Chapter 7 Savannah #2
"Of course. I didn't mean—" He reaches across the table to pat my hand. "I just mean it's good that you're keeping yourself occupied. Staying intellectually engaged. It was very generous of Edgar to give you this time."
"It's more than that, Thad. This is my degree. My career." I know I’m talking to a brick wall. No matter how many times I say it, he’s not going to hear me. But I can’t stop, all the same.
"Your hobby," he corrects gently. "We've discussed this, darling. After we're married, you'll have plenty of opportunities to volunteer with museums, serve on cultural boards. But a career—that's not really practical, is it? Not with the kind of life we'll be leading."
I pull my hand back. "What kind of life is that?" The words come out before I can stop them, or force them into something that sounds more genuinely curious rather than accusatory.
Thad looks momentarily confused. “Well, the life your parents live, Savannah. The life you’ve always lived, just now with you running our household.
We'll need to entertain, to maintain certain social connections.
My family has expectations. Your father has expectations.
You understand that, don't you?" His brows knit, and I can understand his confusion, I suppose.
This all should be very clear to me. It is clear to me.
But I feel like my mouth is running away with me tonight in a way it never has before.
No one has asked me what I want. No one cares. And it’s frustrating and infuriating, especially now that I’ve had a taste of what it’s like to be on my own.
“What if I want something different for myself?” I say carefully. "I want to do fieldwork. Maybe teach, eventually. Maybe we could find a way to make that work—"
"Savannah." His voice is patient, like he's explaining something to a child. "That's not realistic. Archaeology doesn't pay well. The hours are unpredictable. And frankly, it's not appropriate for someone in your position."
"My position?"
"As my wife. As a Whitmore." He smiles, like this should make me happy. "You'll have responsibilities. Social obligations. You can't just run off to dig in the dirt whenever you feel like it."
The waiter arrives with our first course, and I'm grateful for the interruption.
I need a moment to process what Thad just said.
The casual dismissal of everything I've worked for.
The assumption that my dreams are negotiable, that my ambitions are just a phase I'll grow out of. I don’t know why I hoped for anything different, but…
I think about Romeo, about the way he listens when I talk about my research. The way he engages with my ideas, treats my work like it matters.
"How's your seminar going?" Thad asks, cutting into his scallop. "The one with the intimidating professor?"
I blink, startled that he’s remembered anything about it at all. "It's good. Challenging." I look at him curiously, trying to figure out this sudden change in conversation. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t find my classes worth talking about.
"And your classmates? Anyone interesting?"
It's a casual question, but there's something in his tone that makes me cautious. "They're all interesting. It's a small program, so it’s very competitive."
"Any men?"
There it is. The real question. I inhale slowly, trying to keep myself from snapping at him or sounding defensive. "It's graduate school, Thad. Of course there are men in my classes."
"Anyone you're particularly friendly with?"
I let out the breath. “I have a partner on my project. We study together, but that’s all. We’re supposed to work in pairs.”
It’s partially a lie. I feel my stomach churning. I lied to Thad. But what was I supposed to say? That Romeo sometimes walks me home? That we get coffee together? Thad would be demanding that I drop out and come back home with him before this weekend is even over.
It doesn’t matter that nothing has happened between us, that we’re just friends. I know exactly how he’ll react.
Thad's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Man or woman?”
“A guy. But Thad, it’s not a big deal—”
“What’s his name?” He sets the fork down, and I can feel the tension in the room thickening.
I swallow hard, wishing I’d lied about who I was partnered with, if I was going to lie. “Romeo.”
Thad’s brows knit together. “Italian?”
I frown. “I guess?”
"And you're working with him? Just the two of you?"
"It's a class project, Thad. We’re supposed to work in partnerships of two.”
"How often do you meet with him?"
The question is sharp, and I feel my defenses rising. "A few times a week. We have to—it's a major project."
"A few times a week." He's not eating anymore. He's just looking at me, and there's something in his eyes I don't like. "Where do you meet?"
"The library. Coffee shops. Campus. Public places," I emphasize.
"Just the two of you,” he repeats.
"Yes, Thad. That's how partner projects work."
"I don't like it."
"You don't like what?" I can feel that tension rippling through me. This isn’t at all how I wanted the conversation to go.
"You spending that much time alone with another man. It's not appropriate."
I stare at him. "It's a class assignment."
"Then I'd like to meet him."
It takes me a moment to process that, and my instinctive reaction is to push back. "What?"
"This Romeo. I'd like to meet him. See what kind of person you're spending so much time with."
"Thad, that's ridiculous—"
"Is it?" He leans forward. "You're my fiancée, Savannah. I have a right to know who you're associating with. Especially men."
The possessiveness in his voice makes my skin crawl. "You're being unreasonable."
He picks up his wine glass. "I'll be here through Sunday. Arrange for me to meet him. Tomorrow, perhaps. Lunch or coffee."
"I'm not going to—"
"Savannah." His voice is firm now, the tone he uses when he expects to be obeyed. "This isn't a request. If you're spending that much time with this man, I want to meet him. Unless there's a reason you don't want me to?"
The implication is clear. If I refuse, he'll assume there's something to hide.
"Fine," I bite out, because I don't know what else to say. "I'll ask him."
"Good." Thad smiles, satisfied. "Now, let's enjoy our dinner."
But I can't enjoy anything. I push food around my plate, my appetite gone and my mind racing.
This is wrong. All of this is wrong. The way Thad talks to me, the way he makes decisions for me, the way he treats my education like a hobby and my dreams like inconveniences. The way he's demanding to meet Romeo, like I'm a possession that needs to be guarded.
I think about what Romeo said in the coffee shop. Maybe you shouldn't have to be.
Maybe I shouldn't. But I don't know how to not be this. This is the life my father planned for me. This is what's expected. And I've never been brave enough to want something different.
After dinner, Thad suggests we go back to his suite, and I have a feeling that I know what he's expecting. But I'm exhausted, emotionally drained, and I just want to go home. I don’t want to fend this off.
"I have a lot of work to do tomorrow," I tell him. "I should get back."
"It's only nine o'clock." His hand is on my waist, pulling me closer. "Come up and stay for a while. I want more time with my fiancée.”
"I know, but—"
"Savannah." His voice is low and intimate. "I've missed you."
He kisses me outside the car, and it's more aggressive than usual. His hand slides down to my hip possessively, and I feel myself tensing.
"Thad—"
"Come up. Just for a little while."
I should want this. He's my fiancé. We're getting married. This should feel natural. Exciting, even, that he doesn’t want to wait for our wedding night. I should feel just as eager.
But all it feels like is an obligation. Like something I'm expected to do because I'm wearing his ring.
"I really need to go," I say, pulling back. "I'm sorry."
His expression hardens. "You're always tired lately. Always busy. Always making excuses."
"I'm not making excuses. I'm just—"
"Is it this Romeo?" The question is sharp and accusatory. "Is that why you don't want to be with me?"
"What? No. Thad, that's—"
"Because if something is going on—"
"Nothing is going on." I force myself to hold his gaze. "He's just a classmate."
"Then prove it. Bring him to lunch tomorrow. Let me see that there's nothing to worry about."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he's being irrational and controlling, that he has no right to demand this. But I'm too tired to fight. And part of me—a small, traitorous part—wants to see what happens when Thad and Romeo are in the same room.
"Fine," I say. "I'll text him tonight."
"Good." Thad kisses my forehead, and it feels patronizing. "I'll see you tomorrow. Noon. There's a place in SoHo I want to try."
I spend the ride back to campus staring out the window, feeling like I'm drowning. I text Romeo when I get back to my room.
Savannah: Are you free for lunch tomorrow? Around noon?
His response comes within minutes: What's the occasion? Studying and lunch?
I bite my lip. Thad wants to meet you. He's visiting for the weekend.
There's a longer pause this time. Then: I see. Where?
Savannah: SoHo. I'll send you the address tomorrow morning.
Romeo: I'll be there.
I set down my phone and lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
This is a terrible idea, and I don’t want to have any part of it. I don’t want Thad involving himself in the part of my life that was supposed to be my escape any more than he already is. But I don't know how to get out of it without making Thad more suspicious, more controlling.
I feel more trapped than ever, and I have no way out.
Of any of it.
—
Lunch is exactly as uncomfortable as I expected.