailing. But I know exactly what Thaddeus—and my father—would think of this.
I push the thought out of my mind and scribble my number down on a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Here. Just text me, and I’ll have yours. Two o’clock is perfect.”
"Good." He's standing close enough that I can smell his cologne. It smells like cedar and something a little floral… bergamot, maybe. "I'll see you then, Savannah."
The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine.
I watch him leave, and I tell myself the flutter in my chest is just nervousness about the project.
Dr. Kouris is notoriously demanding, and this paper will be a significant portion of our grade.
That's all this is. Anxiety about academic performance.
It has nothing to do with the way Romeo looks at me.
Nothing to do with the fact that I'll be spending hours alone with him, working closely together.
Nothing to do with the fact that I've been thinking about him more than I should.
I pull out my phone as I leave the building, and there's a text from Thad waiting.
Thad: Dinner with the Harrisons tonight. Wear something appropriate. I'll pick you up at 7.
I curse under my breath, something I almost never do. The possibility of accidentally cursing in front of my parents or at a social gathering and embarrassing myself wasn’t worth the luxury of doing it in front of friends, or even to myself. But looking at the text, I can’t help it.
I’d forgotten he was coming into town. And the last thing I want to do tonight is go to a stuffy dinner. I’d honestly rather be working on homework.
But it’s not a question. It was never going to be a question. All the same, I feel a strange urge to push back.
I type back: I have a lot of work tonight. Can we reschedule?
His response comes immediately: This is important, Savannah. The Harrisons are family friends. It would be rude not to attend.
I stare at the message, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. The sense of my life being arranged around me, that my preferences are irrelevant. Of course, Thad doesn’t care if I have homework; my degree is pointless to him anyway.
I let out a sharp breath and text him back. Fine. I'll be ready at 7.
I shove my phone back in my bag and head toward the subway, trying to ignore the resentment building in my chest.
I arrive at the library fifteen minutes early the next day, and I use the time to claim a study room on the third floor.
The rooms are small—just a table, four chairs, and a whiteboard—but they're private, with glass walls that look out over the main study area.
I spread out my materials: laptop, notebooks, and the three books I've already pulled from the stacks on Minoan religion and architecture.
I'm reviewing my notes when Romeo appears in the doorway, exactly at two o'clock.
"Punctual," he says, setting his bag down. "I like that."
"I'm always early. It's a compulsion.” I laugh, only half-joking. It occurs to me, as the words come out of my mouth, how easy it is to talk to Romeo. How much more relaxed I feel around him than—
I push the thought out of my head before it can finish.
"Not a bad compulsion to have." He takes the seat across from me rather than next to me, which I appreciate. It feels less intimate, less threatening. "So. Minoan religious iconography and architecture. Where do you want to start?"
I pull up the assignment guidelines on my laptop. "Dr. Kouris wants us to analyze how religious symbolism is integrated into the architectural design of Knossos."
"The architecture as a physical manifestation of religious authority."
"Exactly." I'm surprised he's grasped the concept so quickly. "Most people think of Minoan religion as separate from the palatial structure, but I think they're inseparable. The palace itself is a religious space."
Romeo leans forward, his dark eyes intent on my face. "Walk me through your thinking."
I feel my pulse leap in my throat. There’s nothing condescending in his face, nothing to indicate he’s being anything other than entirely honest. I feel irrationally excited as I start to talk, walking him through all of my notes and thoughts and the sketch of an outline that I’ve started on so far for the paper.
And he listens. He really listens. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't dismiss me at any point, doesn't check his phone or let his attention wander. He asks questions that are thoughtful and intelligent. He's not just hearing my words, but engaging with the ideas behind them.
It feels revelatory.
He taps his finger next to one section of my notes. “What about this? The placement of windows. You said last week there might be something to that, right?”
I blink at him, stunned. He actually remembers something I said. He listened to me talking in class. “You—yes. I did. I thought it might be rather important, actually.”
“You seemed excited about it. So of course, I listened.”
I should be alarmed by that statement. It implies he cares more than he should about what I have to say. But I can’t shake how good it feels to hear that. Thad can't remember the name of my dissertation advisor.
"You were paying attention." It comes out more surprised than I intended.
Romeo's mouth quirks. "I always pay attention when you speak."
There's something in his voice that makes my face heat. I look down at my notes, suddenly flustered.
"We should—we should start outlining the paper. Figure out our main arguments."
"Of course."
We work for the next two hours, and it's the most intellectually stimulating conversation with someone other than a professor that I've had in months.
Maybe years. Romeo has clearly done extensive reading on Minoan civilization—not just the assigned materials, but additional sources, scholarly articles I haven't even encountered yet.
He challenges my interpretations, but not dismissively.
He asks me to defend my arguments, to provide evidence, and when I do, he engages with that evidence thoughtfully.
It's intoxicating.
We're debating the significance of the throne room when I reach for one of the books at the same moment he does. Our hands collide, and the contact is electric—a jolt of awareness that shoots up my arm and straight to my chest. I jerk my hand back like I've been burned.
"Sorry," I say quickly. Too quickly.
"Don't be." His voice is low. When I look up, he's watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my chest. It’s an unfamiliar feeling—no one has ever made me feel the way he does. I know it’s dangerous. "Savannah—"
"We should take a break," I interrupt, standing abruptly. "I need coffee. Do you want coffee?"
He studies me for a moment, and I have the unsettling feeling that he can see right through me. That he knows exactly why I'm fleeing.
"Coffee sounds good," he says finally.
We go to the café on the ground floor, and I use the time in line to remind myself of all the reasons this is dangerous. I'm engaged. Romeo is intense and intimidating, and there's something about him that feels cunning, a predatory focus, even when he's being kind. I barely know him.
But when we sit down with our coffees, and he asks me about my undergraduate thesis, and actually listens to my answer, and asks follow-up questions that show genuine interest—I forget all those reasons.
I forget everything except the way it feels to be seen. Heard. Not as an ornament or an obligation or a reflection of someone else's expectations, but as myself. As an intelligent woman with ideas worth hearing.
"You're going to be brilliant," Romeo says when I finish explaining my research interests. "I can see your papers in scholarly journals. Students will be studying your work years from now."
"You can't know that."
He shakes his head and leans forward slightly. "You're going to make a real contribution to the field, Savannah. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
My throat feels tight. "Thank you."
He shrugs. “I’m just being honest.”
We return to the study room, and the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of productive work.
By the time we finish, we have a solid outline and a division of research responsibilities.
We've also somehow shifted from sitting across from each other to sitting side by side, both of us leaning over the same book, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Close enough that when he turns his head to say something, his face is inches from mine.
I should move away, but for a fraction of a second, I don't. Then I shift backward, feeling my heart start to pound again.