The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

My throat tightened. I’d believed that’s what I wanted—not to marry Nico—but, now that I thought about it . . . something wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. And it wasn’t because it would obliterate my already marred reputation.

With a little pang in my chest, I pulled myself out of bed and padded down the hall. I took a long, hot shower. My arms and legs were sore, and I hadn’t even done any of the work last night. I wondered if he still felt me somewhere. I wondered if he thought about me as much as I thought about him.

I hadn’t seen him after he left late the night before, and I wasn’t sure he’d even come home. If he had, he’d already gone to work. I didn’t believe he was here; it was too quiet and neither did it smell like bacon.

I slipped out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped a towel around myself. As I reached for the door handle, it opened, and a body that reeked of cherry blossom bumped into me. It was a collision, my skull hitting hers before I fell back a few steps.

“Ow.”

“What the hell?” a feminine voice muttered.

A woman’s narrowed gaze centered on me. I rubbed my forehead with a grimace, but then that fruity scent hit my nose again.

Cherry blossom.

My throat closed up.

The shampoo.

I’d known there would be another woman in the picture, but I hadn’t thought I’d have to stand face to face with her in a towel.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped, rubbing her forehead as well.

My gaze swept downward and so did hers. Our eyes took in the other like we were at a public function and realized we wore the same dress. In this case, we happened to be screwing the same man.

She kind of looked like me. Her hair was medium-length and dark brown, but her features were soft and her body shape similar. Lovely. Nico had a type, and I’d been added to his group of hookups.

“Do you talk?” she bit out. “Or are you mute?” She put her hands on her hips and ran a condescending gaze down my body. “Would make the most sense for why Ace brought you home.”

I blinked.

I’d never had to respond to such a catty statement before. Had never even heard one come out of a woman’s mouth that wasn’t on TV. If any of my male relatives had heard, they would’ve lost it. Evil eyes and narrowed gazes? Of course, but only because men were oblivious to that sort of thing.

It was clear to me that Nico didn’t share the same values in regard to respecting the women in his life. If he had, he wouldn’t have even allowed her to be here. My chest tightened. And it began. He was going to parade girls in front of me like I was nothing. Maybe he thought that because I wasn’t a virgin I didn’t deserve his respect.

My palms grew clammy, my heartbeats icing over. However, something hot and bitter crept through me. Anger. He was upset enough about a fifty-cent ring that he threw something at the wall, and I had to share a bathroom with his whore?

My gaze found the other woman’s with indifference, and then I responded to the question regarding whether I spoke. “Sometimes.” Lifting a shoulder, I said, “Though I choose not to converse with spiteful shrews until after nine a.m.” I glanced at the clock on the wall that showed it was five minutes till.

Her mouth dropped open. “Well, you’re a real bitch, aren’t you?”

“And you’re in my way.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she stepped to the side so I could get through. “You know,” she said a little too saccharine, “I was curious why Luca is downstairs. Must be here to help you with your walk of shame.”

“I think I’ll stay for a while,” I responded as I passed her.

“You’ll stay?” she repeated, like I was a bit crazy.

“That’s what I said.” Frustration had infiltrated my heart, burning a hole in my chest as I walked down the hall. Before I knew what I was doing, I stopped in front of Nico’s room. “And by the way”—I turned to look at her before opening my fiancé’s door—“you’re almost out of shampoo. Do you think you can get some more?”

Red crept into her cheeks just before I shut the door behind me.

I stood in Nico’s room for a moment, leaning against the door and staring at the wall. My chest constricted. I didn’t think I’d ever felt this frustrated. Maybe resentful regarding how my papà chose to handle my past transgressions, but not pure anger. This feeling that seared with a bitter, cutting flame. My eyes burned, and I blinked to keep the tears at bay. Nicolas Russo was not going to make me cry.

I’d prepared for this my entire life. Had told myself lies and prayed that when the time came I would believe them—that

I didn’t need love or fidelity.