The way he makes me feel seen.
I pull out my phone, and there's a text from Thad waiting.
Thad:I’ll be in town next weekend. Looking forward to seeing you.
I stare at the message, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. He’s coming to town far more often than I’d planned or anticipated. He doesn’t want to let me out of his sight for long.
And maybe he has good reason.
I think about the way Romeo asked me about my research. How he really asked, genuinely interested in my answer. The way he remembered something I'd said in class two weeks ago. The way he looked at me when he said, "You're going to be brilliant."
I think about the difference between being told what to do and being asked what I think.
I type back to Thad:Next weekend isn’t good for me. I have plans. Can we push it back a week?
It's a small rebellion. Tiny, really. But it feels significant.
His response comes quickly:What plans?
Savannah:Research. For a group project.
Thad:Can't it wait?
I stare at the message, feeling anger rise in my chest. Can't it wait. Like my academic work is a hobby, something to be set aside whenever it's inconvenient for him.
Savannah:No. It can't wait. I’ve already made plans with my study group. I don’t want to let them down.
I don't wait for his response. I silence my phone and head to my bedroom, and I try not to think about the fact that I just lied to my fiancé.
There are no study group plans set in stone. In fact, I’m working with Romeo as a partner, and we haven’t made firm plans, either.
We could, of course, and then it wouldn’t be a lie… but right now, it is. I created an excuse to avoid Thad, using Romeo as my justification.
I try not to think about what that means.
I can't sleep that night. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and I keep replaying the last few days. The way Romeo looked at me across the study table. The electricity when our hands touched. The way he backed me up in class, his voice calm and authoritative as he cited scholarly sources to support my argument. The way he stood too close outside my building, looking at me like?—
Like what?
Like he wants me. Like he sees me. Like I'm something precious and rare and worth paying attention to.
I roll over, pulling the covers up to my chin, and I try to summon guilt. I'm engaged. I shouldn't be thinking about another man. I shouldn't be feeling this flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again. But the guilt won't come. All I feel is anticipation.
And underneath that, something darker. A question I don't want to ask but can't ignore.
What if I'm engaged to the wrong person?
Well… that’s not really the question. I’ve never thought Thad was the right person for me. But I thought he was tolerable. I thought the marriage for grad school was a trade I could make. What if the life I'm supposed to want—the appropriate marriage, the Charleston society wedding, the future as Mrs. Thaddeus Whitmore III—what if I can’t live like that?
I close my eyes, and I see Romeo's face. The intensity in his gaze. The way he smiled when I challenged Dr. Kouris. The way he said, "We make a good team."
I know I'm in trouble. I know this is dangerous, this attraction, this connection. But I can't seem to stop myself.
I'll see you tomorrow, Savannah.
I shouldn't feel a thrill at that thought.
But I do.
