Chapter 6 Romeo #2
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The word echoes in my head like a heartbeat.
But I don't move. Because underneath the dark, possessive hunger, there's something else—something that makes me want to protect her, even from myself. Something that makes me want to earn her, not just take her.
She's not a possession to be claimed. She's—
She's Savannah. Brilliant, passionate, brave enough to challenge Dr. Kouris in front of the entire seminar. Brave enough to argue with me, to disagree with me, to treat me like an equal instead of a threat.
And I'm terrified by how much I want her to choose me.
Not because I've manipulated her or cornered her or eliminated her other options, but because she wants me. Because she sees me—really sees me, the way I see her—and chooses me anyway. I want her to know me the way I’m getting to know her, and see her not back down in the face of what and who I really am.
I want to be hers the way I want her to be mine.
I’ve never been afraid in my entire fucking life, but this girl… this gorgeous, smart girl with soft blonde hair and wide green eyes, who couldn’t terrify a fly, has me shaking inwardly. She could bring me to my knees.
She’s the only one who ever could.
"Romeo?" Her voice is soft, uncertain. "Are you okay?"
I realize I've been staring at her for too long. The intensity of my thoughts must be showing on my face.
I force myself to lean back and smile.
"I'm fine. Just thinking about the paper structure."
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. She turns back to her laptop, and I see her hands are shaking slightly.
She felt it too. That moment. That pull.
We work for another hour, and I'm hyperaware of every movement she makes—tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning forward when she’s particularly excited, her hands moving as she speaks.
I'm also aware of the way she's careful not to touch me again.
The way she maintains a careful distance, like she's afraid of what might happen if we make contact.
Smart girl.
By the time we finish, we have a solid draft of the religious iconography section. "This is really good," Savannah says, scrolling through the document. "Dr. Kouris is going to be impressed."
"We make a good team." I’ve said it before, and I know I probably shouldn’t say it again, but I can’t help myself. It’s the truth, and I want her to hear it.
She glances at me, and there's something in her eyes—awareness, and a hint of wariness. Like she's starting to understand that when I say "we," I mean something more than just academic partnership.
"We should meet again on Wednesday," she says. "To work on the architectural analysis section."
"Wednesday works."
"Same time?"
"Same time."
She's gathering her things, and I know I should let her go. I should maintain the pretense that this is just a class project, just two students working together. But I can't.
"Savannah." She looks up at me, and I see her swallow. "Let me walk you home."
She licks her lips, and God help me, I’m fucking hard again in an instant. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
The words hang between us, weighted with meaning. I want to. Not "I should" but "I want to." An admission of desire.
If only she knew how much deeper my desires run.
She should say no. She should tell me she's fine on her own, that she doesn't need an escort, that this is inappropriate. But she doesn't.
"Okay," she says quietly.
We walk through Washington Square Park, and the September afternoon is warm and clear. Students are scattered across the lawn, studying, or playing frisbee or just enjoying the weather. I keep my hands in my pockets because I don't trust myself not to reach for her.
"Tell me about your family," I ask, curious to find out more about this family that has such longstanding bad blood with mine. "Your father—he's in Charleston?"
"Yes. He's in business. Lots of different things, I think… He doesn’t share with me. Very successful, very respected." There's something in her voice—not quite bitterness, but close. "He has very specific ideas about what my life should look like."
"And those ideas include Thaddeus Whitmore."
She glances at me sharply. "How do you know about Thad?"
"You mentioned him. That first day, we talked more about ourselves. You said you were engaged."
It's not quite a lie. She did mention being engaged. I just didn't learn his name from her.
"Right." She's quiet for a moment. "Yes. My father approves of Thad. His family is old money, too, but he’s worked for my father as a protégé of sorts. My father is his mentor. Our families have known each other for years."
"But what do you think of him?"
The question seems to surprise her. "What do I think?"
"Yes. Not your father. You. What do you think of Thaddeus Whitmore?"
She's quiet for a long time, and I can see her struggling with the answer. Finally, she says, "He's... appropriate. He comes from a good family. He has a good career. He'll be a good provider. He’s well-respected, and my family likes him."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know." Her voice catches slightly, and she presses her lips together.
We've reached her building, and I stop outside the entrance. She turns to face me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes—the awareness of what's happening between us. The knowledge that she should shut this down, maintain boundaries, remember her engagement.
But she doesn't want to. I can see that too.
"Thank you for walking me home," she says.
"Anytime."
"I should go," she says, but she doesn't move.
“Tomorrow? 10 a.m.?”
She nods and turns away sharply, her chest rising quickly as she does. I watch her unlock the door and step inside, then turn back to look at me one more time before the door closes between us.
I stand there for a long moment after she's gone, my hands clenched in my pockets, fighting the urge to follow her inside. To knock on her door and finish what we started in that study room.
But I don't. Because this requires patience and strategy. Careful planning, not impulse.
I'm starting to realize that what I want from Savannah isn't just her body. It's everything. Her mind, her passion, her dreams, her future.
I want her to choose me. And that means I need to remove the obstacle standing in my way.
—
I meet Luca at the restaurant in Little Italy on Tuesday evening. Luca is already there when I arrive, a glass of wine in front of him. He looks up when I enter, and I see the concern in his eyes.
"You look like shit," he says bemusedly.
I roll my eyes. "Thanks."
"I'm serious, Romeo. When's the last time you slept?"
I ignore the question and sit down across from him. "I need you to do something for me."
He leans back. "Of course. What do you need?"
"Information. On Thaddeus Whitmore III. Charleston, South Carolina. I want everything—financial records, business dealings, personal life. I want to know if he's ever so much as jaywalked."
Luca sets down his wine glass slowly. "This is the guy engaged to your archaeology girl?"
"Yes."
"Romeo—"
"I need leverage, Luca. I need something I can use."
"Use for what? To break them up? To blackmail him?" Luca leans forward. "What exactly are you planning?"
"I'm planning to remove him from the equation."
His eyes narrow. "By 'remove,' you mean—"
"I mean, I want him out of her life. Permanently. I don't care how it happens, but I want him gone."
Luca is quiet for a moment, studying me. "You're serious about her."
"Yes."
"This isn't just obsession. This is—" He stops, and I see understanding dawn in his eyes. "Fuck. You're in love with her."
The word hits me like a physical blow. Love. I've never used that word, never felt that emotion. I'm not even sure I'm capable of it.
But when I think about Savannah—the way she challenges me, the way she makes me think, the way she looks at me like I'm worth seeing—
No. Not that. I can’t have gone from what I was before her to a man in love. That’s unthinkable. But looking at Luca’s face, he certainly seems to think so.
"Just get me the information," I say shortly. "Everything you can find on Thaddeus Whitmore. I want it by the end of the week."
"And if there's nothing? If he's clean?"
I smirk. "Then we'll create something. Who the fuck do you think we are?"
Luca shakes his head. "You're playing with fire, Romeo. This girl—she's not from our world. She's not going to understand—"
"She doesn't need to understand. She just needs to be free of him."
"And then what? You think she's going to fall into your arms? You think she won't figure out that you had something to do with her engagement falling apart?"
"I'll deal with that when the time comes."
"Romeo—she’s a Beauregard. Even if we pull this off, even if you break her engagement, your father and hers are never going to let you be together. This isn’t possible."
"Luca." I meet his eyes, and I let him see the truth.
The obsession. The need. The absolute certainty that Savannah is mine, that she's always been mine, that I will do whatever it takes to make her see that.
"I'm not asking for your approval. I'm asking for your help. Are you going to help me or not?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs. "I'll get you the information. But Romeo—be careful. This kind of obsession, it doesn't end well. For anyone."
"I'll be careful."
I think we both know, unfortunately, that I’m well past that.
—
We have a family dinner on Friday, and I arrive at my family’s estate in Riverdale exactly on time.
The house is a sprawling mansion set back from the road, surrounded by manicured grounds and a high stone wall.
It's been in the family for three generations, and it's where I grew up—though "grew up" is perhaps too gentle a term for what happened within these walls.
“Forged” might be a better word. Shaped into what my father needed me to be.
Giulia meets me at the door, and I can see the worry in her eyes.