"That sounds lovely." It does sound lovely. Thad is being thoughtful, attentive, everything a boyfriend—a fiancé—should be.
But I feel like I can't quite breathe.
Le Bernardin is exactly the kind of place I would have expected Thad to take me to. It’s elegant and exclusive, with low lighting and soft music. We’re whisked away to a private corner table as soon as we arrive, and Thad immediately orders a bottle of wine without asking if I want any.
"The Sancerre here is excellent," he says when I raise an eyebrow. "Trust me."
The waiter brings menus, and I scan the options. Everything sounds incredible, but before I can decide, Thad starts speaking.
“We’ll do scallop carpaccio for an appetizer,” he tells the waiter. “She’ll have the halibut. I’ll have the lobster.”
I blink at him. "Actually, I was thinking about the sea bass?—"
"The halibut is better here," Thad interrupts, his tone light but firm. "Trust me, you'll love it. I've been here before with clients. I know what's good."
The waiter looks at me, waiting for confirmation, and I should say something. I should tell him that, actually, I'd like to order for myself, that I'm perfectly capable of deciding what I want to eat. But Thad is smiling at me with such confidence, such certainty that he knows what's best, that I find myself nodding.
"The halibut is fine," I say quietly.
"Perfect." Thad hands the menus back to the waiter. "And bring the wine right away."
When we're alone again, he reaches across the table and takes my hand. His palm is warm, and his grip is just a little too tight.
"I'm so glad we're doing this," he says. "I feel like we barely got to spend any time together between our engagement and when you left for New York. And I want us to really connect, you know? Get to know each other better before the wedding." He chuckles. “Not that I haven’t known you for a long time, but it’s different now, isn’t it? Different from how it was when your father was just my mentor and you just his daughter. Now you’re my fiancée, and I’m his future son-in-law.” His chest seems to puff out a little when he says it, as if he’s bragging.
"We have two years," I remind him. "Plenty of time."
"Two years." He laughs, but there's something sharp in it. "Your father mentioned you might want to do some kind ofinternship or fieldwork during the summers. Some archaeology thing in Greece?"
My heart lifts. I'd mentioned it to Daddy in passing, not expecting him to remember, and certainly not expecting him to tell Thad. "Yes, actually. There's a dig site on Crete from the Minoan period. Dr. Kouris—she's one of my professors—runs the excavation every summer. I was hoping to apply for next year, after I've completed more coursework."
"Greece." Thad's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That sounds... ambitious."
"It's what archaeologists do," I say, trying to keep my voice light. "Fieldwork is essential. You can't just study artifacts in a lab—you have to understand the context, the?—"
"Savannah." He squeezes my hand. It's not quite painful, but close. "That's adorable. Really. I love how passionate you are about this stuff. But let's be realistic. Once we're married, you'll be too busy with charity work and hosting to play in the dirt."
The words hit me like cold water.Play in the dirt.
"It's not playing.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "It's serious academic work. Research that contributes to our understanding of ancient civilizations, of human history?—"
"Of course it is." His tone is placating now, the way you'd talk to a child who's getting upset over nothing. "And I think it's wonderful that you're pursuing your interests while you can. But after the wedding, things will be different. You'll have responsibilities. My mother chairs three different charity boards, and she'll expect you to take on at least one. And we'll be entertaining constantly—clients, business associates, family friends. It's a full-time job, being Mrs. Thaddeus Whitmore."
I stare at him, and something cold is settling in my chest. "I thought... I thought you understood. About my degree. About my career." Even as the words come out, I don’t know if I everreally thought that. Did I really think Thaddeus would let me go off on a dig, travel for work, and have real ambitions outside of carrying his name around? Did I ever for a second think that was really going to happen?
"Your degree, yes. That's fine. Admirable, even. But a career?" He laughs. It's not unkind, just dismissive. "Sweetheart, you don't need a career. You'll be taken care of. You'll want for nothing. Isn't that better than digging in the dirt for poverty wages?"
The waiter arrives with the wine, and Thad releases my hand to taste it, nodding his approval. He pours for both of us, and I take a long drink, needing something to do with my hands, and a moment to process what he's just said.
This is a red flag. I know it is. The dismissal of my interests, the assumption that I'll simply abandon my goals once we're married, the casual way he's already planning my future without consulting me.
But then I look at him again. He’s handsome, successful, smiling at me like I'm the most important person in the world. I feel a wave of guilt. He's not being malicious. He's just... traditional. He comes from a world where wives don't work, where women manage households, social calendars, and charity events. It's not personal. It's just how things are done in his family, and in mine.
Maybe I am being naïve, thinking I can have both—the marriage my father wants and the career I dream of. Maybe I need to be more realistic about what my life will look like. I made this bargain for two years, nothing more. Did I really think that Thaddeus would take my side when my father never has?
I’m getting what I wanted—the experience of grad school. Maybe I'm being ungrateful.
"You're right," I hear myself say. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm excited about the program, that's all. But you're right. We'll figure it out."
