"What comes next is that we get married. And then you come home to Charleston, and we start our real life together." His hand comes up to cup my face, and the gesture that should be intimate feels like a shackle. "This is a phase. A detour. But it's time to come back to reality."
He leans in and kisses me before I can pull away. It's possessive, demanding. His other hand slides down my side, pulling me against him, and I feel panic rising in my throat. "Thad, stop?—"
"We're engaged, Savannah. We're going to be married. This is normal."
"I said stop." I push against his chest, and he pulls back, but only slightly.
"What's wrong with you?" His voice is frustrated now. "You used to be more affectionate. Is it him? Is he in your head?"
"This isn't about Romeo. This is about you not listening when I say no."
"I barely touched you."
"You shouldn't have touched me at all after I asked you to stop."
We stare at each other, and I see something in his eyes that frightens me. Not anger, exactly, but something colder. He’s looking at me as if he’s appraising me, like I’m suddenly flawed.
"You're changing," he says finally. "New York is changing you. This program, these people, this Romeo—they're putting ideas in your head. Ideas about who you are, what you want. But those aren't your ideas, Savannah. They're not who you really are."
"How do you know who I really am?" The words come out before I can stop them.
"Because I've known you your entire life. Because I know what's best for you, even when you don't."
The presumption of it—the absolute certainty that he knows me better than I know myself—makes me want to scream.
"I think I should leave," I say quietly.
"Savannah—"
“Please. I just need a little time. This has all been really fast. The engagement, the—” I break off, because I know to him, it doesn’t seem fast. He and my father decided on this much longer than I’ve had to acclimate myself to it. To him, this was inevitable, and it has been for a long time.
Thaddeus blows out a sharp breath. “I think you do need time to think about your priorities, Savannah. This isn’t the kind of behavior I expect from my wife, and it needs to be curbed before we marry.”
I’m on the verge of not being able to hold my tongue. I swallow hard, forcing myself to nod. “I just need some rest, Thad. That’s all.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. "Fine. But we're going to talk about this. About your priorities. About whatyou owe to me, and to your father." He picks up my purse and hands it to me.
I grab my bag and leave, enduring the cold kiss on the cheek that he gives me. I should head back to my dorm, but I know Vivian will see how out of sorts I am and ask questions that I don’t want to answer right now. So instead, I slip into the archaeology building, into one of the empty classrooms on the third floor. It's quiet and peaceful. There are a few students downstairs in the studio, working on their projects, but mostly I have the building to myself. The room is empty, and I’m completely, totally alone.
And for the first time since the engagement, I break down.
All the pressure, all the conflict, all the fear and confusion and guilt come pouring out in great, gasping sobs. I sink into one of the chairs and put my head in my hands, and cry like I haven't cried since I was a child.
I’m supposed to want this life, but I don’t. I’m supposed to be thrilled to be marrying a man like Thaddeus, but instead, I feel like I’m in a prison. I have all these dreams, and I’m supposed to give them up because they're not practical or appropriate or what's expected.
I’m supposed to tell Romeo I can’t study with him anymore, and for some reason, that feels worse than just losing a good project partner. Because every time I'm with Romeo, I feel like I can breathe, like I'm real, like I matter. And every time I'm with Thad, I feel like I'm disappearing.
I cry over all of that, and I cry because I don't know how to choose myself when everyone else has already chosen for me.
I’m crying so hard that I don’t hear the door open or footsteps until a voice says, quietly, "Savannah?"
I look up, and Romeo is standing in the doorway.
His expression is concerned and careful. Like he's looking at something fragile that might shatter, or maybe a bomb aboutto go off. Like he doesn’t really know how to handle what he’s seeing.
I hate that he’s seeing me like this at all.
"I'm sorry.” I wipe at my face. "I didn't—I thought I was alone."
