Truthfully, I hated the idea of leaving her with another man at all, but her safety was more important to me than that. Also, there was an itch in the back of my head that kept reminding me she’d tried to run only six months ago. Did she leave because her papà was a fucking scrooge, or for another man who possibly still lived? My teeth clenched.
I headed upstairs and decided I needed to do something about the creak in the stairs. It was loud as shit.
I’d been chafing to come home. Just so I could fuck Elena soft and easy, all night long. I wanted to draw it out, soak up her moans, make her sweat and shake beneath me. I was fucking rock hard at the idea.
After going to my room and finding my bed empty, a growl sounded in my throat. I pushed open the spare bedroom door to see her fast asleep. The window was cracked, letting a breeze in that rustled the sheer curtains. The streetlight shone a yellow glow across her face, and my chest ached at the sight.
I dropped to my haunches next to her. She slept on her side, facing me. One smooth thigh was outside of the covers. She had on a tiny t-shirt that had ridden up to right below her tits and a fucking thong. The curve of her bare ass was right there, begging me to bite it. My dick insisted that I be an asshole and wake her up. Shit. I rubbed my face and gave my head a shake. I couldn’t do it.
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 girl would be it.
I skimmed a thumb across her soft cheekbone.
My gaze found her ring and my throat tightened. Gianna’s words filled my mouth with a bitter taste.
I would make this girl want me, need me, love me, because fuck if I was going it alone.
“We are most alive when we’re in love.”
—John Updike
IT SMELLED LIKE FRESH AIR and expectation. A warm breeze flowed through the cracked window and I realized I left it open all night. That wouldn’t be good for Nico’s electricity bill, though I was sure he had enough money to power New York City for years.
I got up and closed the window, and then padded toward the bathroom. After I appeared halfway presentable, I headed downstairs. My feet froze at the base of the stairs, but unfortunately, this time it wasn’t due to a half-naked Nico.
A quiet “No” escaped my lips.
“Yes,” Nico said.
My heartbeats ricocheted like pinballs in my chest.
I glanced from him in his black three-piece suit to the white dress lying over the back of the couch. A cool rush of unease drifted through my body, but there was something else intertwined. A warm kernel of pleasure, of relief, expanding like a balloon. I didn’t realize that living with this man unmarried had bothered me until now—and it wasn’t because of what it would do to my reputation. As much as I loved the freedoms such a liberal world provided for others, my heart bled for the Cosa Nostra, for everything romantic, and for the structured walls of tradition. Also, the idea that he would grow bored and decide not to marry me had been a cold whistle of alarm in my blood.
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.
“Why did you kill Oscar Perez?” I blurted.
Nico stood with his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the island. His gaze was as calm and deep as the sea. “Because you were mine.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn’t think he would lie about the question, but I did believe he’d evade it. I suddenly knew that this throb in my heart would be worse than any physical pain Oscar could have inflicted upon me.
“Maybe you screwed fate.” My voice was a whisper as I stared at the white summer dress on the couch.
I didn’t look at him, but I didn’t have to, to know that my words struck a nerve. The heat of his stare burned my cheek.
“There is no such thing as fate,” he snapped. “And even if there were, the last thing anyone would ever do is pair you with Oscar Perez.”
“The Fates would pair me with you? You’re no saint.”
“Do you want a saint, Elena?”
No, I want you. But I don’t want the heartache you’ll bring along.
“Nico, we don’t know each other . . . I don’t even know your middle name.”
“Angelo. Now, go upstairs and get ready. We leave in an hour.”
I didn’t move. “I’ve already picked out my dress, Nico . . . it’s perfect.” I sounded like a frivolous girl, but that’s who I was. He should know what he was signing up for. I wondered how he’d gotten a marriage license without me, but realized it was probably the easiest of illegal things he’d done.
“I want my wedding,” I said firmly.
“You sure you want two ceremonies with me? Looks like you can hardly stomach the first.” His tone seeped with irritation as he pulled out his phone to reply to a text.
“No, I’d prefer one. Next weekend. I’m not going anywhere today.” I turned around but didn’t make it up three stairs before an arm wrapped around my waist and my feet left the floor.
“We’re getting married today, Elena. Not tomorrow, not fucking next weekend. Today.”
My back was pressed to his front, my toes skimming the floor. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined a man would profess his desire to marry me; in fact, it was kind of rude and totalitarian.
I tried to fight my way out of his grip. I did it just so I could see how I couldn’t get away.
“Let me go, Nico.” Hold me tighter.
“You gonna take this dress upstairs and put it on?”
“You want a virgin,” I protested. “You chose Adriana over me.” I tried to pull his arm off me, but it was like trying to pry steel.
His laugh rumbled down my back. “Is that what you think? That I chose your weird sister over you?”
My teeth gritted as he dropped me to my feet. “She’s not weird.”
“Your papà told me you were unfit for marriage. I didn’t pick between the two of you.”
Soaking that in, my chest grew lighter. I turned to face him and met his gaze. It looked like he wanted to fuck me into my place and was barely holding himself back. A shiver coasted through me.
I fingered the hem of my t-shirt. “I want my wedding, Nico.”
His rough palm brushed my face. “Then it’s yours. But you’ll be Elena Russo today, no later.”
Pressing my cheek against his hand, I whispered, “Elena Russo.”
It tasted like hope and happiness. But as the words faded from existence, the slightest aftertaste of heartbreak remained.
Honking, the shouts of someone arguing with a cab driver, and the bustle of the Bronx’s Grand Concourse converged into white noise in my mind. My pulse beat in my throat as we walked toward the Supreme Court Building. As we reached the doors, I turned around. Nico grabbed my clammy hand with a quiet chuckle and pulled me inside. I didn’t miss Luca’s eye roll. He was our witness, but I thought I’d prefer the homeless man we passed a block over.
We didn’t have to wait. A receptionist with a blond chignon walked us to where we needed to be, and by the uneasy, flighty air about her, she knew who we were. I wondered how much Nico had paid the City of New York to get such service on a busy Tuesday afternoon. Or maybe he hadn’t needed to fork over a dime. He was King of the Cosa Nostra.
My rapid heartbeats counted the ceremony from start to finish. I remembered the gurgle of the judge’s words, the cold sweat encasing my body, and Nico. His presence and the light scent of his cologne consumed me in familiarity and broke through the thumping mantra of my pulse.
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“I do.” The two words were spoken by a don, but his gaze burned like warm vanilla whiskey. And then he promised to love, honor, cherish and protect me, forsaking all others and holding onto only me. By the way he’d said it, you’d almost believe him.
I repeated the words as I was told to, and then the exchange of rings came. I stared at the fifty-cent ring already on my left hand. It was much cheaper than the one Nico had told me was his mamma’s on the drive over. The room’s awkward silence touched my skin. The judge cleared his throat. Luca looked at his watch. I wore the ring on my middle finger, but it looked like Nico was going to stand here and make a scene until I removed it, so I pulled it off and put it on my right hand. Nico slipped his mamma’s on my finger, echoing the judge’s words.
He loved his mamma. My heartbeats latched onto the thought, flipping, turning, and burning it into my skin.
I kissed him on the lips. Soft and sweet and heartbreaking.
And then I was Mrs. Nicolas Russo.
Outside, New York sun shined bright, like fiery rays in a cloudless sky.
“You did good,” Luca drawled. “Only made the judge think we’d kidnapped you a couple different times.”
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. The nerves still vibrated in my veins and were slowly replaced with a heady rush of relief. Nico stepped in front of me, and my gaze lifted to his. It felt like I’d been twisted inside out in the past twenty minutes, but now, in the middle of my city with this man next to me, it felt like I’d broken a finish line ribbon.
“Nico, what if the Three Fates were real and I’d been destined for another?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets, his gaze igniting with a spark. “I guess I’d have to find those Fates and burn them to the ground.”
I bit my cheek to hold in a smile and gave my head a small shake. “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. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard it, but I was stuck like a deer in headlights. His heavy gaze met mine, and it grew more intense when he realized that comment didn’t get past me. He stared at me, making me squirm with his indifference.
Luca stood nearby, a grimace pulling on his lips as though he was watching a Christmas movie on Lifetime.
I swallowed and then announced, “I’m hungry.”
Luca let out a noise of amusement. “Plenty of stuff at Ace’s if you wouldn’t have thrown it all away.”
I did do that, and then I made Luca carry all the bags outside. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I wasn’t going to sit around and eat Isabel’s prepared meals. It’d seemed like a rational reaction at the time . . .
Nico’s gaze flickered with amusement, though he wasn’t surprised. He must have noticed the empty fridge this morning.
As we walked to lunch, my reservations about this marriage disappeared under the glow of the sun, the gentle breeze, and Crazy about something. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long for a foreboding to creep in with the reminder of one slip of paper in the bottom of my duffel bag.
“If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy-tales and I like them best of all.”
—Audrey Hepburn
THE QUIET ON THE WAY home could be chipped at with an ice pick. Luca drove himself, so it was only Nico and me, husband and wife, engulfed in a plague of thoughtful silence.
I was desperate to know what he was thinking. Did he regret today? I’d experienced many feelings across the board, but I couldn’t say I would take it back. Maybe, at first, marriage was a high like a drug, because even within the turmoil, I felt revived, unbreakable. Was this how it felt to be a Russo?
Nico had one hand on the wheel, and the sun glinted off his silver wedding band. I guessed he would carry around a reminder of me on his finger everywhere he went. I hadn’t realized he would be marrying me as much as I would be him. I might not be able to control him like he could me, but in a way, I owned an important piece of Nicolas Russo.
As soon as we got home, Nico headed straight for the minibar. He had a drink at lunch too, and I was beginning to think he needed alcohol to deal with marrying me. What a confidence boost. Though, I couldn’t exactly talk when I’d acted like I was stuck in a cloud of terror. To be honest, I was glad I got another wedding because I’d really screwed the first one up.
Bracing a hand on the door, I slipped my heels off. “I’ve never been married before.”
Nico pulled the top off a whiskey decanter. “Me neither.”
“Really?” I asked with mock surprise. “I was sure with your reputation you’d have a harem of wives you killed off one by one when you got bored.”
He turned around, a smile pulling on his lips. “Nah, I got men to do my dirty work for me.”
I nodded like I understood. “Killing wives is dirty business.” Grabbing a hair tie from the island, I pulled my long strands up and off my neck. “Well, I hope when you get bored of me, you’ll give me a head start.”
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. A shiver, equal parts hot and cold, ran down my back. 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 to enjoy my time while it lasted.
Goose bumps trailed down my arms as I padded toward him on bare feet. It was too damn cold in this house, and Nico was always as hot as a furnace. He could share some of his warmth.
“You’re not bored with me yet, are you?”
He ran a hand across his jaw. “I think you’ve got a few days, give or take.”
Stepping into his space, I gripped the end of his tie. “Only a few days?” I inhaled a deep breath of him. “I guess I better make them last then.” Rising to my tiptoes, I tried to kiss him, but he turned his head.
Maybe I would’ve been dismayed by his reaction not long ago, but I knew him better now. It also helped that he had a hard-on I could feel against my stomach. So I ignored his rejection and pressed my lips to his jawline instead. He’d shaved this morning and the skin was smooth for a change. I kissed a line down his throat, growing dizzy from his taste and smell.
He brought the tumbler to his mouth like I wasn’t making out with his neck. “Thought you’d rather jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than go through with it today.”
“No.” I shook my head, running my tongue up his throat and my palm down to cup his erection. He pushed my hand away. “Maybe the Washington Bridge, though,” I added. “It’s much closer to the ground.”
I rested my hand over his hard-on again, rubbing the entire length of him. He let me, but still held that stupid glass of whiskey. I kissed my way up to the corner of his lips, and he finally turned his head and swallowed my sigh in his mouth. The kiss was wet and rough, maybe a little annoyed. My tongue slid against his, and a flame pulsed to life in my lower belly.
He nipped my bottom lip. “You make me fucking crazy.”
“Don’t blame me for your psychosis.”
“You are my psychosis.”
“Rude,” I breathed against his lips.
He set his glass down, grabbed the back of my neck, and then kissed me deep and slow. He kissed me until my heartbeat throbbed between my legs. A frenzy burned through my blood. I pressed my body to his, raked my blunt nails down his stomach and tugged at his belt buckle. He made a rough sound in his throat, but his lips began to slow against mine. When I realized he was pulling away, I moaned in frustration.
“Nico . . .”
His thumb brushed over my mouth. “Surely a woman who acts like she’s at a funeral instead of getting married doesn’t want her husband to fu
ck her.”
“She does,” I protested.
Sex was sex and marriage was marriage.
Why was he always interweaving the two?
Didn’t he understand how much I wanted him? The words escaped me before I could stop them.
“I thought about you, you know . . . before we were engaged.” My blush was so intense it burned in my chest and made my heart race.
His body stilled for a split second. “Yeah?”
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. Finding the courage somewhere deep inside of me, I rose to my toes and pressed my lips to his ear.
“After that moment in the kitchen at my parents’, I was so hot I couldn’t even think . . . so I went to my room and lay on my bed. And then I slipped my fingers inside me and pretended they were yours.”
Three heartbeats drummed in my ears.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, before grabbing my hips, lifting me, and meeting my mouth with his. Finally. My legs wrapped around his waist and my hands buried in his hair.
Walking me backward toward the stairs, he kissed me like he was trying to eat me alive. He was such a selfish kisser. Kissing me only when he wanted, biting me, controlling every dip, lick, and press of our lips.
He trailed his mouth down my neck, and I worked on his vest and shirt buttons. I wanted his skin against mine, something I’d only felt once, and something I ached for. I got all of them but the cuffs, which were impossible since his hands were kneading my ass. I tugged the white undershirt out of his pants and ran my hands beneath it. Over the hot skin of his stomach and chest. He hissed through his teeth, and a lungful of air escaped me when he fell on top of me on the bed.
He yanked on my dress, and a rip sounded as the straps came loose. “That was Chanel,” I breathed against his lips, but all thoughts vanished when he pulled down my bra and sucked on my breasts. His hands gripped low on my ass, and I sighed when his fingers slid beneath my panties, brushing my clit and teasing my entrance.
The Sweetest Oblivion (Made Book 1) Page 31
