The door opens.
I spin around, and Savannah is standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.
"Romeo? What are you—how did you?—"
I should have a lie ready. I should have an excuse prepared. But I don't. I can only stare at her, my heart pounding, the stolen pill burning in my pocket, evidence of my crime.
"I needed to see you.” It’s true, even if it's not the whole truth. "I couldn't stay away."
She closes the door behind her, and I can see the confusion in her eyes. The wariness. "How did you get in here?"
"The door was unlocked." The lie comes easily, automatically. "I knocked, but you didn't answer. I was worried, so I?—"
Her forehead wrinkles. "You just walked into my room?"
"I was worried," I repeat. "After last night, after everything—I needed to make sure you were okay."
She's looking at me like she's trying to figure out if I'm telling the truth. Like she's trying to decide if she should be angry or touched. "I'm fine,” she says finally. “I just—I needed some time alone. To think."
My heart thumps in my chest. "Have you? Thought about it?"
"I don't know what to think. Everything is so—" She stops, running a hand through her hair. "Complicated."
I take a step toward her. "It doesn't have to be complicated."
Her hand drops down, her expression incredulous as she looks at me. "Yes, it does. Romeo, I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad. My father has expectations. Our families haveagreements. And now—" Her hand moves to her stomach. "Now there's this."
My gaze drops to her hand. My heart is pounding faster now. "This?"
"The possibility. Of—" She can't say it. Can't say the wordpregnancy.
"Would that be so terrible?" I ask, moving closer. "If you were carrying my child?"
Her eyes go wide. "Yes! Romeo, yes, it would be terrible. I'm not ready to be a mother. I'm in graduate school. I have a degree to finish. I have?—"
"You have me."
The words hang in the air between us.
Savannah shakes her head, hard and fast. "That's not enough. I barely know you."
"You know me better than anyone ever has."
She looks at me, and her expression is pained. "I know you make me feel things I shouldn't feel. I know you make me want things I shouldn't want. But that's not the same as?—"
I can’t stand this a second longer. I close the short distance between us, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs sliding over her cheekbones. I feel her tense, but she doesn’t pull away. "Say it. Say what you're afraid to say."
She shakes her head again. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I say it, it becomes real. And if it's real, then I have to deal with it. And I don't know how to deal with it."
Touching her, being this close to her—it feels like heaven and hell at the same time. I lean in, and I kiss her. Soft at first, gently, trying to convey everything I can't put into words.
She melts into me, her body remembering what her mind is trying to deny. I feel her lips part against mine. I canfeelthat shewants this, even if she’s fighting it. She wants me as much as I want her.
"Stay with me," I murmur against her lips. "Don't go back to him. Don't go back to that life."
