"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 thesolution 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?—"
