"Savannah?"
I turn back. "I'm disappointed in you," he says quietly. "I raised you to be better than this. To be smarter than this. Don't disappoint me again."
The words hit harder than any punishment could.
"I won't, Daddy. I promise."
I leave the study and make it to my childhood bedroom before I collapse. I've done it. I've convinced him. I've performed perfectly.
And I feel as if I’m broken beyond repair.
—
Dinnerwith the Whitmores is torturous. I sit perfectly straight, eating in small bites and tasting nothing, while everyone talks over and around me. I make the proper responses and nod and smile, but it’s clear that Thaddeus is not entirely convinced.
He corners me in the hall when he’s supposed to have followed my father to his study for cigars and bourbon after dinner. My mother has retired upstairs. We’re all alone, and I wish more than anything that we weren’t.
“What is it?” I whisper. His face is impassive, devoid of emotion, but I know that I can’t trust anything when it comes to him.
He shifts closer, and I force myself not to step back. He's dressed impeccably as always—pressed slacks, a button-down shirt, and expensive loafers. He looks like he stepped out of a country club catalog.
"I've been very patient with you," he says, his voice cool and patronizing.
"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for?—"
"I don't want your apologies." He cuts me off. "I want your commitment."
"You have it. I'm committed to you, to our engagement?—"
"Are you?" He takes another step closer. "Because the surveillance reports suggest otherwise."
"Those reports—they're misleading. Romeo and I were just?—"
"I don't care what you were doing with him." His voice is calm. Too calm. "What I care about is that it doesn't happen again."
"It won't. I promise?—"
"I know it won't. Because I'm going to make sure of it." He reaches out, his hand closing around my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make his point. "I've spoken with your father. We've agreed to move the wedding up.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. "I know. Next summer?—"
"Yes. And if you're truly committed to me, if you're truly done with your little distraction, then there's no reason to wait." His grip tightens slightly. "Is there?"
"I—no, but?—"
"But what? You want more time? More time to do what, exactly? To continue seeing him?"
"No! I'm not seeing him. I told you?—"
"You told me a lot of things, Savannah. But I'm not sure I believe you." He pulls me closer, and I can smell his cologne. It’s thick and expensive and cloying, nothing like the intoxicating scent of Romeo’s. "So we're going to get married. Soon. And then you'll be my wife, and all of this—" He gestures vaguely. "All of this confusion will be over."
"What about my degree?" I want to hear it from him… that he’s going to let me continue. That I’m not going to be trapped, forced out of this thing I want because I’ve married him.
He shrugs. "What about it? You can continue your studies after the wedding. Or you can take a break. Focus on being a wife. On starting a family." His hand moves from my wrist to my waist, possessive. "That's what you want, isn't it? A family?"
"Eventually, yes, but?—"
"Then there's no problem." He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. "You're mine, Savannah. You've always been mine. And it's time everyone—including you—remembered that."
