The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)

by Danielle Lori

Everyone knew you didn’t fall in love with a man in my world, like the one who stood before me now. Not unless you wanted your heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. No, I’d never fall in love. Truly, I’d never expected to. You didn’t mourn something you’d always known you couldn’t have.

THERE WERE TWO RULES I always followed. Never leave the house without my .45. And never put myself in a position I knew I couldn’t get out of.

The mist began to cool me down, but before I knew it, I was sucked back: her soft lips on mine, her shallow breath in my ears, the tiniest brush of her tongue, hot and wet, before she pulled away. Fuck me. Heat raced straight to my groin.

After the night before, especially. I’d thought she was materialistic and shallow, yet she watched documentaries, read history, and was reserved. I wanted to know what she did during the day and what kind of thoughts consumed such a pretty head.

I understood my attraction to the man. His hands were rough, his voice deep, his presence commanding . . . he checked all the boxes I needed but didn’t want.

“I said I’ll never hurt you, Elena, but if I find out you’ve touched another man, there is nothing in this world that could save him.”

“There’s nowhere you could go that I couldn’t find you.”

My heart would never be his. It was the one thing in my life that was mine, and I would never sign it over.

“Tell me,” Sebastian said, “why did you do it?” A heavy silence took over, and my chest tightened at Nico’s cavalier tone. “He had something I wanted.”

Like regret, there wasn’t room for hate. Hate changed someone’s make-up. It made them reckless. Hate killed its host. I never let myself hate because I loved to live. But right now, I could say I hated something. Two things. That goddamn ring and the man who gave it to her.

I had a bad, bad feeling that if this girl used the word please, I would give her anything she wanted.

I wanted an irrevocable tie to this woman. I wanted to write my name on her skin, to do all kinds of fucked-up shit so she knew she was mine. Like lock her in my room and hand-feed her.

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 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?”

He was comfort, security, and need, all in one. It had a name. Home.

His hands fit me so right, were the perfect roughness and the warmest heat. I suddenly didn’t know what I would do if I could never feel them again.

He chuckled. I loved the sound of his laugh, the way the warm timbre ghosted down my spine.

didn’t know what to do with this woman, but I did know I was keeping her. Every time I saw her, my blood burned hotter, searing the word mine into my chest.

I’d come to the conclusion I didn’t give a shit if she wanted to be with another: she couldn’t. It was that simple.

She chose me instead of her papà. And fuck, if that hadn’t filled me with a warm wave of satisfaction.

Her gaze came to mine, a little crease between her brows. Damn, she was too beautiful. It fucking hurt to look at her.

Truthfully, I was pretty sure I was obsessed, and I didn’t give a single fuck about it anymore. I just wanted to keep feeding it.

“For whatever reason—most likely Stockholm—Elena chose you, and I respect her choice. But if you hurt her, I’ll have to kill you.”

I laughed. I was pretty sure I’d rather cut off my left arm than ever hurt her, but fuck if I was going to let him know she was my biggest weakness.

Her lips were slightly parted, and her breaths came out even and shallow. Dark eyelashes fanned her cheeks. I stared at her for a moment. How peaceful it must be in that head of hers to have such a sweet expression. I wanted to keep it that way, to make sure she never worried about anything again.

Fuck, I was whipped.

If perfection had a face, a body, a voice—this g...

I would make this girl want me, need me, love me, because fuck if I was going it alone.

I wanted to be married, to have a husband of my own, but the sunny, white picket fence dream I’d always envisioned would be marred by the shadows of other women. I couldn’t share. Not this man. The idea made me feel sick to my stomach, cut my breaths in half, sent an ache radiating through my chest.

And then I was Mrs. Nicolas Russo.

“You’re crazy.” He let out a laugh, looked at the sky, and muttered almost inaudibly, “Crazy about something.” My entire body froze except my heart. It grew twice its size.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, watching me. His gaze burned like a lit match, just as it had days ago when he’d said: There’s nowhere you could go that I couldn’t find you.

It suddenly felt like I was in a twisted fairy-tale where the princess becomes infatuated with the evil king, and she chooses to stay in her tower even though the door is never locked.

I’d been right from the beginning. I’d never survive this man . . . but it was too late now. I would just have t...

He nipped my bottom lip. “You make me fucking crazy.” “Don’t blame me for your psychosis.” “You are my psychosis.”

A tight sensation wrapped around my lungs—a mixture of fear, embarrassment, and vulnerability—but I needed him to know I wanted him. The truth was, I needed him in a way I couldn’t even fathom, but I couldn’t let anyone know it was that severe, especially him.

I breathed, slept, and consumed everything Nicolas Russo.

I slept in his bed. Sometimes with my face in his chest. Sometimes with his body spooning mine and his arm around me. Always with him pressed against me. Always with his hands on me and his smell everywhere.

I didn’t know how or even when it happened, but somehow, he’d found a way to tear down my boundaries and embed himself in every piece of me.

His body covered mine, so heavy, so perfect.

I pressed my face into his neck and breathed him in. His smell was like nicotine, the drug burning through every capillary and spreading through my bloodstream.

“I told you I couldn’t cook, and you still chose to marry me,” I complained.

I loved how big he was and how I always felt small and safe with him. The truth was, I loved everything about him and there was no going back. It was full speed ahead, like a train that couldn’t stop for the girl standing with wide eyes on the tracks.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The rasp of his voice wrapped around my heart and squeezed.

MY HEARTBEATS SHATTERED ONE BY one, sending a raw ache through my chest.

How fitting my belief had been that Nico was an addiction, because this felt like the worst sort of withdrawal. I was beginning to realize it was more than that—it was love, and this was heartbreak.

I’d tried not to fall in love with him, and I’d fallen so hard I was physically sick at his rejection.

I kissed him for hours, fucked him until I was sore and there was a reminder of him inside me.

I promised him everything because of four words. You’re enough for me.