Chapter 16 Romeo
ROMEO
Iwake up with my father's deadline hanging over my head and Savannah still gone. My penthouse feels like a fucking cage, the restrictions of what Luca is suggesting I do and what my father wants and what I can’t have beating at me from all sides.
I reach for my phone before I'm fully conscious and send her a message.
Romeo: Please just tell me you're okay.
The message shows as delivered but not read. Just like all the others.
I call. It rings four times and goes to voicemail. Her voice tells me to leave a message. I hang up and immediately call again.
Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
I throw the phone across the room and watch it hit the wall. The screen doesn't crack, and I wish it had. I want to break something. I want to destroy something before I destroy both of us, because I can’t control this.
It’s impossible to focus. I pace my apartment, chain-smoking on the balcony, texting her every hour even though she doesn’t respond. I tell myself that this is temporary, that she’ll be back, but her absence is driving me mad.
I go over the dossier again. I could destroy Whitmore. Eviscerate him so completely that marrying Savannah would be impossible. Make sure that she has no choice but to…
No. That's not right. Not "no choice." I don't want to take away her choices. I just want to remove the obstacles preventing her from choosing me. There's a difference. Isn't there?
Luca shows up at my apartment Saturday evening and finds me looking like a fucking madman. I’m surrounded by printouts of Whitmore's financial records, and smoking my way through a second pack of cigarettes when he lets himself in with the spare key I gave him years ago.
"You look like shit," he says, leaning up against the side of the couch. I glare at him.
"Thanks."
"When's the last time you slept?"
I don't answer because I don't remember. He walks over to the windows and opens them, letting in cold October air that does nothing to clear the smoke. Then he starts gathering up the papers scattered across my coffee table.
"Don't touch those," I snap.
"These are Whitmore's bank records."
"I'm aware."
"Romeo." He sits down across from me, still holding the papers. "We talked about this.”
"He deserves to be destroyed."
"Maybe. But that's not your call to make."
I light another cigarette even though I just put one out. "She hasn't responded to a single text or call. Something's wrong."
"Or she's doing exactly what she told you she was going to do—talking to her father and handling the situation herself."
I blow out a puff of smoke. "By ignoring me completely?"
"By trying to figure out what she wants without you—" He gestures at the papers, at me, at the general disaster of my apartment. "Without all of this."
"I'm trying to help her."
"No, you're trying to control the situation because you can't stand not knowing what's happening."
I take a long drag, letting the smoke burn my lungs. "You don't understand."
"I understand that you're in love with her.
I understand that you're terrified of losing her.
I understand that you've never felt this way about anyone before, and it's making you crazy.
" He leans forward. "But Romeo, you need to hear this: if you go down to Charleston, if you interfere, if you try to force this—you will lose her. Permanently."
I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t bother asking how he knew I was thinking of that; Luca knows me far too well. Well enough that sometimes I think I should get rid of him, so I wouldn’t have my fucking conscience jabbering on my shoulder.
I’ve never needed a conscience before. I’m not enjoying the experience.
"I'm already losing her."
Luca sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You don't know that."
"She's not responding to my calls. She's not reading my texts. She's—" My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. "She's gone, Luca. And I don't know how to get her back."
He's quiet for a long moment. "You wait. You give her the space she asked for. You trust that she'll come back."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then you accept it. You let her go. You—"
"No." The word comes out harder than I intended. "No, I'm not letting her go. I can't."
"Romeo—"
"You don't understand what it's like. Being with her.
Touching her. Hearing her laugh. Watching her get excited about some pottery shard from three thousand years ago.
" I'm talking too fast, the words tumbling out.
"She makes me feel like—like I'm not just what they made me.
Like I could be something more. Someone better.
And I can't—I can't go back to who I was before her. I won't."
Luca lets out a slow breath. “I get it,” he says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my attention snap toward him.
“You’re not the only one who’s ever felt something for someone else, Romeo.
It’s just more novel to you than it is to others.
But you can’t say you love her and then force—”
"Don't." I stand up, needing to move. "Don't give me the speech about letting her choose. About respecting her agency. I've heard it. From you, from Giulia, from—" I stop myself before I say "from Savannah." "I've heard it."
"But you're not listening."
"Because it's bullshit!" I'm shouting now, and I don't care. "Everyone keeps telling me to let her choose, but her choices are being taken away by everyone else. Her father. Whitmore. The fucking wedding that's being planned without her input. Where's her agency in that? Where's her choice?"
"So you're going to take away more of her choices by destroying Whitmore?
By manipulating the situation to force the outcome you want?
You're trying to control her life because you can't control your own feelings.
" He stands too, meeting my eyes. "And I'm telling you, as your friend, as someone who's known you since we were kids—this path you're on? It ends badly. For everyone."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he's wrong. But there's something in his voice that makes me pause. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask quietly. "Just sit here and wait? While she's down there with him? While he's—" I can't finish the sentence.
"Yes. That's exactly what you're supposed to do."
We stare at each other, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. He wants to help me. He always wants to help me. But he also knows I'm wrong.
"How long?" I ask finally. "How long do I wait?"
“She’s supposed to be back Monday, right? So if she’s not back by then, we’ll figure something out.”
“We?”
"Yeah. Together. Not you going down there alone and doing something stupid."
I want to argue. I want to tell him I don't need his permission or his help. But the truth is, I do. Because Luca is the only person in my life other than Giulia who tells me the truth. The only person who stays even when I'm at my worst. I trust him.
"Okay," I say finally. "I’ll wait until Monday.”
Luca’s expression is skeptical. "Promise me."
"I promise."
He doesn't look convinced, but he nods. "Good. Now go take a shower. You smell like an ashtray."
—
When I get a call from one of my men that she’s on a flight coming back from Charleston, I hang up the second I hear it and immediately start pacing. She's coming back. My entire body feels wound tight with anticipation.
Luca, who's been sleeping on my couch to make sure I don’t do anything stupid and is working on his laptop at my kitchen table, looks up. "She's on her way?"
"Yeah." I look over at him, running my hands through my hair. "What if she's coming back to end things? What if she's coming back to tell me it's over, that she's marrying Whitmore, that—"
“Then you’re going to have to accept that this isn’t going to go the way you want.” He pauses, looking at me. “You know going to see her for anything other than telling her this is done is going to mean your father’s ultimatum takes effect. He’s going to kick you out.”
“He’s not going to do that. I’m going to call his fucking bluff.” My jaw tightens. “I’m his only son. What’s he going to do, marry Giulia off and give some other man the family?”
A muscle ticks in Luca’s jaw, as if the idea pisses him off, too. I appreciate his loyalty. But I also want to scream. I want to break something. I want to get in my car and drive until I find her at the airport and—
And what? Force her to talk to me? Drag her back to my apartment? Prove every terrible thing she accused me of?
"I need to see her," I say.
Luca nods. "I know."
"Tonight. As soon as she gets back."
"Romeo, it's going to be late. She's going to be exhausted. Maybe you should wait until—"
"I can't wait. I've been waiting all weekend. I need—" My voice breaks. "I need to see her. I need to know she's okay."
Luca studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. "Okay. But I'm coming with you."
"What? No—"
"I'm coming with you. I'll wait outside, give you space, but I'm coming. Because if this goes badly, if she—" He doesn't finish the sentence. "I'm coming."
I want to argue. But I'm too tired, and too desperate. All I can think about is Savannah.
"Okay," I say finally. "Okay."
—
The minute I get a text that she’s been seen heading back to the dorm, I grab my keys. "Let's go," I say, and Luca follows.
The drive to her building takes fifteen minutes. I park illegally on the street, not caring if I get towed.
"I'll wait here," Luca says. “Go."
I get out of the car and walk to her building.
I got a faux keycard for her building made ages ago; it’s nothing to get inside.
I take the elevator to her floor, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it.
When I reach her door, I pause. What am I going to say?
What can I possibly say that will make this okay?
I knock.
Nothing.
I knock again, harder. "Savannah, it's me. Please. I just need to talk to you."
Silence. Then, finally, I hear movement. The lock turns, and the door opens.
And there she is.