My hand moves to my stomach, flat and unchanged, but the possibility is there. And there's a small, shameful part of me that feels something else. Something I can't name. Something that makes me think about Romeo's face when he said he wanted me to be his, completely and irrevocably.
No. Stop. This is insane.
I get dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, trying to look normal even though I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. I need to think. I need to figure out what to do.
I need to stay away from Romeo.
My phone buzzes. Another text from Thad:Where are you? Why aren't you answering? We need to talk about last night.
Last night. The gala. His hand on my throat. The way he grabbed me… hurt me.
And then Romeo, following me outside. Romeo, making me feel things I've never felt before. Romeo, inside me, claiming me, telling me I'm his.
I can't think about this. I can't process this. It's too much.
I text Thad back:I'm sick. Food poisoning. I'll call you later.
It's a lie. Everything is a lie now.
—
I managed to avoid Romeo for two days.
I leave class before he can catch up to me. I don't go to the library. I stay in my room, trying to focus on my research, trying to pretend that everything is normal.
But it's not normal. Nothing is normal.
My body remembers him. Every time I move, every time I shift in my chair, I'm reminded of what we did, of how he felt inside me, the way he looked at me. And I hate myself for wanting more.
On Tuesday evening, there's a knock on the front door of our dorm. I assume it's Vivian, my roommate, who's been giving me concerned looks all day before she finally headed out for her study group that was meeting tonight. I’ve been dodging her questions, claiming not to feel well, like I have been witheveryone else, and it’s not entirely a lie. The anxiety and guilt feel like they’re going to make me sick.
I get up and answer the door, already making up excuses in my head.
It's not Vivian.
"Hi," Romeo says, and just the sound of his voice makes my knees weak.
He's wearing dark jeans and a black sweater, his hair slightly disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. He looks tired and worried, and he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
"You can't be here," I whisper, but I don't close the door.
His dark eyes search mine, and I feel as if they’re cutting straight through to my core. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been sick."
"You're lying." He takes a step closer, and I catch a whiff of his expensive cologne and the warmer scent of his skin, something I’m much too familiar with now. "Savannah, we need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. What happened was—it was a mistake. It can't happen again." I say it as firmly as I can, but there’s a warble to my voice that gives me away. What I want is to invite him into my room and into my bed again. I want him to have me up against the door, the wall, to knock every paper off my desk, and take me there. I want all the deviant fantasies I can come up with, and it takes everything in me to fight it.
I’m a good girl. A dutiful daughter. I’ve never felt like this for anyone, and feeling it now is so disorienting that it’s hard to fight back.
"A mistake." His voice is flat. "Is that what you really think?"
I take a deep breath and tip my chin up. "Yes. I'm engaged, Romeo. I'm supposed to marry Thad. What we did was?—"
His gaze hardens. "What we did was inevitable. You know it. I know it. Stop pretending otherwise."
"I'm not pretending. I'm trying to do the right thing…”
