"Savannah." He kisses my cheek, and I’m grateful he didn’t go for my mouth. "You look lovely."
I picked one of the dresses my mother bought me before I left for college. It’s light blue and knee-length with a high sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves, another much more conservative style than even what I like to wear. But this is how I’m supposed to dress, and Thad will undoubtedly report back to my parents when he goes home. If I’d shown up in anything more casual or less appropriate, I’d hear about it, and I don’t want to give them any excuse to make me come home.
"Thank you. You look nice too."
"Shall we?" He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the car outside. It feels possessive and proprietary, and I have to resist the urge to step away. But I don’t. I’m his fiancée. He’s allowed to touch me. I have to let him, or that will be a whole other problem.
Once again, Thad orders for me at dinner, and I don’t bother arguing. I already know it’s not going to matter, even though I would have preferred a steak to the poached fish and vegetables he tells the waiter to bring for me.
"So," he says, once the waiter has left with our order. "Tell me about your classes. Still playing archaeologist?"
The dismissive tone makes my jaw tighten. "I'm not playing. I'm studying."
"Of course. I didn't mean—" He reaches across the table to pat my hand. "I just mean it's good that you're keeping yourself occupied. Staying intellectually engaged. It was very generous of Edgar to give you this time."
"It's more than that, Thad. This is my degree. My career." I know I’m talking to a brick wall. No matter how many times I say it, he’s not going to hear me. But I can’t stop, all the same.
"Your hobby," he corrects gently. "We've discussed this, darling. After we're married, you'll have plenty of opportunities to volunteer with museums, serve on cultural boards. But a career—that's not really practical, is it? Not with the kind of life we'll be leading."
I pull my hand back. "What kind of life is that?" The words come out before I can stop them, or force them into something that sounds more genuinely curious rather than accusatory.
Thad looks momentarily confused. “Well, the life your parents live, Savannah. The life you’ve always lived, just now with you running our household. We'll need to entertain, to maintain certain social connections. My family has expectations.Your father has expectations. You understand that, don't you?" His brows knit, and I can understand his confusion, I suppose. This all should be very clear to me. Itisclear to me. But I feel like my mouth is running away with me tonight in a way it never has before.
No one has asked me what I want. No one cares. And it’s frustrating and infuriating, especially now that I’ve had a taste of what it’s like to be on my own.
“What if I want something different for myself?” I say carefully. "I want to do fieldwork. Maybe teach, eventually. Maybe we could find a way to make that work?—"
"Savannah." His voice is patient, like he's explaining something to a child. "That's not realistic. Archaeology doesn't pay well. The hours are unpredictable. And frankly, it's not appropriate for someone in your position."
"My position?"
"As my wife. As a Whitmore." He smiles, like this should make me happy. "You'll have responsibilities. Social obligations. You can't just run off to dig in the dirt whenever you feel like it."
The waiter arrives with our first course, and I'm grateful for the interruption. I need a moment to process what Thad just said. The casual dismissal of everything I've worked for. The assumption that my dreams are negotiable, that my ambitions are just a phase I'll grow out of. I don’t know why I hoped for anything different, but…
I think about Romeo, about the way he listens when I talk about my research. The way he engages with my ideas, treats my work like it matters.
"How's your seminar going?" Thad asks, cutting into his scallop. "The one with the intimidating professor?"
I blink, startled that he’s remembered anything about it at all. "It's good. Challenging." I look at him curiously, trying tofigure out this sudden change in conversation. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t find my classes worth talking about.
"And your classmates? Anyone interesting?"
It's a casual question, but there's something in his tone that makes me cautious. "They're all interesting. It's a small program, so it’s very competitive."
"Any men?"
There it is. The real question. I inhale slowly, trying to keep myself from snapping at him or sounding defensive. "It's graduate school, Thad. Of course there are men in my classes."
"Anyone you're particularly friendly with?"
I let out the breath. “I have a partner on my project. We study together, but that’s all. We’re supposed to work in pairs.”
It’s partially a lie. I feel my stomach churning. I lied to Thad. But what was I supposed to say? That Romeo sometimes walks me home? That we get coffee together? Thad would be demanding that I drop out and come back home with him before this weekend is even over.
It doesn’t matter that nothing has happened between us, that we’re just friends. I know exactly how he’ll react.
Thad's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Man or woman?”
