The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(92)

“You’re always hungry,” Nonna muttered.

“Am not,” I replied like a two-year-old.

Mamma shook her head. “We should’ve never let this happen.” She pushed the plate closer to me. “This is the worst thing your papà has ever done.”

I raised a brow. The worst?

Nonna harrumphed.

“Nobody cared when he handed Adriana over without a second thought.”

“Of course we cared,” Mamma said.

“No, you didn’t. I distinctly remember you telling me to ‘trust my papà.’”

“Adriana would have been fine. You—” she cut herself off.

“Me, what?” I said calmly, though my cheeks heated in frustration. They didn’t worry about Adriana because they thought she could handle herself. They didn’t think the same of me.

She pursed her lips and nudged the plate. “Why don’t you eat the salad?”

“For the third time—I’m not hungry.”

“It’s the depression,” Nonna whispered to my mamma.

I exhaled. “I’m not depressed.”

“Then eat the fruit,” Mamma suggested.

“Yeah, cara mia. You need to eat the fruit. You’re too skinny as it is.”

“She’s not too skinny,” my mamma said. “She’s just right.”

Nonna eyed me with a frown. “She’s all boobs and nothing else.” Then muttered, “No wonder that Russo’s so hell-bent on having her.”

I scoffed. “If I were depressed that wouldn’t be a comment that would help.”

They both watched me like I’d just admitted I was depressed.

Mamma jumped up and shoved the plate closer. Another inch and it would be in my lap. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”

My teeth clenched. “For goodness’ sake, I’m not going to eat that stupid salad, Mamma.”

“We can’t help you if you don’t help yourself,” Nonna mumbled.

I rubbed my temple. “Why don’t you think I can take care of myself? I can be just as assertive as Adriana.”

“Of course we know that,” Mamma said a little too quickly. “But maybe you’re not as emotionally . . . stable.” She closed her mouth like she realized that was worse than saying I wasn’t as assertive.

“Keep digging yourself into a hole, Celia,” Nonna muttered, taking a sip of coffee. “You’ll be to China in no time.”

I blinked. “Emotionally stable?”

Mamma played with her jacket zipper like it had suddenly become interesting. “Maybe that was the wrong term.”

“Please, Celia, do explain yourself,” Nonna urged with a grin. “I’m on pins and needles.”

“All I meant to say is that you’re softer than your sister . . . more docile, and a man like that Russo would abuse it.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but then realized she might be right. It was suddenly clear to us all that I’d lasted not even a week with Nico before I’d come home without an appetite.

“Simply put,” Mamma said, “we don’t think the Russo is right for you.”

“We?” Nonna’s brows pulled together. “Who’s we? Don’t put words into my mouth.”

I laughed, though I wasn’t amused in the slightest. “I didn’t believe he was right for me from the beginning, but it didn’t matter. ‘It is done,’ as Papà said.”

Mamma frowned. “Your papà doesn’t act like he wants this marriage. He’s been in a mood all weekend.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Celia. He’s been a downright cad.”

“If you tell your papà you are not happy with the Russo, maybe he will change his mind.”

I swallowed. Was I not happy? I wasn’t today.

“Even if Salvatore does change his mind,” Nonna said, “I’m sure she’s already as knocked up as your other daughter.”

Mamma grimaced. “Don’t be vulgar, Nadia.”

“Oh, Madonna, salvami. I wonder how you ever had three children. You’re as squeamish as a virgin.”

A headache bloomed behind my eyes and I stood. “I assure you, Nonna, I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on the pill for years.”

Nonna shot Mamma a look. “No wonder your daughters are little floozies. You’re practically encouraging them!”

My mamma muttered, “Better a floozy than senile,” as I headed out of the room.





The curtains were closed as though someone was in mourning. A lump showed beneath the tangle of blankets on the bed. Smallish in size, and blaring Seven Nation Army. I lifted the comforter and climbed in before pulling it back over my head. We lay on our sides facing each other, with Adriana’s iPod playing music between us.

When the song stopped, I pushed pause on her playlist. “What did one sister say to the other?”

She fought an eye roll, but a corner of her mouth lifted. “What?”

“Will you be my Maid of Honor?”

Expectantly, she pursed her lips like it was a hard decision to consider. “Your fiancé put Ryan in the hospital.”

He was her fiancé not even a week ago, but now that he was mine she was quick to make me accountable for his actions. “I know, or I guess I assumed. I’m sorry, Adriana.”