It feels too personal, too special to share with anyone other than the object of my obsession.
We stare at each other, and I can see my father weighing his options. He could forbid me from taking the courses or threaten to cut me off financially. He could make this a battle of wills. But he knows me well enough to recognize when I'm immovable. And despite everything, despite his anger and his concerns, he trusts me. I've never failed him. I’ve never let personal interests interfere with family business.
He doesn't know that this is different. That this isn't a calculated decision but something closer to compulsion.
"Fine," he says finally. "Take your archaeology courses. But Romeo—" He steps closer, his voice dropping. "Don't let this interfere with the MBA. Whatever you think you're doing here, remember that."
"I will."
“If this gets in the way of the studies I want you to focus on, then you’ll drop out of those classes. Immediately. No arguments, no negotiations. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
He nods, dismissing me, and I leave his office feeling something that might be triumph. I've won. I've gotten what I wanted. The archaeology courses are mine, and with them, access to Savannah Beauregard.
And I play my role, exactly as I’m meant to, when classes start the next day. I attend the MBA orientation, meet my cohort, play the role of serious graduate student. I finalize the details of my schedule and confirm my enrollment in all four archaeology courses.
I’m going to get close to Savannah. I’m going to discover everything I can about her. And then I’m going to either save her or ruin her.
I'm not entirely sure which, and I don’t think it matters.
I dress casually for the first day of classes—dark jeans and a fitted charcoal T-shirt, the heat bringing out the curl in my hair, well aware of what I look like. I’ve used it to my advantage plenty of times over the years, always with a detached calculation that has never had any personal attachment to what I’m doing. This is different. For the first time in my life, I fucking care what a woman thinks of me. I want Savannah to look at me and want me as much as I want her.
I want to tempt that sweet little Southern girl right out of her engagement ring, and then I want to make her mine.
Being late to class is a calculation on my part. I want to interrupt. I want her to see me when I walk in; I don’t want there to be any chance that she’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t see me already sitting down, that she overlooks me. The professor is clearly pissed off at the interruption, but I don’t give a shit about that.
What I care about is how, when I walk in, her eyes lock onto mine. She looks pretty and perfect in jeans and a light blue linen blouse, the buttons stopping just at the V of her cleavage, and I swear I can smell summer just looking at her.
I’m instantly hard the moment her eyes catch mine. I’ve never been so fucking aroused. Every filthy thing I can imagine runs through my head as I walk into class and head for the back row, passing close enough to her as I do that I can smell her perfume.
She smells sweet, like lemons and vanilla, and my mouth waters thinking about what it will be like to taste her. I notice, too, as I walk past, that there’s no engagement ring on her hand.
Curious.
The seminar lasts two hours, and I absorb almost nothing of what Dr. Kouris says. My entire focus is on the woman in front of me.
When class ends, she gathers her things quickly and leaves before I can engineer a natural introduction. I let her go. There's no rush. I have four classes with her this semester, countless opportunities to talk to her, to get close to her. I have time.
I walk out of the building into the late afternoon sun, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly alive. Not performing, not calculating, not playing a role, but actually alive, with something real moving through my veins instead of the emptiness I’ve felt for twenty-six years.
It's dangerous, I know. It's a vulnerability, a weakness, a crack in the armor I've spent my entire life constructing. It coulddestroy me, could compromise everything I've built, could ruin the careful plans my father has laid out for my future.
But I can’t make myself go back.
I've seen her, and I've felt something real, and I'm never going back to the hollow existence I had before. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs, whatever rules I have to break or enemies I have to make, I'm going to have her.
Savannah Beauregard is mine. She just doesn't know it yet.
I pull out my phone and text Giulia:Dinner next week? That place in Little Italy you like?
Her response comes immediately:YES! I miss you! Tuesday?
Romeo:Tuesday works. 7 p.m.
Giulia:Can't wait! Love you.
Love you too,I type back, and it's one of the only times I use those words and mean them, only with her. I know what it’s like to feel some measure of filial love, but romantic?
