The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

“So far, I’d say he’s not a bad choice. But truthfully, I’ve only been humoring you. The man has already made his decision, and that’s you, honey. Now, you just have to make the best of it.”

“Haven’t you heard? Love is an obsession. Some would even say . . . the maddest obsession.”

“Why do you kiss me?” I sighed into his mouth when he kissed me with a sweet pull. “Because you’re the only woman who’s ever tempted me.” His lips brushed mine. “Because you love it.” The last one was soft, with a possessive bite. “Because every part of you is mine.”

“I’m always thinking about you, malyshka.” Her lips parted, a blush rising to her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes, and breathed against my lips, “I really like you.”

“Aren’t you going to say it, too?” I chuckled. What I felt was so far past that it was laughable. I would have told her right then, but she wasn’t ready. “I really like you, too,”

I couldn’t force Gianna to marry me. I wanted—needed—to be different than the other men in her life.

SOMETHING SMELLED LIKE PANCAKES. IT made my stomach churn. I loved pancakes. I rolled out of bed,

“I don’t care how people see me.” “I do,” he growled. “I don’t want anyone to think you mean less to me than you do. You might not see it now, but eventually, it’ll get to you, Gianna, and you’ll resent me for it.”

“That’s not a good enough reason for me to marry you, Christian.” “Fine.” He shook his head, his eyes flashing with darkness. “How about because I love you, Gianna? Because I think I have since the moment I saw you? Because if you weren’t in this world anymore, I would find a way to take myself out of it?”

“That was the first man I ever killed, malyshka. Stabbed him in the back with a kitchen knife. I was seven by then. A couple of men showed up, disposed of his body, and she never sent anyone to my little brother again.”

“That was the night she fell asleep on her back on the floor. She started to gag, but instead of rolling her onto her side, Ronan and I stood there and watched her choke on her own vomit.”

I got up, stomped over to the test, and picked it up. There was a quiver inside me. It started out slow, working its way to my extremities. It trembled in my veins and burned in my eyes. And when it reached my heart, it squeezed it in a vise, leaving a tight, warm sensation behind. I slid down the bathroom door, staring at two pink lines. And I bawled like a baby.

“I don’t care about what happened in your past. It doesn’t matter to me. And if you think I would see you differently because of what happened to you as a child, or even what you might have done, you don’t know me at all.”

He cupped my face with a palm, running a thumb across my cheek. “Moya zvezdochka.” I felt the intensity of his relief in the way his hand shook slightly, and it made my throat tighten. I suddenly knew this was the only man I wanted to do this with. Happiness pinged off the walls of my chest, leaving me feeling raw.

“Are you happy?” I nodded. “So happy.” “Good.” His voice was coarse.

“You don’t think I’m only here now because I’m pregnant?” “I don’t care why. Just that you’re here, with me.” “That sounds like an unhealthy mindset.” A half-smile pulled on his lips. “You have no idea.”

“Tell me you love me again.” “I love you, malyshka.” “I love you, too, you know?” He stilled, and then a rough sound rumbled in his chest. He lifted me so my eyes were level with his, brushed his lips across mine, and said in a deep, almost apologetic rasp, “I’m never letting you go now.”

As I walked down the street, with a bag of bread and a hoard of vitamins, holding the hand of one of the most morally questionable men in the city . . . I knew I loved him.

“Do you believe in fate, Sasha?” “I do.” “Why?” She tilted her head. “I’m not a religious person, but I’m also not naive enough to believe everything can be explained without some form of supernatural intervention.”

“You’ve been married how long now?” “A year.”

“And your daughter? Katherine, isn’t it?” A smile touched my lips. “We call her Kat. She’s five months now.” To be exact, one-hundred-and-forty-eight days. “And how has it been, adjusting to a newborn?” “Kat’s colicky—doesn’t sleep very well.” Just like me. When she woke up multiple times each night, I got up with her, sometimes fed her a bottle Gianna had pumped beforehand, and held her until she fell back to sleep. Gianna had insisted she do it all at first, but I’d quickly ended that. “She looks like my wife.” That was the only thing I needed to see to know she was mine.

“And how is she adjusting to the baby?” Yesterday, I’d arrived home to find Gianna teaching an attentive-eyed Kat how to make carbonara. She was a more caring and devoted mother than I’d ever witnessed before.

“Does that coin mean something to you?” I drew my gaze up to her, a flicker of amusement passing through me. Getting to my feet, I set the quarter on the table between us. The clink of silver on hardwood was subtle, but the finality of it rang like a church bell.

“I stole someone else’s fate, Sasha.” I twisted the knob and opened the door. “And I’m not going to give it back.” She raised a brow. “And if someone comes looking for it?” A smile pulled on the corner of my lips. “Let them come.” And then I shut the door behind me.