The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

I’d always imagined love as a concept—a genuine smile, a couple holding hands, a life partner. Now, I knew it was more dimensional; a maddening, possessive, and overwhelming presence that bloomed in your chest, with the power to make you feel so alive or shatter you to pieces.

Nonna fanned her face with the magazine. “Another daughter of yours, Celia, who got what was coming to her. You girls think you can go out and fornicate with the world and there won’t be any repercussions.”

Adriana rolled her eyes and sat down, her engagement ring sparkling in the light. She was marrying her gardener; she’d told me last night. Her ring was almost bigger than mine and I knew Ryan couldn’t have afforded it. Most likely my papà bought it and gave Ryan a certain amount of time to propose. Whether Ryan liked it or not, he was now in this world for good.

I grabbed my glass of water from the table and pressed it against my cheek. “I’m not pregnant, Nonna. I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” She frowned. “You’re already married.”

Maybe so, but this was my wedding. The day I’d secretly dreamed about since I was five with wide-eyed wonder.

“I just want everything to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Mamma assured. “But take that glass from your face. You’re ruining your makeup.” She slapped my hand and with a jerk of alarm, the glass fell from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

“Mamma,” I scolded, my heartbeat racing. “You could have soaked my dress!”

She covered her mouth and then laughed. Nonna chuckled from her spot in the corner. Adriana’s eyes widened but amusement poured from her lips.

“Really?” I said. “Am I the only adult in here?”

They laughed harder.

I held in my smile because I wasn’t going to encourage them.

Heading to the sink, I brushed my teeth for the third time and then paced around the room, feeling caged. It was so warm in here. Heat crawled beneath my skin, and with the five-foot train pinned up, my dress felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

“Gosh, it’s hot,” I complained. “Mamma, take this dress off. I gotta go outside and get some air.”

“No!” Mamma shouted.

Nonna’s gaze narrowed at her, and my senses were immediately on alert. I eyed the both of them. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, cara mia.” Nonna waved a hand. “But you can’t go out. Your hair and makeup’s all done. We don’t want your husband to see.”

“He won’t care—”

“You’ve already gone and ruined your engagement by rolling around in the hay with him how many times and then eloping, for goodness’ sake. Now listen to me—you don’t want to jinx your marriage.”

I wasn’t a superstitious person, but I didn’t want to argue with them about it. Besides, the room dimmed as clouds began to overcast the sky. “It’s going to rain, isn’t it?” I sighed. “That would be my luck.”

“Oh no, cara mia, rain is good luck on a wedding day. It symbolizes fertility.” Nonna paused, pursed her lips, and then glanced back at her magazine, muttering, “But I suppose we already know there’s no issue with that.”

I shook my head, amusement rising in me. I wasn’t pregnant and wasn’t planning to be soon. I was only twenty-one—I wanted a couple years to walk around naked, have sex on the couch, and smother myself in my husband. But I couldn’t say the idea of a mini Nico and me didn’t make my heart fill with warmth. I at least had to learn how to cook first, though that endeavor was looking a little grim.

Nerves vibrated beneath my skin and I dropped into a chair. I rested my head on the back but then lifted it when Mamma shouted that I was ruining my hair.

The door burst open. Sophia stepped inside, holding two bottles of champagne, and squealed, “Let’s get this party started!”

A smile pulled on my lips.

Indeed.

A cold whisper brushed my back as my steps grew in sync with the soft piano notes. My clammy hands gripped my bouquet in front of me, and three-hundred pairs of eyes touched my skin, though for a moment there was only one I was aware of.

A few rays of sun shone through the stained glass windows and stopped before his feet.

Whiskey and flame. Sleepless nights. Tattooed skin, white t-shirts, and rough hands. Love and lust and happiness. He was everything.