She whispers it, as if the word itself is too dangerous to fully say aloud. I should be panicked at the thought, but instead, some dark, possessive part of mewantsit—wants her pregnant withmy child, wants her bound to me in a way that can never be undone.
"We'll deal with it." I try to sound calm even as my mind races. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together."
"Together? Romeo, I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad. If I'm pregnant?—"
Rage blurs my vision. "You're not marrying him. Not after tonight. Not after what he did to you."
She pulls away from me, nearly tripping in the grass in her heels. "You don't understand. My father—the families—the expectations?—"
"Fuck the expectations. Fuck what everyone else wants. What do you want, Savannah?" I stare at her. I just took her virginity, and she’s trying to say she’s still going to marry that fucker. The thought makes my head spin, makes me want to go in there and kill him so there’s no fucking chance of it.
She looks at me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. The uncertainty. The realization of what we've done.
“I wanted this,” she whispers. “But it doesn’t change anything. I have to—I can’t get out of this, Romeo. No one can get me out of it.”
In the distance, we both hear voices. I see her head turn back toward the building where the gala is being held, as doors open and lights spill out. She backs up, away from me, and I start to follow her.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I have to go. Romeo?—”
For a moment, I think she’s going to say something else. But she just turns, grabbing her skirt up in one hand, and flees.
—
I know betterthan to follow her back to the gala, however much I want to. Instead, I head back to my own car, my head spinning and my body still throbbing with the memory of how it felt to be inside of her.
It feels almost impossible to leave her behind. To know she’s going to leave that gala withhim. Her fucking virgin blood is still on my cock, but another man is going to drive her home. It’s making me insane.
I can’t sleep. I should shower, but I don’t want to wash her scent off my skin. I feel like a fucking madman, and by nine o’clock the next morning, I text Vince and tell him I need him to go and watch her building, tell me if he sees anyone.
I get a text an hour later. I want it to be Savannah, answering any of the ten fucking messages I’ve sent her since last night, but it’s Vince.
Vince:No one so far. She’s in her dorm. Sitting by the window.
I text back rapidly:No one else in there with her?
Vince:Not that I can see.
I pace my apartment, trying to focus on work, on projects for school, anything except how badly I want to go to Savannah’s dorm right now and demand she talk to me. I feel like I’m fucking suffocating. A shower doesn’t help. Jerking off thinking of how she felt in my arms last night doesn’t help.
I need her. I fucking need her right now.
At 2 p.m., Vince texts again:She just left. Heading toward the campus pharmacy.And my blood runs cold.
There’s only one reason I can think of that she’d go to the pharmacy after what happened last night.
She's going to make sure last night has no consequences. She's going to erase the one thing that could bind her to me permanently.
Romeo:Follow her. Tell me what she buys.
Vince:Boss, I don't think?—
Romeo:Tell me what she buys.
Twenty minutes later, he texts me:A Cherry Coke. And Plan B.
I stare at the message, feeling something dark and desperate rising in my chest, that foreign panic clouding my thoughts and my better judgment.
No. No, she can't. She can't take it. She can't erase what we did. She can't?—
