Chapter 11 #2
His opinion aside, it’s professional enough for an academic event and formal enough for a gala. I pair it with simple heels and minimal jewelry—just the diamond studs my mother gave me and my engagement ring, now that I have to wear it.
Thad arrives at my apartment to pick me up, looking impeccable in a tailored suit. He looks me over critically when I open the door.
"That's what you're wearing?"
I look down at my dress. "Yes. Why?"
"It's very... bold. And it's quite revealing, isn't it?"
“Plenty of girls back home wear strapless dresses, Thad.”
"If you say so." He steps inside, not bothering to compliment me or tell me I look nice, but at least he didn’t demand I change. "Are you ready? We should get there early. I want to make sure I have time to talk to Dean Blackwood before the crowd arrives."
"This is my department's event," I remind him. "I should probably spend time with my cohort—"
"You can do that later. Right now, we need to focus on making the right impressions with the right people.
" He's already heading for the door, assuming I'll follow.
"Edgar said Blackwood is considering donors to the business school.
If I can get in his good graces, it could be very beneficial for the firm. "
I grab my clutch and follow him out, feeling like an accessory. Like something he's bringing along to complete his outfit.
The gala is being held in the university's historic ballroom—a beautiful space with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and tall windows overlooking the campus.
When we arrive, it's already filling with people: professors in their best academic formal wear, graduate students dressed up and excited, university administrators working the room.
Thad immediately spots Dean Blackwood and steers me in that direction.
"Thaddeus Whitmore," he says, extending his hand. "This is my fiancée, Savannah Beauregard. She's a graduate student in the archaeology program."
"Ah, yes." Dean Blackwood shakes my hand perfunctorily before turning his attention back to Thad. "What can I help you with? Are you interested in a program yourself?”
And just like that, I'm dismissed. They launch into a conversation about business and potential donations, opportunities for collaboration between the university and the Whitmore and Beauregard families.
I see Dean Blackwood look at me with interest once, when he finds out what my last name stands for, when previously I was all but dismissed when I was just another archaeology student.
I stand there smiling politely, saying nothing, feeling invisible.
This is my future. Standing beside Thad at events, being introduced as Edgar Beauregard's daughter or Thaddeus Whitmore's wife, never as Savannah the archaeologist, Savannah the scholar, Savannah the person with her own identity and ambitions.
It feels suffocating. I don’t know how I ever thought I could do this.
"Excuse me," I murmur, but neither of them notices as I slip away.
I find Vivian near the refreshment table, and she pulls me into a hug.
"You look amazing!" she says. "That dress is perfect on you."
"Thanks. You look great, too."
"Is that Thad?" She nods toward where my fiancé is still deep in conversation with the dean. "He's very... focused."
"That's one word for it."
"Are you okay? You seem—" She looks at me with a hint of concern, and I shake my head.
"I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long week."
She doesn't look convinced, but before she can press further, Dr. Kouris appears.
"Savannah! I'm so glad you could make it. And I wanted to tell you—your work on the Minoan project has been exceptional. You and Mr. Ciresa make an excellent team."
At the mention of Romeo's name, my heart skips. "Thank you. It's been a really interesting project."
"He's here somewhere, actually. I saw him earlier—Ah, there he is."
She gestures across the room, and I follow her gaze.
Romeo is standing near one of the tall windows, looking devastatingly handsome in a black suit that fits him perfectly. He's talking to another professor, but even from across the room, I can feel the intensity of his presence, the way people are drawn to him.
As if sensing my attention, he looks up. Our eyes meet across the crowded ballroom, and the world narrows to just that connection, that electric current that runs between us, that pull I've been trying so hard to resist.
He says something to the professor he's with, then starts moving through the crowd. Toward me.
My heart is racing. I should walk away. I should go back to Thad. I should—
"Savannah." He’s there before I can make up my mind. His voice is low, intimate, meant only for me. "You look beautiful."
Not "That's what you're wearing?" Not criticism or judgment. Just a simple, genuine compliment that makes me want to cry, because I know I can’t have this. Not for any length of time, and certainly not forever.
I manage to keep my composure, smiling at him. It feels brittle on my face. "Thank you. You clean up well yourself."
His eyes sweep over my face, and I see them narrow slightly. "Dance with me."
It's not a question. It's a request, but there's something in his eyes—a plea, a need—that makes it feel impossible to refuse. But I try, because Thad is here, and if he sees us…
"I don't think that's a good idea—"
"One dance. That's all I'm asking."
Dr. Kouris has already moved away, leaving us alone in the crowd. I glance over at Thad, but he's still engrossed in his conversation, not even looking in my direction.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "One dance."
Romeo takes my hand, and the touch sends electricity through me.
He leads me to the dance floor, where a few other couples are already swaying to the music.
It’s a slow dance, and my heart hammers in my chest. This feels as illicit as what we were doing in the library, more so, because we’re in public.
Thad could look over and see us at any moment.
And I know he’ll say I’m embarrassing him.
But I can’t make myself step away.
Romeo’s hand settles on my waist, and I place mine on his shoulder. We start to move, and it's like we've done this a thousand times before. Like our bodies know exactly how to fit together.
"I've missed you," he says quietly.
"Romeo—"
"I know. I know you need space. I'm trying to give it to you. I swear, even though I’ve been texting you. But seeing you here, seeing you with him—" His jaw tightens. "It's killing me, Savannah."
I swallow hard, feeling my eyes burn again. "This isn't fair. You can't say things like that."
"Why not? Because it makes you feel something? Because it reminds you that there's another option?"
"There is no other option. I'm engaged. I'm committed—"
"To what? To a man who treats you like an accessory?" His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me closer. "I see you, Savannah. I see exactly who you are and what you're capable of. And I'm telling you—you deserve better than him."
"You don't know what I deserve."
"Don't I?" His eyes are intense, searching mine. "I know you deserve someone who values your mind as much as your beauty. Someone who supports your ambitions instead of dismissing them. Someone who makes you feel alive instead of suffocated."
"Stop." I fight to keep myself from pressing my hand against his chest, keeping it on his arm where it’s appropriate instead… or at least as appropriate as this could ever be.
His expression is pained, as if he knows he should stop talking, but can’t. "Why? Because I'm right?"
"Because you're making this harder than it already is."
We're barely moving now, just swaying in place.
His thumb traces small circles on my waist, and I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my dress, even with the few inches of space between us.
"It doesn't have to be hard," he says. "It could be simple.
You could choose what you want instead of what you're supposed to want. "
"And what if what I want is impossible?" I shake my head. “Nothing about this is simple, Romeo.”
"Nothing is impossible. Not if you're brave enough to take a risk."
I'm about to respond when I see movement in my peripheral vision. Thad, finally noticing me, finally looking in my direction… at the worst possible moment.
His face when he sees me in Romeo's arms is like watching a storm cloud form.
"He sees us," I whisper, panic rising in my throat.
"Good. Let him see."
"Romeo, you don't understand—"
But it's too late. Thad is already crossing the dance floor, his expression dark with anger.
"Savannah." His voice is tight, controlled. "I'd like to speak with you. Now."
"Thad, this is just—"
"Now, Savannah."
Romeo's hand tightens on my waist protectively. "The lady is dancing."
"The lady is my fiancée." Thad's eyes are cold as they assess Romeo. "And you have no right to touch her. Savannah, we need to talk. Privately."
"I'm in the middle of a dance—"
"I don't care. We're leaving."
He reaches for my arm, but Romeo steps between us.
"She said she's dancing."
"And I said we're leaving. This doesn't concern you, Ciresa."
"It concerns me when you're being disrespectful to her."
"Disrespectful?" Thad's voice rises slightly. "I'm her fiancé. I have every right—"
"You have no rights over her. She's not your property."
People are starting to stare. I can feel the weight of their attention, the whispers starting to spread through the crowd.
"Romeo, please," I say quietly. "It's fine. I'll talk to him."
"Savannah—"
"Please."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out in his eyes. The desire to protect me. The need to respect my choices. Finally, reluctantly, he steps back.
"If you need me—"
"She won't," Thad interrupts. He grabs my arm, his grip tight enough to hurt. "Come on."