Chapter 7 Savannah #3
We meet at a trendy bistro in SoHo, and Romeo arrives exactly on time, looking effortlessly elegant in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater.
He sees me through the window and smiles, and I feel that familiar flutter in my chest. Then he sees Thad, and something changes in his expression.
It's subtle—a slight hardening around his eyes, a tension in his jaw. But it's there.
"You must be Thaddeus," Romeo says, extending his hand. His voice is polite, but there's an edge to it I've never heard before.
Thad nods, shaking Romeo's hand. "And you're Romeo. The study partner."
"That's right."
We sit, and the tension is immediate. Thad orders for me without asking—a salad with grilled chicken and dressing on the side—and I see Romeo's eyes narrow slightly.
"So, Romeo," Thad says, once the waiter has left. "Savannah tells me you're in the MBA program. What's your focus?"
"International business and strategic management."
"And yet you're taking archaeology courses." It's not a question, and not quite an accusation. "Interesting choice."
"I find ancient civilizations fascinating. The way power structures develop, the way societies organize themselves. It's relevant to modern business in ways people don't always recognize."
"Is it?" Thad's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I would think your time would be better spent on courses directly related to your degree."
Romeo chuckles, but I see the tightness in his jaw. "You sound a bit like my father, but I disagree. The best business leaders are well-rounded. They understand history, culture, human behavior. Limiting yourself to a narrow field of study is shortsighted."
I can see Thad bristling at the implied criticism. "I'm sure your professors would prefer you focus on your actual coursework."
"My professors are satisfied with my performance."
"And your family? What do they think of your academic choices?"
The question is pointed, and I see something flicker in Romeo's eyes. "My family trusts my judgment." He pauses. “And not to be rude, but I don’t think that’s any of your business, Mr. Whitmore. We don’t know each other, and my relationship with my family is my own.”
Thad turns to me. "Savannah's father and I agree that focus is important. Especially for someone in her position. She has responsibilities, expectations to meet. We can't all afford to indulge in hobbies."
The dismissal is clear, and I feel my face flush with embarrassment and anger. But before I can respond, Romeo speaks.
"Archaeology isn't a hobby for Savannah. It's her passion. Her calling." His voice is calm, but there's steel underneath. "She's brilliant at it. Her insights into Minoan religious practices are original and important. Any program would be lucky to have her."
I stare at him, shocked. No one has ever defended me like that. Certainly not to my father. Certainly not to Thad.
Thad's expression has gone cold. "I'm sure you mean well, but you don't know Savannah the way I do. We've known each other for years. Our families have been close for generations. I understand what's best for her."
"Do you?" Romeo's eyes are dark and intense, focused entirely on Thaddeus. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like you understand what's best for you. What's convenient for you. What fits into your plans, not hers."
"Excuse me?"
"Romeo—" I start, but he's not done.
"Savannah is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. She's passionate, dedicated, and capable of extraordinary work. And you're treating her like an accessory. Like her dreams are negotiable as long as they don't interfere with yours."
The silence that follows is deafening. Thad's face has gone red. "You have no right—"
"You're right. I don't." Romeo stands, and his eyes meet mine. "But someone should tell you that you're making a mistake. That if you can't see how remarkable she is, if you can't support what she wants instead of what you want for her, then you don't deserve her."
He puts money on the table—enough to cover all three meals—and walks out.
I sit frozen, my heart pounding, unable to process what just happened. Thad is staring at the door, his jaw clenched. Then he turns to me, and his voice is dangerously quiet.
"Is there something going on between you two?"
"No." It takes everything in me to keep my voice from shaking.
"Don't lie to me, Savannah. I saw the way he looked at you."
"Nothing is going on. We're just—"
"Just what? Just friends? Just study partners?" He leans forward. "I'm not an idiot. That man wants you. And I think you want him too."
"Thad—"
"Do you?"
“No!” I say sharply, and it feels like as much of a lie as the one I told last night. But I have to defuse this before it blows up. "I think we should go.”
“I want you to get a different partner. Tell your professor that it’s not working out. Get a female study partner this time.”
“I—” I stare at Thad. “We’re partway through the project. I can’t just—”
“Switch with someone else. I don’t care. Just do it.” His eyes are flinty and hard, locked on mine. “This is not negotiable, Savannah.”
I can hear everything he’s not saying—that if I refuse, he’ll talk to my father. He’ll get me pulled from the program and brought back home. We’ll be married faster than I can blink, and everything I wanted will be gone.
I nod, forcing myself not to think about it. I can’t just swap partners, and I don’t want to. The idea of going to Dr. Kouris and telling her that I need to change because my fiancé doesn’t want me studying with a man is beyond humiliating. And I like working with Romeo. I don’t want that to end.
I’ll figure something out, I tell myself. Just defuse it for now.
“Savannah? Am I understood?”
I nod again. “Yes,” I manage, looking down at my salad. “I understand.”
And I do understand. What I understand is that, if I’m going to have the life I wanted to have for two years, I’m going to have to get much better at managing Thad.
Because if I’m going to be forced to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him, I’m damn well not going to let him manage everything I do for these next two years.
I spend the rest of the weekend avoiding Thad's calls and texts. I tell him I'm sick, that something I ate didn’t settle well, and I need to rest, and that I'll talk to him when he gets back to Charleston.
But really, I'm hiding. From him, and from the situation.
Romeo texts me once: I'm sorry if I made things difficult. But I'm not sorry for what I said. I don't respond. I don't know what to say.
On Monday, I skip Dr. Kouris's seminar. I tell myself it's because I'm behind on my reading, but really it's because I can't face Romeo.
I can't face the questions in his eyes and the concern, the intensity that makes me feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.
On Tuesday, I make an excuse not to meet him for our project work.
I say I have a meeting with my advisor, which is technically true, though the meeting only lasts thirty minutes.
He texts: Is everything okay?
I respond: Fine. Just busy. Can we reschedule for Thursday?
Romeo: Of course. Let me know if you need anything.
On Wednesday, I see him across the quad, and I duck into the nearest building before he can see me.
I feel like a coward, but I don't know what else to do.
I'm trying to create distance. Trying to protect myself, protect my engagement, protect the life I'm supposed to want.
But it's not working. Because even when I'm not with Romeo, I'm thinking about him.
Replaying what he said at lunch. The way he defended me.
The way he looked at Thad was like he wanted to tear him apart for the way he treats me.
The way he said I was remarkable.
No one has ever called me remarkable before.
—
Thad comes back the following weekend, and this time I can't avoid him.
He's angrier than I've ever seen him. Not loud—Thad never raises his voice—but coldly controlled. Dangerous. He insists that I come up to his suite to talk, and he doesn’t leave me room to argue.
He paces while I sit on the couch, my hands clenched in my lap.
"I've been thinking about this situation," he says. "About you and this Romeo person."
I tense instantly. "There is no situation."
"Don't insult my intelligence." He stops pacing and looks at me. "I want you to drop that class. Find a different seminar.”
"I can't drop the class. It's required for my degree."
"Then request a different section. One where he's not enrolled."
"Thad, that's not—"
"I'm not asking, Savannah. I'm telling you. I want you away from him."
The command in his voice makes something snap inside me. "You can't tell me who I can and can't have classes with."
"I can when the person in question is clearly trying to seduce my fiancée."
"He's not—"
"Isn't he?" Thad sits down next to me, too close. "Be honest with yourself, Savannah. What does he want from you? Why is he spending so much time with you, defending you, discussing rare books with you—"
"How do you know about that?"
His expression doesn't change. "I went through your phone. Last weekend, while you were in the ladies' room. You left it on the table.” He says it casually, without a hint of guilt, as if my personal phone is his to look at as he pleases.
The violation of it steals my breath. "You what?"
"I had a right to know what was going on. And I was right to be concerned. The texts between you two—they're inappropriate. The amount of time you spend together is inappropriate. This whole thing is inappropriate."
"You had no right—"
"I had every right. You're my fiancée. Your phone, your time, your attention—they belong to me."
I feel cold all the way through to my bones. I knew that men like Thad could be possessive, that they tend to treat women like possessions… but this is so much worse than anything I imagined. Does my father treat my mother like this?