The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

“You seemed agreeable enough to me earlier.” His expression had kitchen island and naked written all over it.

I couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to my cheeks at his crass reminder, but also because I was quickly losing control of this conversation and growing more flustered by the minute. “That’s different and you know it. If that’s what this is about . . . you don’t have to marry me for it.” It made me sound easy—especially with what he knew of my past—but I didn’t care. “We made a deal,” I said quietly, remembering my promise to take my clothes off whenever he asked. “And I’ll uphold it.”

The air filled with a bitter current that made me regret my words. He let out a tense breath before running his tongue across his teeth. “And why is it you’re so against marriage?”

“I’m not against marriage.”

I didn’t mean it to be so cutting an insult, but he read the insinuation that it was marriage to him I was against. I swallowed as his expression turned even stormier, a muscle moving in his jaw.

“So, what happens when your papà marries you off? Will you still fuck me when I tell you to?”

I chewed my bottom lip. If I said no, he wouldn’t protect Ryan anymore, and I couldn’t risk it. “We made a deal.”

As darkness pooled like liquid lead in his eyes, I realized how that sounded. Like I wouldn’t honor my vows, and as I was currently engaged to this man, it sounded really bad. The stressed silence made it hard to breathe.

When he took a sudden step toward me, my heart jerked. I took one back and bumped into the island.

He stopped. Bitter amusement crossed his face with a tiny shake of his head. “Jesus.”

It wasn’t like I feared him overly much, but my mind was spinning, my body reacting on instinct. And when a man like that stalks toward you, it’s only natural to retreat.

I held my breath as he took the remaining steps, until he was only an inch away. He smelled like man, clean sweat and whiskey. The scent sank its way into my skin, embedding itself deep.

He braced his palms on the counter on either side of me, stepping closer until his presence touched me everywhere. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not—”

I jumped when his hand came down on the counter beside me, the loud slap filling the kitchen. My heart pounded, and I was sure he could hear it.

“You’re not, huh?” he asked with a sardonic tone that should have frustrated me—but his closeness, this exchange, had my blood flowing. In a strange way, heat pooled between my legs.

He gripped the side of my neck, tilting my head until I looked him in the eyes. His voice was deep, soft, yet laced with frustration that he even had to say it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He said that now, but I’d heard stories of how a don dealt with a thief.

“That much I can promise you, Elena.”

The words found their way into my chest, seeping into the cracks and filling it with warmth. This man’s voice turned my resolve to ash. However, I then read between the lines, and what he meant was: That’s all I can promise you.

I didn’t know why it mattered—it wasn’t like I had anything to offer him but betrayal.

“But this marriage is going to happen.”

“Why?”

I couldn’t help but think I’d been his second choice. He’d chosen Adriana over me, had he not? Why did he want me now? Was I merely a convenience?

“I need a wife. You need a husband. And I think we both know you don’t want your papà in charge of choosing for you.”

A convenience, then.

He was right. I never did have much faith in Papà in that department. I believed he really had encouraged Oscar’s suit, and it didn’t take a psychologist to understand that man’s character. I was ready to be out from under my father’s thumb, though I was unsure if being under this man’s would be worse.

If Nico could treat this marriage like an agreement, then surely so could I. I hesitated, his closeness pushing my reservations deeper into my subconscious with each second.

I had no idea if I was making a mistake, but as much as I liked to believe I had a choice in this marriage, I did not. He was merely humoring me by pretending to care about my opinion.

“Okay.” The quiet acquiescence filled the small space between us.