Chapter 7 Savannah
SAVANNAH
I'm standing in front of my closet on Monday morning, and I've already changed my outfit three times.
This is ridiculous. It's just class. It's just Dr. Kouris's seminar, the same seminar I've attended every week for the past month. There's no reason to care what I'm wearing.
Except Romeo will be there. And I find myself wondering what he’ll think of my outfit choices.
I pull off my navy sweater and reach for a cream-colored silk blouse instead.
It's nicer than what I usually wear to class, but not so nice that it's obvious I'm trying. I pair it with dark jeans and my favorite tall leather boots that make me feel confident and put-together. I braid and unbraid my hair, put on eyeliner, decide it’s too thick, and wipe it off again.
Then I catch myself in the mirror and realize what I'm doing.
I'm dressing for him.
The thought makes my stomach twist with guilt. This has to stop.
I've been telling myself that for weeks now.
Every time I find myself thinking about Romeo when I should be focused on my research.
Every time I catch myself comparing Thad's texts to the conversations I have with Romeo.
Every time I feel that flutter in my chest when I see him across the quad or in the library or sitting in his usual seat in Kouris's seminar.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I know before I look that it's Thad.
Thad: Dinner meeting running late. Will call tomorrow instead of tonight.
No apology. No "I miss you" or "wish I could talk to you." Just a statement of fact. I’m being shuffled around in his calendar like a less important to-do item.
I honestly should be upset. Sad. But truthfully, I feel a flush of relief, and that only intensifies my guilt.
Especially because my first thought is that Romeo would never do that.
He prioritizes what works for me when it comes to study times, offers to walk me home, seems to genuinely enjoy my presence even though I’m not giving him anything but conversation in return.
He listens when I talk. He looks at me like what I'm saying actually matters, like my thoughts and opinions are worth hearing.
I force back the thought as soon as it forms. This is dangerous territory. Thad is my fiancé. Thad is my future. Romeo is just a classmate, a study partner, just someone I happen to find intellectually stimulating.
Just someone I can't stop thinking about.
I type back: Okay, no problem. Good luck with the meeting.
Then I grab my bag and head out before I can change my outfit a fourth time.
—
The seminar is discussing Minoan burial practices, and I should be taking notes. Instead, I'm hyperaware of Romeo sitting several rows behind me, the way he always does. I can’t help but imagine that I can smell his cologne, even though he’s probably too far away for that to be true.
But I’ve smelled it often enough before, when we’re studying. I’m always close enough then to smell that woodsy cedar scent clinging to his skin, his collar, and I remember it well enough to imagine that I smell it now, when I should be focusing on…
Shit. Dr. Kouris just asked a question. It takes me a second to realize that she addressed it to the girl sitting next to me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Guilt swamps me again, but for a different reason this time.
I traded my entire future for the chance to get this degree. I agreed to marry a man I otherwise would never have given the time of day to, signed off on my father’s vision for my life in order to get two years to myself, doing what I wanted most.
And now I’m missing out on what I very much want to learn, because I’m thinking about a guy. A guy who I can’t have anyway, and who I shouldn’t be fantasizing about.
Even if he did look impossibly handsome when he walked in today, in dark jeans and that grey sweater he was wearing that looked like cashmere, fitted perfectly to his muscular torso…
I blink, trying to refocus. I hear Romeo’s voice, and I realize he’s answering a question that Dr. Kouris just posed.
Not only that, he’s answering it well, giving her references and explaining his answer so thoroughly that she looks genuinely impressed.
I find myself leaning forward, listening intently, wrapped up in everything he’s saying.
After class, I'm gathering my things when he appears beside my desk.
"Coffee?" he asks, and I should say no. I should make an excuse, create some distance, remember that I'm engaged.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Sure.”
We settle into our usual table at the coffee shop, since it’s available, and chat about what we went over in class.
I can tell Romeo is genuinely invested in what we’re discussing.
His eyes are bright with enthusiasm, and I'm watching his mouth as he talks, watching the way his expression changes… watching him.
"You're not listening," he says suddenly, and I realize he's right.
"I am," I lie. "You were talking about the symbolism of sacrifice that Dr. Kouris discussed today.”
"That was five minutes ago." He's smiling, but he looks at me curiously. "Where did you go?"
"Nowhere. I'm just tired."
It’s true—I am tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, either plagued by dreams about things I shouldn’t be imagining or nightmares about my wedding to Thad—the wedding being pushed up, being forced out of grad school, all kinds of worst-case scenarios.
Or I lie awake thinking about my conversations with Romeo, him walking me home, how much more relaxed I feel with him.
And then I feel guilty, and I start thinking about when Thad will visit next, how I’ll have to fend him off, try to keep him from touching me more than he should, while I listen to him tell me how my life won’t be anything like what I want it to be once we’re married.
But that’s the agreement I made. That was the deal. And I have to honor it.
"Savannah." Romeo's voice pulls me back to the present. "Are you okay?"
I swallow hard. "I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind."
"The project?"
"Among other things."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me. "You can talk to me, you know. If something's wrong."
And that's the problem, isn't it? I want to talk to him.
I want to tell him everything—about my father's expectations, about Thad's controlling behavior, about the way I feel trapped in a life I never chose.
I want to tell him that being with him is the only time I feel like myself, like I can breathe.
But I can't say any of that. Because saying it would cross a line I can't uncross.
"I know," I say instead. "Thank you."
My phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen. It's Thad.
Thad: Coming to visit this weekend. Will arrive Friday evening. Make dinner reservations somewhere nice.
I must make a face, because Romeo asks, "Bad news?"
"No. Just—Thad is coming to visit this weekend."
Something flickers across Romeo's expression, too quick for me to read. "Your fiancé."
"Yes."
"You don't sound excited."
I should defend Thad. I should say something about how much I'm looking forward to seeing him, how much I miss him. But the lie won't come.
"It's complicated," I say finally.
Romeo doesn't push, but I can feel him watching me. Waiting.
"He's very busy," I continue, not sure why I'm explaining. "His work is demanding. And he has certain expectations about—about how things should be."
"What kind of expectations?"
I think about Thad's texts. The way he orders for me at restaurants. The way he talks about "our future" without ever asking what I want that future to look like.
"He wants me to be someone I'm not sure I can be," I say quietly.
Romeo is silent for a long moment. Then he says, "Maybe you shouldn't have to."
The words hang between us, and I feel my chest tighten.
"I should go," I say, standing abruptly. "I have—I need to do homework."
"Savannah—"
"I'll see you tomorrow in class.” I leave before he can say anything else, before I can do something stupid like tell him that I think about him and look forward to seeing him more than I should. That when I'm with Thad, sometimes I find myself wishing I were with Romeo instead.
That I'm in dangerous, dangerous territory.
—
Thad arrives on Friday evening, and I meet him at his hotel.
He's waiting in the lobby when I arrive, and he looks exactly like he always does: perfectly groomed and dressed, perfectly appropriate in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and silk tie.
His blond hair is styled precisely, and his smile is polished and just as fake as the veneers that make his teeth so perfectly straight and white.
"Savannah." He kisses my cheek, and I’m grateful he didn’t go for my mouth. "You look lovely."
I picked one of the dresses my mother bought me before I left for college.
It’s light blue and knee-length with a high sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves, another much more conservative style than even what I like to wear.
But this is how I’m supposed to dress, and Thad will undoubtedly report back to my parents when he goes home.
If I’d shown up in anything more casual or less appropriate, I’d hear about it, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to make me come home.
"Thank you. You look nice too."
"Shall we?" He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the car outside. It feels possessive and proprietary, and I have to resist the urge to step away. But I don’t. I’m his fiancée. He’s allowed to touch me. I have to let him, or that will be a whole other problem.
Once again, Thad orders for me at dinner, and I don’t bother arguing. I already know it’s not going to matter, even though I would have preferred a steak to the poached fish and vegetables he tells the waiter to bring for me.
"So," he says, once the waiter has left with our order. "Tell me about your classes. Still playing archaeologist?"
The dismissive tone makes my jaw tighten. "I'm not playing. I'm studying."