The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

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.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“The phone on the counter is yours,” he said.

My gaze flicked toward the device, and I picked it up. In all honesty, I’d enjoyed the freedom of not having a phone for the last six months. “I don’t think I want it,” I told him.