Chapter 9 Savannah
SAVANNAH
I'm falling for him.
The realization hits me as I'm getting ready for class, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed because my legs won't hold me.
I'm falling for Romeo Ciresa, and I don't know how to stop it.
I haven’t seen him in person, other than in class, since that last conversation in the library. He hasn’t stopped pursuing me, exactly, but he also hasn’t pushed me either. He’s relentless while still somehow respectful of my boundaries, and it confuses me more than it should.
Every morning, my latte is waiting at the counter with a note. Sometimes it's just —R, sometimes it's a quote from something we discussed in class, sometimes it's just a simple, thoughtful note. I see him in the library, always at a table within sight but never intruding. But he's there.
All of our conversations have been over email since then, but they still feel so different from talking to Thad. Romeo listens. He challenges me intellectually without dismissing me. He treats my work like it matters.
The gifts keep coming, too. Small, thoughtful things.
Another photocopy of an article he thought I’d enjoy, a bookmark with a quote from a book I told him I loved, and more flowers waiting for me at the front desk.
It’s never anything ostentatious or that directly crosses a line.
Just... thoughtful. Like he's paying attention to what I care about, what makes me happy.
It's intoxicating. And terrifying.
I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad in less than two years. Wanting Romeo—wanting anyone other than my fiancé—makes me a terrible person.
But I can't stop.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the girl in the conservative blouse and pencil skirt, at the engagement ring that feels heavier every day, and I barely recognize myself. When did I become someone who lies and sneaks around? Who spends hours thinking about a man who isn't her fiancé?
My phone buzzes with a text from Thad: Dinner Friday. 7 pm. Wear something nice. I have a meeting with important clients, and one of them is bringing his wife, so I thought I’d bring my fiancée.
It’s not a question. Just an expectation that I'll be available, that I'll show up and play the role of the perfect fiancée.
I swallow hard, and before I can stop myself, I type back: I have plans Friday.
It's a lie. I don't have plans. But I'm so tired of being told what to do, where to be, who to be.
His response comes immediately: Cancel them. This is important.
Savannah: My plans are important too.
Thad: Savannah. Don't be difficult. These are major clients. I need you there.
I stare at the text, at the casual dismissal of my time, my autonomy, my life. And I think about Romeo, who asks if I'm free before suggesting we meet. Who respects when I say no. Who treats my time like it has value.
Savannah: I can't make it. Sorry.
I send it before I can second-guess myself, then turn off my phone and shove it in my bag.
I'm going to pay for that later. I know I am. But right now, I don't care.
—
Our project presentation is in two weeks, and once again, I give in and start to meet with Romeo in person again.
I tell myself that it’s because it’s more convenient, and we can more easily hash out how to do things and what we want to include during a face-to-face conversation than back and forth over email.
But when my heart flips when I arrive at our usual table to find him already there, two coffees waiting and his laptop open to our shared presentation file, I know I’m lying to myself as well as Thad—who I’ve told I’m no longer working with Romeo.
There’s always a chance he might double-check with my professor, but I’ve just let myself hope that either he’ll be too busy, or Dr. Kouris will respect student privacy.
She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would take well to a man calling her up and demanding information about her students.
"Hi," Romeo says as I approach, and I feel my heart stutter again.
"Hi." I sit down across from him, trying to ignore how aware I am of his presence. The way he smells like cedar. The way his hands move when he gestures. The way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the room.
"I added some slides about the religious symbolism in Minoan art," he says, turning his laptop so I can see. "But I wanted to get your input before finalizing them."
I lean forward to look at the screen, and I'm immediately impressed. The slides are well-organized, the images are high-quality, and the analysis is good.
"This is really good," I say, glancing over the references. “Those are exactly the right sources for this argument."
"I've been doing my reading." He sounds proud that I noticed and approved.
We work for an hour, refining slides and debating interpretations.
And the whole time, I'm hyperaware of him—the way his knee occasionally brushes mine under the table, the way he leans close when pointing something out on my screen.
The way his voice drops slightly when he's making a point he's particularly passionate about.
The tension is beginning to feel unbearable.
I've never felt anything like this before. I’ve been kissed a few times before Thad, in high school and at college parties, even though I never actually dated.
I’ve never gone further than that. Thad is the most intense kissing I’ve ever experienced…
but I don’t like it. The way he kisses me clearly has never had anything to do with my pleasure, and it always feels like he’s claiming me, putting a stamp on me so that no one else can take what’s his. And not in a way that feels good.
But with Romeo—
He’s never even touched me, and yet, I can’t help but feel that if he kissed me, I’d come apart at the seams. That just his lips touching mine would be the most exquisite thing I’ve ever felt.
"Savannah?"
I realize he's been talking, and I haven't heard a word. "Sorry. What?"
"I asked if you wanted to take a break. Get some food?"
"Oh. Yes. That would be good."
We pack up our things and head to a small café near campus. It's starting to get dark outside, and there's a strange quality to the air—heavy and electric.
"Storm coming," Romeo says, following my gaze to the darkening sky. "Supposed to be a big one. Spring storms up here can be intense."
We order sandwiches and sit at a corner table.
The conversation flows easily—about class and our research, about books we've read and places we want to visit.
I don't mention Thad, and neither does he.
We head back to the library around eight.
The storm still hasn't hit, but the air is thick with the anticipation of it.
The library is nearly empty—most students have gone home or to their dorms, not wanting to get caught in the weather.
There are still a handful of them milling around at the coffee counter inside or the tables, too worried about upcoming presentations or tests to be concerned about the weather.
We settle back at our table, but I can't focus. I'm too aware of Romeo, of the tension crackling between us like the electricity in the air outside.
"We should practice the presentation," I say, needing something to focus my racing thoughts. "Make sure the timing works."
He shrugs. "Okay."
We run through it a few times. By the third time, we're finishing each other's sentences, our arguments flowing together seamlessly. It's exhilarating, this intellectual partnership. This sense of being perfectly matched.
"That was good," Romeo says when we finish. "Really good. I think we're ready."
"We should probably add one more slide about—"
Thunder crashes outside, so loud it rattles the windows. The lights flicker.
"Jesus," I breathe.
Romeo is already checking his phone. "Severe thunderstorm warning. They're saying people should shelter in place until it passes."
As if on cue, an announcement comes over the library's PA system: "Attention. Due to severe weather, the library is now under a shelter-in-place order. All patrons should remain inside until further notice. Do not attempt to leave the building."
I look around. There are maybe ten other people scattered throughout the library, all of them looking at their phones or out the windows at the storm that's just beginning to unleash itself.
"I should—" I start to say, but I don't know how to finish that sentence. I should what? Leave? Stay? Stop being alone with Romeo when every moment we spend together makes it harder to remember why I'm supposed to stay away?
"You should stay here," Romeo says. "It's not safe to go out in this."
He's right. Through the windows, I can see rain coming down in sheets and wind bending the trees. Lightning flashes, illuminating the campus in stark white light.
"I'll just—I need to find a book," I say abruptly, standing up. "For my other paper. While we're stuck here anyway."
It's a transparent excuse to get away from him, to put some distance between us before I do something stupid. But Romeo just nods.
"Okay. I'll be here."
I head toward the ancient history section on the third floor. The library is eerily quiet except for the storm raging outside. Most of the other patrons have congregated in the main reading room on the first floor, leaving the upper floors nearly deserted.
I scan the shelves, not really looking for anything specific. I just need to move, to think, to figure out what I'm doing—
"Savannah."
I spin around. Romeo is standing at the end of the aisle, backlit by a flash of lightning as the storm intensifies.
"What are you doing?" My voice comes out breathless.
"Following you." He takes a step closer. "Because I think you came up here to get away from me, and I need to know why."
"I told you. I needed a book—"