"His violence?" Edgar's eyes sharpen. "Has Thaddeus hurt you?"
"He grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises. He threatened me. He showed up here with corrupt police officers trying to take me into 'protective custody' while Romeo was in jail on fabricated charges." I'm talking faster now, the words tumbling out. "He's dangerous, Daddy. He's killed before, and he'll kill again if someone doesn't stop him."
A heavy silence follows. My father looks at the evidence spread across the coffee table—the photos, the documents, the proof of Thad's pattern of violence—and I wait for him to say something. To express shock or concern or anger at what Thad has done.
Instead, he sighs and leans back against the couch.
"Is that all?" he asks.
The question doesn't make sense. "Is that—what do you mean, is that all? Didn't you hear what I just said? Thad is?—"
"I heard you." His voice is calm, almost bored. "You've presented evidence that Thaddeus has had some difficulties with past relationships. That he can be possessive, perhaps overly so. That he's made mistakes."
"Mistakes?" I'm staring at him in disbelief. "He put a woman in the hospital. He might have killed?—"
"Might have," Edgar emphasizes the words. "You have no proof that Thaddeus had anything to do with this woman’s death. The police investigated and ruled it an accident. As for the other one—" He waves a hand dismissively. "A settlement was reached. The matter was handled."
The casual way he says it makes my blood run cold. "Handled. You mean Thad's father paid her off and threatened her family."
"I mean the situation was resolved in a way that was satisfactory to all parties involved." He shakes his head."Savannah, you're being naive. Men like Thaddeus—men in positions of power—they have certain... indiscretions. It's simply how the world works."
I can't breathe. I can't process what he's saying. "Indiscretions. You're calling assault and murder indiscretions."
"They were private matters that were handled." His voice is harder now, more authoritative. "And I'm telling you that if you think this information changes anything, you're mistaken. I've known about Thaddeus's past for years. His father and I discussed it when we first arranged your engagement."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "You knew. You knew what he'd done, and you still?—"
"I knew that he was young and passionate and that he'd made some mistakes with women who didn't understand the kind of life he could offer them." Edgar stands up, and suddenly he seems taller, more imposing, more like the man who's spent decades wielding power in Charleston's social and political circles. "But you're different, Savannah. You were raised for this. You understand duty and discretion and the importance of maintaining appearances."
"You're asking me to marry a man who beats women." My voice is shaking now, and I can feel tears starting to burn behind my eyes. "A man who might have killed someone."
"I want you to fulfill the commitment you made. To honor your family's name and your obligations. Yes, Thaddeus can be difficult. Yes, he has a temper. But that's something you'll learn to manage."
"Manage." The word comes out as a whisper. "You want me to manage being beaten."
"You'll learn what sets him off. You'll learn how to avoid conflict. You'll learn to be the kind of wife he needs—supportive, discreet, understanding. And in return, you'll have everything you could possibly want. Security, status, a family?—"
"I don't want any of that!" My voice rises sharply. "I don't want to spend my life walking on eggshells, terrified that I'll say the wrong thing or look at someone the wrong way or?—"
"Then what do you want?" His voice is cold now, all pretense of paternal concern gone. "To throw away everything for some criminal? To ruin your life and your family's reputation for a man who deals in violence and corruption?"
"Romeo has never hurt me."
"He's a criminal from a criminal family, and he's using you to get back at Thaddeus and me." Edgar moves closer, and his voice drops lower. "Savannah, I know you think you love him. I know you think this is some grand romance. But it's not. It's a disaster waiting to happen. And I won't let you destroy yourself for it."
"You don't get to decide that. You don't get to tell me who I can love or who I can be with or?—"
"I'm your father." His voice is final. "And I'm telling you that you will marry Thaddeus Whitmore as planned. You will end this affair with Romeo Ciresa. And you will learn to be the kind of woman your family needs you to be."
The words settle over me like a death sentence, and I realize with horrible clarity that this was always going to be his answer. No amount of evidence, no proof of Thad's violence, no appeal to his love for me was ever going to change his mind. Because Edgar Beauregard doesn't see me as a person. He sees me as an asset. A tool. A means to an end.
"You don't care." My voice is barely above a whisper. "You don't care that Thad might kill me. You don't care that I'm terrified. You don't care about anything except your business deals and your reputation and?—"
"I care about your future." But there's no warmth in his voice. No genuine concern. "I care about making sure you don't throw away everything for a momentary infatuation."
"I'm pregnant." I force myself to meet his eyes. "With Romeo's baby. And I’m keeping it. So whatever plans you had, whatever arrangement you made with the Whitmores—it's over. I'm not marrying Thad. I'm not?—"
The slap comes so fast, I don't see it coming. One moment I'm standing there, and the next, my head is snapped to the side. My cheek is burning, and I stare at my father in shock.
