From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 44

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 30: It Was A Mistake**

The journey back home was enveloped in an oppressive silence.

Not the comforting kind that promises tranquility, but rather a heavy, suffocating silence that coiled around my throat, tightening with every passing moment.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, the rain had dwindled to a mere drizzle, yet the tempest within me raged on, relentless and chaotic.

Roman’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a fierce intensity, his knuckles turning a stark white as if he were clinging to a fragile lifeline that threatened to splinter at any moment.

My fingers absently toyed with the frayed edges of my dress, still crumpled and disheveled from our earlier encounter. The remnants of our shared experience clung to me like a second skin, a constant reminder of the choices we had made.

Since our earlier discussion about food—an innocuous topic that now felt painfully trivial—there had been an unspoken chasm between us, filled with words that hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I found myself grappling with how to face him after everything that had transpired. My body held memories, sensations that coursed through me, while my mind oscillated between the intoxicating pleasure we shared and the gnawing guilt that threatened to consume me.

As we arrived at the house, I caught a glimpse of the living room lights flickering through the windows, a clear indication that someone was still awake. Just perfect.

I noticed both Dad’s and Mom’s cars parked in the driveway, but Dean’s absence was unmistakable.

Roman maneuvered the car with precision, circling to my side and opening the door for me. I offered a silent thank you, my eyes avoiding his, and hurried toward the front door, acutely aware of him standing beside the car, undoubtedly observing my every move.

Words eluded me, and I felt a surge of panic as I realized I didn’t know how to face him without conjuring the vivid images I desperately tried to bury. How could I resist the pull of his gaze, the temptation to plead with him to take me back into that intoxicating moment?

How could I possibly ask my best friend to do something so reckless again?

What had we been thinking?

We had crossed a boundary that was never meant to be crossed. I had crossed it. Now, I found it impossible to meet his eyes without recalling the way he had enveloped me, as if I were his to claim.

In a moment of instinctual self-preservation, I did what Savannah always did best when faced with a situation that spiraled beyond her control.

I ran.

Inside, I found Lizzie still awake, curled up on the couch beneath a thick, cozy blanket, her eyes glued to the flickering screen of the television. She was engrossed in a horror movie, her expression a mix of fascination and fear, her face scrunched up as she braved the terrifying scenes. It was a peculiar habit of hers—immersing herself in what frightened her the most, as if to prove that she could endure it.

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