"This isn't about agreement. This is about protecting you from a man who is dangerous, who is violent, who will destroy your life?—"
"Like you're trying to destroy his family?" The words come out sharp and accusatory, and I can hear him inhale sharply on the other end of the line. "You're no different from him, Daddy. You're just better at hiding it behind boardrooms and lawyers and legitimate business dealings."
"If you do this, if you choose him over your family, over everything I've built for you—I will follow through on my threats. I will destroy the Ciresa family. I will make sure Romeo Ciresa spends the rest of his life in prison. And it will be your fault, Savannah." His voice is cold now, final, and I know he means every word. He’ll do exactly what he's threatening, because my father always follows through.
“Daddy—”
“No, Savannah. I’m done playing this game with you. We are not going to lose everything that was planned because you opened your legs for a fucking Ciresa.” All his poise and calm are gone, his voice harsh and crass. “You will come home, or I will bring you home.”
The phone goes dead. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop it.
I chose myself. But my father didn’t hear me. And I have no doubt that there’s a possibility he can drag me back to Charleston and force me to go along with whatever he wants, no matter what I say.
I’m still on the couch when Romeo comes home a few hours later. Everything keeps playing on a loop in my head, and I look up sharply as he comes to sit down next to me. He doesn't say anything; just waits for me to speak first.
"I took the test," I say finally, rubbing my hands back and forth over my jean-clad thighs nervously. "This morning. After you left."
He goes very still beside me. I can feel the tension radiating off him, feel him trying to control his reaction. "And?" His voice is neutral, carefully controlled, but I can hear the hope underneath it, the desperate need to hear me say the words that will change everything.
"I'm pregnant." I turn to look at him, and his face is full of a dozen emotions all at once—relief, triumph, fear, and love all mixed together in an expression that's so raw it makes my chest ache. "You got what you wanted, Romeo. I'm carrying your baby. I'm bound to you in the most permanent way possible. Congratulations."
All afternoon, I’ve been thinking about this. I didn’t want a baby yet. I didn’t want to be trapped in this situation. And I feel like I’ve had very little say in the matter. I want him to know he’s hurt me. That everything we have feels tainted by this. That he’s going to have to work for me to forgive him, and that I don’t know yet what will fix it.
The bitterness in my voice makes him flinch. I watch him realize that I'm not happy about this—that I'm angry and scaredand feeling trapped in a way that has nothing to do with my father or Thad and everything to do with him.
"Savannah—" He reaches for me, and I pull away, standing up and putting distance between us. I can't think when he's touching me.
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Don't touch me right now. I can't—I need space. I need to think."
"What do you need to think about?" He stands up too, and there's confusion in his expression, hurt, and the beginning of panic. "You're pregnant. With my baby."
I chew on my lower lip, staring at him across the space between us. "You sabotaged my birth control. You got me pregnant on purpose because you thought it would make me stay with you. So congratulations, Romeo. You won."
"This isn't about winning?—"
"Isn't it?" I shake my head, feeling my heart ache with the uncertainty of what I should do. I want him, and I’m scared of him, and I think I might love him. I want to be here, and I want to be somewhere else. I’ve never been so confused in my life, and all because he’s turned it upside down. "You broke Thad's face yesterday. You threatened my father. Now I'm pregnant with your baby, and I can't leave even if I wanted to because I have nowhere else to go. So tell me, Romeo—what part of this isn't about winning?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "I love you," he says finally, and his voice is raw and desperate. "Everything I've done, I've done because I love you. Because I can't lose you. Because the thought of you with someone else, of you leaving, of you not being mine—it makes me insane. It makes me do things I know are wrong. But it's not about control, Savannah. It's about love."
“I don’t know what love feels like… but I don’t know if it’s supposed to be that.” I feel tears at the edges of my eyes. "Loverespects boundaries. Love treats the other person like an equal instead of a possession."
"I know." He takes a step toward me. I take a step back, and I see him realize that I'm serious about the space, about the boundaries, about not letting him touch me right now. "I know I've done everything wrong. I know I've hurt you. I know I've been controlling and obsessive and—and exactly the kind of man you should run from. But I'm trying, Savannah. I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to be the kind of man you deserve."
"Then prove it." The words come out like a challenge. "Prove that you can love me without controlling me. Prove that you can respect my boundaries."
"How?" He looks lost and uncertain, and it's the first time I've seen him like this—vulnerable and confused and genuinely asking for guidance instead of assuming he knows what's best. "Tell me how. Tell me what you need."
"I need space. I need time. I need you to not touch me right now because every time you touch me, I lose myself, and I can't afford to lose myself anymore." I bite my lip harder, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I need you to listen when I say something. Not to go over it because you want something different. I have to make my own decisions. I have to be strong enough to do this myself, and figure out what I want.”
"You are strong enough." He looks at me miserably, as if he’s just as lost. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. But that doesn't mean you have to fight alone. That doesn't mean I can't protect you?—"
“I don’t want anyone to own me. I want a partner, if I’m going to have anyone.” I meet his eyes, and I can see him trying to understand, trying to grasp the distinction I'm making. "I want you, Romeo. I can’t stop wanting you. But I can’t just be controlled in a different way, even if it’s because you love me.”
A heavy, charged silence hangs between us. I can see him wanting to cross the distance between us, wanting to pull me into his arms and kiss me until I forget why I'm angry, wanting to use his body and his touch and the chemistry between us to make me surrender. And I want that too—God, I want it so badly it hurts. I want to feel his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine, and the way he makes me forget everything except the sensation of being consumed by him.
But I hold my ground. If I give in now, if I let him touch me before he understands what I'm asking for, I'll lose this chance to reclaim some control over my own life.
"Okay," he says finally, and his voice is rough, strained. "Okay. I'll try. I'll—I'll give you space. I'll respect your boundaries. I'll try to be what you need."
