The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(69)

His gaze was a lit match in a pitch-black room. “There’s nowhere you could go that I couldn’t find you.”

A cold shiver rolled down my spine at the indifferent tone of his voice, because I believed him. Though, an edge to his expression made me believe he wasn’t only leaving one of his men with me for my safety or the fact that I might try to run.

I paused when the realization hit me. Did he believe I was involved with another man? It would make sense with the way he’d implied more than once that I was somehow unfaithful.

Did he think I was that stupid? I would have to be incredibly foolish to be in a clandestine relationship, especially after what happened to me before. No offense to Adriana—she thought with her strange heart, not with her head.

Annoyance bubbled to the surface.

This man could sleep with whoever he wanted. My throat tightened as I imagined he’d done just that last night, and I was babysat so I didn’t do the same? It was the way this life worked, I knew. But I’d only understood it from afar, not personally from a man I would soon call Husband. From a man I would share a home with.

Annoyance turned to bitterness and spread through my blood like poison.

I would never have a husband of my own. I would always have to share him. And that truth felt so real, so raw at that moment, tremors of resentment ached in my chest.

My eyes narrowed, just like they had at the church when I’d first seen him.

His gaze imitated mine.

I had no desire to inform him there was no other man. It didn’t matter if there was, anyway.

My heart would never be his.

It was the one thing in my life that was mine, and I would never sign it over.





The entire ride to the dress shop, Nonna and Adriana watched me with blank, non-blinking expressions. Benito stayed silent in the driver’s seat, and Mamma talked, over-animated and nervously, about the wedding.

Where most girls dreamed about their wedding and how perfect it would be, I viewed it behind a murky film. As if the dress in the store’s window was behind a finger-smudged pane of glass. My wedding wouldn’t be based on love, but a mere transfer of power from my papà to my husband.

Although, as my heels clicked on the pavement and my breath went shallow with each step, something danced under my skin. Vibrated in my veins. Excitement. Yearning. With a sad flame of hope flickering beyond.

The glass was crystal clear, a gorgeous white dress showcased behind it.

I didn’t love the man I would marry. Couldn’t. Placing my finger to the glass, I left one smudge against the false hope this window gave.

My mamma held the door open, her eyes narrowing as she examined me. “One day with the Russo and I think my daughter’s gone stupida.”

“With your genes?” Nonna muttered, walking inside. “What else did you expect?”





I shut the door with a quiet click behind me. Awareness brushed my skin from my head to my toes as Nico flicked a gaze my way from his seat at the island.

His elbows rested on the counter, his gun taken apart in front of him. The way he cleaned the piece in his hand was thoughtful, as if he had a lot on his mind—or maybe he was just meticulous about his gun.

“Did you find a dress?” His tone was light, not tainted with the anger I’d expected.

The tension in my shoulders eased. My frustration had faded with the hours of the day, but with the way we’d left things earlier, I didn’t know what to expect when I returned.

I leaned against the door, feeling the toll of the day all at once. When I thought of my dress, a smile came to my lips.

“The perfect one.”

“Perfect, huh?” he drawled.

“Uh-huh.” And then, because this conversation seemed too stuffy and formal, I said, “It was very expensive.”

It rewarded me with the tiniest smile.

“‘Course it was.”

It wasn’t as if its price had any bearing on my decision. When I saw it, I knew it was the one. Love at first sight with a dress. I had reservations about our marriage, but today I realized the wedding would be my only one. I wasn’t going to throw it away because the union might not be the love story of the century.

We’d found four pink bridesmaid dresses, instead of the yellow ones Mamma had chosen for Adriana. And considering my sister’s bridesmaids were made up of me and three of our closest cousins, I didn’t have to make any changes to the wedding party. Maybe that should have been depressing, but to me it just seemed convenient.

I kicked off my heels. “Mamma cried.”

“Did she?”

“I guess sobbed is more accurate,” I sighed, remembering the scene.

“Shame I had to miss it.”

This conversation was easy, relaxed, though I couldn’t help but notice his movements were slightly tense. I chewed my lip, padding into the kitchen. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the faucet as if I did normal things around this man all the time and didn’t care about his presence. In reality, my spine tingled with a violent awareness.

While trying to think of something to say, my attention caught on the new appliance on the counter. Something heavy sank in my chest.

“You got a coffeemaker?”

“Can’t have you turning into anything nonhuman.”

That was thoughtful of him . . . and I hated it, because I couldn’t remember the last time someone had thought of what I needed before I had to ask for it.