I shake my head. "I can't do that. I can't just stand by and watch her marry someone who's going to hurt her."
"You can tell her the truth about Whitmore. You can give her the information she needs to make an informed decision. But then you have to step back. You have to let her decide."
"That's not?—"
"Romeo." Her voice is sharp now. "Listen to yourself. You're talking about controlling her life, making decisions for her, deciding what's best for her. That's exactly what Whitmore does. That's exactly what you say you're trying to save her from."
The words hit me like a slap. "I'm nothing like him."
"Aren't you? You're both trying to control her. You're both convinced you know what's best for her. The only difference is you think your intentions are better."
"My intentions are better. I want her to be happy. He just wants her money."
"Maybe. But you're still trying to control her. You're still not giving her the freedom to choose her own life." She says it with a hint of bitterness, and I wonder if she feels the same way. I know she doesn’t have very many choices, either. Our father will choose someone for her to marry, sooner or later. Her place in this family is as fixed as mine, as Savannah’s is meant to bein hers. It makes something in me ache that never has before, thinking of it.
I want to argue. I want to tell her she's wrong, that she doesn't understand, that this is different. But I can't. Because somewhere deep down, I know she's right.
"I don't know how to do this," I say quietly. "I don't know how to love someone without trying to possess them."
“All you can do is try, and hope she still wants you even if you fuck it up.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand.
She's right. If I can't give Savannah the freedom to choose, if I can't trust her to make her own decisions, if I can't love her without trying to control her—then I don't deserve her. But the thought of losing her is unbearable.
I don’t know if I can do this. I’m going to fuck it up. I know I am. Just the thought of her marrying him makes me feel panicked in a way I’ve never experienced, and that I’m desperate to stop.
Our food arrives, and we eat in silence for a while. "Tell me about her," Giulia says eventually. "What's she like?"
I can’t help but smile at that. "She's brilliant. She's doing her master's in archaeology, specializing in Minoan civilization. When she talks about her research, her whole face lights up. She's passionate and curious, and she asks questions that make me think differently about everything."
“All this seminar stuff makes sense now,” Giulia says with a laugh. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. She sounds worth all the extra classwork.”
"She is. She's also kind. And funny. And she sees the world in this way that's—" I struggle for the words. "She believes in things. In truth, in the importance of uncovering what's been hidden. She has this idealism that I've never had. She’s so innocent, and it’s frightening to me, knowing how the world is… but she’s not stupid or helpless. She’s just… not jaded."
Giulia swallows hard, and I see worry in her eyes, for me. “You really do love her.”
The word terrifies me. Love. Real love, not just obsession or possession or desire. Love means putting someone else first, giving them freedom, being vulnerable.
I don’t know what love is, not like that. And I’m going to be bad at it.
I just know I am. Bad for her, even, in a different way from Thaddeus.
But I feel like I’m on a runaway train that I can’t stop.
I leave the restaurant feeling unsettled. Giulia's words keep echoing in my head.If you really love her, you have to let her choose. You can't force this.
But how do I do that? How do I step back when every instinct I have is screaming at me to act, to intervene, to make sure she's safe? How do I give her freedom when I know she's in danger?
I find myself walking toward campus without consciously deciding to. It's late—almost nine—but I know Savannah sometimes studies in the library on Friday nights, that she likes how quiet it is when most students are out.
I shouldn't go. I should give her space. I should do what Giulia said and let her make her own choices. But I need to see her. Just to know she's okay. Just to?—
I'm lying to myself. I need to see her because I'm addicted to her presence. Because being near her is the only thing that makes sense anymore.
The library is mostly empty when I arrive. There are a few dedicated students scattered throughout the building, but nothing like the usual crowds. I take the stairs to the section where I know she likes to work.
And there she is.
She's sitting at a table by the window, surrounded by books and papers, her laptop open in front of her. Her hair is pulledback in a messy bun, and she's wearing glasses I've never seen before—small, wire-rimmed ones that make her look even more like the serious academic she is. I never realized it, but she must have worn contacts before this.
