Chapter 17 Romeo #2
"Like someone who cares about her. Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
I hang up before he can argue further. I'm half-running now, my heart pounding.
She's sick. She's alone. She needs someone to take care of her, and I don't care if she told me to leave, I don't care if this is crossing another line in a series of lines I've already obliterated.
I'm going to her. I'm going to make sure she's okay, and maybe—maybe this is the chance I need to show her that I'm not just the obsessive asshole who stole her birth control and came inside her without permission.
Maybe I can be the person who takes care of her when she needs it, who shows up when everyone else has abandoned her.
Maybe I can be the man she deserves, even if I have no idea how to be that person.
—
Luca meets me with the soup and medicine, handing them off before I go up to her door. I knock, but there’s no answer.
I knock again, harder this time. "Savannah? It's me. I know you're in there."
Still nothing.
Then I hear movement inside—slow, shuffling footsteps that sound nothing like her usual graceful stride. The door opens a crack, and she's there.
Luca was right—she looks terrible. Her skin is pale and clammy, her hair is tangled, and she's wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and when she sees me, her expression cycles through confusion, anger, and then exhausted resignation.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"You missed class. I was worried." I'm trying to keep my voice calm. "Can I come in?"
"Romeo, I told you—"
"I know what you told me. But you're sick, and you're alone, and I'm not going to just leave you like this." I hold up the bag in my hand. "I have soup and medicine. Please. Just let me help."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to decide whether to slam the door in my face or let me in. Finally, she steps back, and I take it as the invitation it is, slipping inside before she can change her mind.
The dorm is dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon light, and it smells like sickness and stale air.
There's a trash can next to the bed overflowing with tissues, a glass of water on the coffee table that looks like it's been sitting there for hours, and a blanket tangled on the floor.
She moves back to the couch and collapses onto it like the effort of standing has exhausted her.
I have to resist the urge to pick her up and carry her to bed, tuck her in and smooth her hair back and promise her that everything is going to be okay.
"How long have you been like this?" I ask, crouching down next to the couch so I'm at her eye level.
"Since yesterday." She closes her eyes, and I can see her shivering despite the warmth of the apartment. "I thought it was just stress, but then I started throwing up, and I couldn't stop and—" She breaks off, pressing a hand to her mouth like she might be sick again.
"Have you eaten anything?"
"I can't keep anything down."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"I don't need a doctor. It's just the flu." But even as she says it, she doesn't sound convinced.
I reach out and press the back of my hand to her forehead. She’s not feverish. "You need medicine—"
"I need you to leave." She sounds exhausted. "I need you to stop showing up every time something goes wrong and acting like you're the only person who can fix it."
"I'm trying to help." I stand up and go to her kitchen, filling a glass with cold water and bringing it back to her. "Drink this. You're probably dehydrated."
She takes the glass but doesn't drink, just holds it in her hands and stares at it. "Why are you here, Romeo? Really?"
"Because you weren't in class. Because I was worried. I stop, trying to find words that won't sound as desperate as I feel. "Because I care about you, and I can't just pretend I don't."
"You need to learn how." She finally takes a sip of water, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. "You need to let me go."
It feels like she slapped me. "I don't know how to do that."
"Then figure it out." She sets the glass down and pulls the blanket around herself.
She looks so small, so fragile, so completely unlike the confident, brilliant woman I fell in love with.
"Because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep having you show up and make everything more complicated than it already is. "
Not knowing what else to do, I start taking everything out of the bag I brought—soup, anti-nausea medication, electrolyte drinks. Savannah watches me with an expression I can't read.
"You didn't have to do this," she says.
"I know." I open the medicine and shake out two pills, handing them to her with the water. "Take these."
She does, and I can see her hands shaking as she brings the glass to her lips. When she's done, I open the soup and pour some into a mug, the smell of chicken and herbs filling the apartment.
"I don't think I can eat," she says.
"Just try. A few sips. You need something in your stomach." I sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough to help if she needs it but not so close that I'm crowding her. "Please."
She takes the mug and manages a small sip, then another. We sit in silence while she drinks the soup. When she's finished about half the mug, she sets it down and leans back against the couch, closing her eyes. "Thank you," she says quietly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do. Because you didn't have to come here. You didn't have to—" She stops, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears in them. "Why can't you just hate me? Why can't you just let me push you away?"
“You know why.” The words come out even softer than I meant for them to. “I've loved you since the moment I saw you, and I don't know how to stop."
She's crying now, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, and I want to reach out and wipe them away, but I don't know if I'm allowed to touch her anymore. "That's not love, Romeo. That's obsession."
"Maybe it's both." I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together to keep from reaching for her.
"Maybe I don't know the difference anymore.
But I know that I can't stand the thought of you being sick and alone.
I know that I can't stand the thought of you marrying Thad.
I know that I would do anything—anything—to keep you. "
"Even if it destroys me?" Her voice breaks on the words. "Even if it costs me everything I've worked for?"
"I don't want it to cost you anything. I want to give you everything.
" I can see the exhaustion in every line of her body, the way she's holding herself together through sheer force of will, and all I want to do is make it better.
"I want to give you the freedom to choose your own life.
I want to give you the space to finish your degree without your father's threats hanging over you. I want—"
"You want me to choose you." She says it flatly. "You want me to throw away my engagement and my family and my future because you've decided we're meant to be together."
"No. I want you to choose yourself." And as I say it, I realize it's true—or at least, it's what I want to believe is true. "I want you to have the freedom to make your own choices, whatever those choices are."
She lets out a small, choked laugh. "And if I choose Thad? If I choose the life my father wants for me?"
The question feels like a knife between my ribs, but I force myself to answer honestly. "Then I'll have to find a way to live with that."
"Will you?" I can see the doubt in her eyes. "Because everything you've done suggests otherwise. The way you followed me. The way you stole my birth control. The way you—" She stops, her hand going to her stomach in a gesture that's so unconscious I don't think she realizes she's doing it.
My heart stops in my chest. I stand up and go back to the bags Luca brought, digging through them until I find what I'm looking for—the pregnancy test I asked him to include. The one I told myself was just a precaution, just something to rule out before we assumed it was the flu.
But I'm lying to myself, caught between knowing it won’t be something she wants and the thrill of the possibility that she could be mine.
I've been tracking her cycle since the first time we had sex, marking the days in my head with an obsessive attention to detail that would horrify her if she knew.
I know she's late. I know her period should have started five days ago.
I know that the nausea and exhaustion could be signs of something that will change everything.
I turn around and hold up the test, and I watch her face go white.
"What is that?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"A pregnancy test." I keep my voice calm, like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to have brought. "You're nauseous and exhausted. We should rule it out."
"We should—" She's staring at me like I've lost my mind. "You brought a pregnancy test?”
I move closer, holding out the test. "I know we had unprotected sex, and your period is late. You should have started around five days ago—" I realize too late exactly how that sounds as her eyes go wide.
"Get out." She's standing now, swaying slightly, and I can see the panic in her eyes. "Get out of my dorm right now."
"Savannah—"
"You've been tracking my menstrual cycle?" Her voice is rising, becoming shrill with fear and anger. "You've been—Jesus Christ, Romeo, do you hear yourself? Do you understand how insane that is?"
"I'm not insane. I'm—"
"You're obsessed!" I can see her starting to shake. "You're so obsessed with me that you're tracking my period like some kind of—" She breaks off, pressing her hand to her mouth, and for a moment I think she's going to be sick again.
"Just take the test." I'm pleading now, and I can hear the desperation in my own voice. "Please. Just take it so we know."
"So we know what? So you can—" She stops. "You want me to be pregnant. That's what this is. You want me to be pregnant because you think it will—what? Force me to be with you? Give you some kind of claim on me?"
"No. I want to know because—" But I can't finish the sentence, because she's right. Some part of me does want it. Some twisted, desperate part of me sees a pregnancy as the solution to everything, as the thing that will finally make her mine in a way that no one can take away. If she’s pregnant with a Ciresa heir, my father can’t make me give her up.
"Get out." She's crying now, backing away from me like I'm dangerous. "Get out and don't come back. I mean it, Romeo. I can't—I can't do this anymore."
"Please." I'm begging now, and I don't care how pathetic it sounds. "Please just take the test. If it's negative, I'll leave. I'll give you space. I'll—"
"If it's negative?" She shakes her head, rubbing at her face. "And if it's positive? What then? You think that changes anything? You think that makes this okay?"
"It changes everything." The words come out with more force than I intend, and I can see her flinch. "If you're pregnant with my child, then—"
"Then what? Then I'm trapped? Then I have to be with you?" She's shaking her head, and I can see the tears streaming down her face. "That's not love, Romeo."
I move closer, and I know I should stop, I know I should give her space, but I can't. "That's proof that we're meant to be together."
"It's proof that you came inside me without asking!" She's screaming now, and I flinch. "It's proof that you're willing to trap me!"
The words hit me in the chest, and for a moment, I can't breathe. Because she's right. She's absolutely right. I did come inside her knowing she wasn't on birth control, knowing what the consequences could be, and some part of me—some dark, possessive part of me—wanted those consequences.
"I'm sorry." The words feel inadequate, but they're all I have. "I'm sorry. I know I—I know I shouldn't have—"
"Just leave the test." Her voice is flat now, exhausted. "Leave it and go. I'll take it when you're gone."
"I want to be here when—"
"I don't care what you want! For once in your life, Romeo, think about what I want. And what I want is for you to leave."
I set the test down on the coffee table, and I go toward the door because I don't know what else to do.
Staying will only make things worse. But when I reach the door, I turn back, and she's standing there with her arms wrapped around herself.
She looks small and scared, and so completely alone that it breaks something inside me.
"I love you," I tell her, gripping the doorknob. "I know you don't believe me. I know you think it's just obsession. But I love you, and if you're pregnant—if you're carrying my child—I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be here. I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to—"
"Go." She's not looking at me anymore, just staring at the test on the table like it's a bomb waiting to explode. "Please just go."
So I do.
I walk out of her dorm and down the stairs and out into the afternoon sunlight.
I feel like I'm moving through water, like everything is happening in slow motion.
I get in my car and drive, not really paying attention to where I'm going, just driving until I end up parked outside a restaurant three miles from her apartment.
I sit there with my hands on the steering wheel, shaking, my whole body trembling.
If she's pregnant, my father will have to accept it.
He'll have to let me be with her, because a Ciresa doesn't abandon his child.
If she's pregnant, Thad can't have her, because she'll be carrying my baby.
If she's pregnant, her father's threats don't matter anymore, because she'll need me, will need my protection and my resources and everything I can give her.
If she's pregnant, she's mine.