"And what about us?"
I look at Romeo, at the hurt on his face, and I steel myself. “I have to fix this. I can’t lose my family, my degree, all of this. Ijustmet you. I can’t do this.”
“You don’t mean that?—”
"Yes, I do." I have to make him believe it. "I have to go home. I have to fix this. And I need you to stay out of it."
"I can't do that."
"You have to. Please, Romeo. Please just—just let me handle this myself."
He's staring at me, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. The desperate need to fix this, to control the situation, to make everything okay. But for the first time since I've known him, he seems to realize that he can't.
"How long will you be gone?" he asks finally.
"I don't know. A few days. Maybe a week."
"And then?"
"And then I come back and—" I don't know how to finish that sentence. "And then we'll see."
"We'll see." He repeats the words like they're foreign. "That's not good enough."
"It's all I can give you right now."
He takes a step toward me, and I force myself not to step back. He reaches out, his hand cupping my face, and I close my eyes.
"I know you don't want to hear it,” he says softly, “I know you think what I did was unforgivable. But I'm not giving up on us."
"You have to."
"No, I don't." He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. "Go home. Talk to your father. Do what you need to do. But don't—" His voice breaks. "Don't marry him. Please. Don't marry Whitmore."
"I don't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
"Not this time."
I pull away from him, turning back to my suitcase. I can feel him watching me as I pack, but he doesn't say anything else. When I'm done, I zip the suitcase closed and turn to face him.
"I need you to leave now," I say, forcing my voice to be firm and hard. Sure of myself, when I don’t feel sure of anything anymore.
"Savannah—"
"Please. Just go."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he nods and walks to the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle. "I'll be waiting for you. When you come back. I'll be here."
I can feel my heart cracking open. "Don't."
"I will."
And then he's gone, and I'm alone with my suitcase and the crushing weight of everything I'm about to lose.
I get a flight home that night. There’s no point in waiting, lying in my dorm, and imagining all the ways this is going to go badly. On the flight there, I rehearse what I'm going to say to my father. How I'm going to explain. How I'm going to convince him that Romeo was nothing—a momentary lapse in judgment, a distraction, a mistake. How I’m going to make him believe that nothing really happened between us, that we were study partners who developed an attraction and nothing more. I practice my apologies. My explanations. My promises to do better.
With every hour, I can feel myself disappearing as I force myself back into the shape I’m supposed to occupy. The Savannah who came to New York—the one who wanted to study ancient civilizations, who wanted to make her own choices, who wanted to be more than just a daughter and a wife—she's fading away. I can feel myself becoming the old Savannah again, theone who knows how to smile and nod and say the right things. How to be the perfect Southern belle who never questions, never rebels, and never wants anything more than what she's been given.
