"And those ideas include Thaddeus Whitmore."
She glances at me sharply. "How do you know about Thad?"
"You mentioned him. That first day, we talked more about ourselves. You said you were engaged."
It's not quite a lie. She did mention being engaged. I just didn't learn his name from her.
"Right." She's quiet for a moment. "Yes. My father approves of Thad. His family is old money, too, but he’s worked for my father as a protégé of sorts. My father is his mentor. Our families have known each other for years."
"But what do you think of him?"
The question seems to surprise her. "What do I think?"
"Yes. Not your father. You. What do you think of Thaddeus Whitmore?"
She's quiet for a long time, and I can see her struggling with the answer. Finally, she says, "He's... appropriate. He comes from a good family. He has a good career. He'll be a good provider. He’s well-respected, and my family likes him."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know." Her voice catches slightly, and she presses her lips together.
We've reached her building, and I stop outside the entrance. She turns to face me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes—the awareness of what's happening between us. The knowledge that she should shut this down, maintain boundaries, remember her engagement.
But she doesn't want to. I can see that too.
"Thank you for walking me home," she says.
"Anytime."
"I should go," she says, but she doesn't move.
“Tomorrow? 10 a.m.?”
She nods and turns away sharply, her chest rising quickly as she does. I watch her unlock the door and step inside, then turn back to look at me one more time before the door closes between us.
I stand there for a long moment after she's gone, my hands clenched in my pockets, fighting the urge to follow her inside. To knock on her door and finish what we started in that study room.
But I don't. Because this requires patience and strategy. Careful planning, not impulse.
I'm starting to realize that what I want from Savannah isn't just her body. It's everything. Her mind, her passion, her dreams, her future.
I want her to choose me. And that means I need to remove the obstacle standing in my way.
—
I meetLuca at the restaurant in Little Italy on Tuesday evening. Luca is already there when I arrive, a glass of wine in front of him. He looks up when I enter, and I see the concern in his eyes.
"You look like shit," he says bemusedly.
I roll my eyes. "Thanks."
"I'm serious, Romeo. When's the last time you slept?"
I ignore the question and sit down across from him. "I need you to do something for me."
He leans back. "Of course. What do you need?"
"Information. On Thaddeus Whitmore III. Charleston, South Carolina. I want everything—financial records, business dealings, personal life. I want to know if he's ever so much as jaywalked."
