I hate her. But I don't know how to stop it, because the alternative is losing everything—my education, my funding, my freedom. And I'm not strong enough to lose everything.
By the time the plane lands, I've perfected my performance. I know exactly what to say and how to act, exactly how to convince my father that I'm still his dutiful daughter. Even if it's a lie.
Even if it destroys me.
The scent of his study is familiar, leather and old books and expensive bourbon. I've been in this room a thousand times, but today it feels different—smaller. More oppressive. He's sitting behind his desk when I enter, and he looks up, his face impassive. "Sit," he says.
I sit in the chair across from him, my hands folded in my lap, my posture perfect. The dutiful daughter. Poised, elegant, socially perfect. Exactly what I was raised to be.
The disappointment in his eyes makes my stomach clench. "Do you have any idea," he says quietly, "how embarrassing this is for me?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy?—"
"I don't want to hear your apologies. I want to hear an explanation. I want to understand how my daughter—my intelligent, accomplished daughter—could be so foolish."
"It was a mistake?—"
"A mistake." He picks up a folder from his desk and opens it. "These are the surveillance reports Thaddeus provided. Would you like to see them?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, sir."
"No, I didn't think so." He flips through the pages. "Romeo Ciresa, seen leaving your dorm room after 10 p.m. You andhim, sitting close together over coffee. Him leaning over your shoulder at the library. Leaving your dorm room again. And again?—”
"Daddy, please?—"
"You were seen leaving a department gala with him. The two of you were gone for over an hour." He closes the folder and looks at me. "Should I continue?"
I knot my fingers together to keep them from trembling. "No, sir."
"Then tell me, in your own words. What happened?"
I take a deep breath, and I begin my performance.
"Romeo is in my graduate seminar. We were assigned to work together on a project. We started spending time together, studying, discussing our research. And I—" I pause, letting my voice break slightly. "I was flattered by his attention. He's intelligent. He's passionate about the same things I'm passionate about. And I—I let myself get distracted."
"Distracted."
"Yes, sir. I let myself forget about my responsibilities. About my engagement. About—about everything I'm supposed to be. I let myself develop a crush."
"Did you sleep with him?"
The question is so direct, so brutal, that I almost can't answer.
"No," I lie. "No, we never—it never went that far."
"Don't lie to me, Savannah."
"I'm not lying. We—we kissed. A few times.” That, I think, will help convince my father. I don’t think he’ll believe that Romeo never touched me at all. “But it never—I never—" I'm crying now, real tears that I don't have to fake. "I never forgot that I'm engaged. I never forgot my duty to this family."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me. "Do you love him?" he asks finally.
The question catches me off guard. "What?"
"Do you love Romeo Ciresa?"
I want to say that I don’t know. That I might be. I want to tell him the truth—that being with him makes me feel alive in a way I've never felt before. That leaving him behind feels like tearing out a piece of my soul.
But I can't say that. As much as I want to have a father who might understand, who might put my happiness over the future of this family and social expectation, I know better. I know what matters to this family, and it isn’t a fling with a man who isn’t appropriate for me.
