I sighed. My sister could drive a saint to curse. I leaned against the fridge and eyed her over my glass. “Why are you in your swimsuit?”
“Was on my way to the pool, but Mamma stopped me and said I can’t leave the kitchen until I decide.”
After a moment of thought, a smile pulled on my lips. “Mamma left.”
Adriana’s gaze, warm and hopeful, popped up from the plates.
An hour later, with the cake flavor still undecided, Don’t Stop Believin’ played on the pool radio. The sun was hot, sparkling off the blue water as my head emerged from beneath. The cool liquid ran down my shoulders as I waded to my sister, who wore sunglasses and lay still on a floaty. She was a diva in the pool. In other words: boring. I tipped her.
She came up sputtering, pulling her sunglasses off and pushing the dark hair from her face. “I don’t know why you can’t just let me . . .” she trailed off.
The pool sat at the side of the house, allowing a view to the front gates. My gaze followed hers to see a lawn care truck coming down the drive. Oh no. Before I could say a word, she pulled herself out of the pool.
“Adriana, don’t,” I warned. My stomach twisted. I wasn’t sure how she’d seen Ryan this long without Papà finding out. She’d falsified her class schedule, putting an extra time slot down that she could spend with him, but seeing him at the house was too risky.
She turned to me, her gaze soft and pleading. “I just want to talk to him.”
“And say what? That you’re still getting married in three weeks?”
“And whose fault is that?” she snapped.
Ouch.
She was never abrupt with me like this. We might not have talked much lately—because what would we talk about? Her wedding?—but she’d never been hostile with me.
“I haven’t done anything you haven’t done,” I told her.
“I know. I just need to talk to him. You would want to talk to—” she glanced toward the ring on my finger under the water, “—him if you could, wouldn’t you?”
Would I? I didn’t know. Maybe that was the reason guilt felt like a heavy weight I carried around daily. It’d all been meaningless. It wasn’t even for love. And I was the only one who’d gotten out alive.
“The cameras,” I warned her. There was a security system downstairs that Dominic only had to glance at to see what was going on outside the home. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the unease that swam in my veins. “The living room. Talk to him in there so you can see if anyone comes down the drive.”
The gardener came on Tuesdays and Fridays for lawn care and to clean the pool, so the truck wouldn’t raise Dominic’s suspicion. Let’s just hope my cousin was immersed in Skyrim like he usually was and wouldn’t show his face upstairs. Thankfully, Benito wasn’t here; he had a sharper eye.
My gaze found Ryan, who stood next to his truck, looking in our direction. He wasn’t even wearing his lawn care t-shirt, but a button-up and jeans. I groaned. What the hell is he thinking?
Adriana beamed. “Thank you, Elena!”
Then she was running toward him.
As I lay on my back, arms out, the sun warmed my front while the cool water licked at my sides. My eyes closed. I wondered what it would be like living here without my sister. How long I would coast through the halls until I got the same fate as her. I wondered if my papà would let me take classes this upcoming semester, though I was sure I’d blown that for myself.
I’d been pulled from all writing and political classes six months ago. I was free from a job, all responsibilities if I wanted, but even as the water held me up, slowly turned me in a circle, I might as well be drowning. Drowning in a past mistake I could never fix, but one I could try to make amends for. One I would amend, in the only way I could.
The quiet purr of an engine broke through my thoughts.
My eyes flew open.
Swimming toward the side, I grasped the edge of the pool and watched a shiny black car park next to Ryan’s truck. I didn’t know who it belonged to, but soon enough the door opened and the worst person who could show up stepped out.
A cold sweat drifted through me. Disaster loomed in the distance. More blood. Young, lifeless eyes. No. It wasn’t going to happen again.
I pulled myself out of the pool and headed toward the front of the house, ignoring the itch to go in the opposite direction. Nicolas held a manila envelope in one hand and shut the car door with his other. My skin buzzed with a cool sensation, and my bare feet paused at the end of the walkway.
I stood there in a white bikini, soaking wet, while my heart beat a mile a minute.
When his gaze finally came up to me, he stopped in his tracks. We stared at each other. He was only wearing black dress pants and a white short-sleeve shirt. I swallowed. It felt like he was more underdressed than me. Black ink covered one arm, while the other was smooth tanned muscle. Warmth rushed to the pit of my stomach and spread through me like fire.
My breathing shallowed as his gaze trailed the drips of water running down my body. Each drop that hit the concrete was another match lit in the short space between us. His attention settled on my face, his gaze narrowing.
“Is this how you welcome all your guests?”
I blinked at his rude tone. I couldn’t exactly say I’d ever stood half-naked in front of an unrelated man and had him angry with me for it.
“Some.” I tried for nonchalance, but it sounded more breathless than anything.
He gave his head a shake, letting out a small breath of amusement. He wasn’t amused at all, though, that much was clear by the way a muscle in his jaw ticked. It wasn’t often I was an irritation, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.
When he headed for the front door, ice crept through me. I took a step forward. “Nicolas, wait.”
He stopped, glancing at me sideways.
“Papà isn’t here,” I rushed out.
“Aware,” was all he said while heading for the door again.
My stomach dipped.
Without thinking about it—because I would’ve chickened out—I hurried and stepped in front of him. He stopped short and glared at me.
My heartbeat wavered like a plucked string. Without my heels on, his presence was larger, more intimidating. “You can’t go in. It’s not . . . proper without my papà home.” There wasn’t a chance my father had invited this man over while he was away. How did he even get past the community gates? But I already knew Nicolas did what he wanted regardless of rules, and my papà must have realized that before the marriage contract was signed.
His gaze sparked. “You have a second to move before I do it for you.”
“Be my guest. You’ll get all wet.”
Somehow, I thought that was a great comeback, but it only made us both aware I was half-naked and soaked. The breeze grew hotter, the air denser.
His jaw tightened as he took a step forward. I didn’t move. His white shirt almost brushed my white bikini top. My breasts tingled in anticipation and drops of water tickled as they dripped down my midsection. His body heat was a living thing, sinking into my skin and urging me to step closer, to press my body against his.
I couldn’t breathe when he leaned in, his voice low against my ear. “You’re lucky I have shit to do today.” The rough sound ran the length of my neck, goose bumps following. I couldn’t help but think: What would he have done if he didn’t?
His fingers brushed mine as he slipped the manila envelope into my hand. “Put it on your papà’s desk.” He took a step back, and my entire body burned in the aftermath. “And don’t fucking go through it.” I wished I could say his tone doused me with cold water, but it didn’t.
My gaze narrowed as I looked up at him. The sunlight made his amber eyes even more golden. “Your business with my papà is the last thing on earth I would concern myself with.”
His voice darkened. “Good.”
We stared at each other for another moment. He jingled the keys in his hand and took a slow step b
ack, before turning around and heading to his car. I stood there and watched him, because his back was as nice as his front.
Nicolas opened his car door, calling out, “By the way, it’s Nico. Nobody fucking calls me Nicolas.”
As he backed out of the drive, I reminded myself to keep calling him Nicolas. I headed into the house, dropped the folder on my papà’s desk, but, before I could leave, my gaze was pulled to the small safe in the corner of the room. With a tight throat, I walked toward it and tried the handle even though I already knew the outcome. Locked.
Guilt made me grasp onto the tiniest shards of hope.
I checked each drawer of his large mahogany desk, though, once again, knew I wouldn’t find what I searched for. My papà had all of his private bank information in this house locked down, but one of these days he had to trip up.
One of these days this family would pay restitution for the innocent life they’d taken.
I walked out of his office to watch Adriana shuffle Ryan out the front door.
I crossed my arms when I saw her swimsuit top tied awkwardly to the side, her bottoms on inside out. While I was saving her ass, she was having sex? What a little . . . ugh.
When he was gone, she leaned against the door, looking pale and relieved.
I pursed my lips in disappointment, turned around and chimed, “Lemon,” as I headed up the staircase.
“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.”
—Marilyn Monroe
I STOPPED SHORT IN ADRIANA’S doorway and closed my eyes in disbelief.
“Papà is going to kill you,” I told her.
“Good,” she muttered, adding a long arc with her paintbrush to the canvas that leaned against the wall. The painting would be a rainbow if it wasn’t all black.
My sister had been brooding since Ryan came over. She went to her classes, but otherwise stayed in her room. The week crawled by with her casting a black cloud over the house with her emo paintings and sappy music. I was beginning to feel guilty again, but there wasn’t a part of me that wanted to put myself in her place. I’d rather have a husband who wasn’t so rude, wasn’t such a womanizer as I’d heard, and truthfully less handsome. Maybe that sounded odd, but to me it made perfect sense.
Laughter filtered up the stairs, and I closed my eyes once more. Adriana’s engagement party had started five minutes ago, and she currently sat cross-legged on her floor in overalls, covered in paint.
I could see Papà’s temper not far in the distance, and I would feel its heat just because I was such an easy target. Adriana never reacted when our papà raged at her, and it annoyed him, so he turned it on me.
“What on earth could you be thinking right now?” I headed toward her closet, not looking forward to digging through costumes to find the rare dress she could wear.
“That I hate my fiancé. He’s rude, and you’ve seen him, right? Can you even imagine us having sex, Elena?”
I paused, gave my head a shake, and continued pushing clothes on hangers aside. “Um, no. I’m not going to try to imagine that.”
She sighed. “A couple of hours ago I realized I would have to have sex with him.”
I made a noise of acknowledgment, not surprised it had taken her this long to come to that assumption. The obvious was like the hidden secrets of the world in Adriana’s eccentric mind. Surprising, as she’d always aced her schoolwork and had more friends than I could ever hope for.
“And I kept thinking, maybe there’s a reason he manspreads so much? His is big. Then I began to worry, so I started looking up pictures—well, videos—of men his size, naked, and that only made me worry more.”
“You were watching porn,” I said, deadpan, standing in the closet doorway and watching her paint Mr. Rabbit beneath the black rainbow.
She tilted her head to eye her masterpiece. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it’s called.”
“Adriana!”
My sister groaned, and I looked toward the door. Mamma wore a red cocktail dress and an angry expression. A slew of Italian flew past her lips as she snatched the dress from my hand and then smacked Adriana on the back of the head. “Shower, now!”
Adriana grumbled and got to her feet.
“And porn!” More Italian. “What were you thinking?”
A laugh escaped me.
Mamma shot me a glare, and I turned it into a cough. She had always shown up at the most inopportune times. We couldn’t get away with anything.
“Elena, go pacify the Russo. Lord forbid he starts shooting the guests again.”
“Me? What am I supposed to do?”
All I received were a few sentences of berating Italian that didn’t even address the current topic at hand. When my mamma went off, she’d talk about everything but what she was currently mad about. This time, it was how she broke a favorite porcelain dish earlier, Nonna complained about her lunch again, and the gardener hadn’t shown up today. Which was definitely for the best . . .
Guests trickled in the front door as I made my way down the staircase. I wore a pink choker maxi dress, heels with a bow that tied around my ankles, and my hair down, pinned to one side. Even though I didn’t approve of this marriage, it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take the opportunity to dress up. Frankly, it was the highlight of my week.
“Elena!” my cousin Sophia squealed as she came through the front door. “Squealed” was the best way to explain it. She was nineteen with a constant mischievous expression.
“I’ve missed you!” She threw her arms around me, and I took a step back at the impact.
“I just saw you at church Sunday,” I laughed.
“I know.” She smacked a “mwah” on each of my cheeks and pulled back. “But so much has happened since then.” She hadn’t been here for the lunch incident, but I understood my family well enough to know that my three-year-old cousin Caitlin would be able to recite the entire event like she’d been present.
“Where’s Sal?” I asked. Her older brother was a male version of her.
“He ran into Benito out front. You know, ‘man talk’.” She rolled her eyes. “All right. I’m going to go find us some alcohol. Then we need to talk about this Nico I’ve been hearing about.”
“Check out the bloodstain on the patio. That’s all there is to tell,” I told her.
“That’s not what I’ve heard. Mamma said he’s hotter than David Beckham.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Her mouth gaped. “You’re living under a rock, Elena. Too many books, not enough TV.”
“The quote of the century,” I mumbled wryly as she saw another cousin, squealed their name, and left me there.
For a moment, I stood alone in the foyer. The windows and patio doors were open, allowing the summer air to flow through the house. It was a beautiful night, and I was praying it didn’t end up like the last time we’d had the Russos over. Tony wouldn’t be here, so we had a much better chance.
I turned to find Papà, to tell him there was an issue with Adriana’s dress and that she was going to be late, and to let him relay that to Nicolas, but, before I could, the front door opened once again. Bitterness crawled up my throat, but it was now too late to get away.
Nicolas Russo had the worst reputation of any man I’d met, hands down. Though, somehow, I’d found the courage to be myself around him, not the Sweet Abelli everyone used to know and expected me to be forever. But just as it was when someone got sucked into their old habits by the people they hung out with, I was tumbling back into the abyss of fake smiles and fake words, and I didn’t know how to get out.
“Elena.”
Warm air brushed my skin as the front door shut, and I longed to be on the other side. But instead, I smiled politely. “Oscar.”
Mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair and expensive suits always worn with a colored tie, Oscar Perez was handsome in a classic and charismatic way. He never lacked female attention, yet he always lavished his on me. He worked for my papà and was oft
en around for parties, but since we’d had nothing going on I hadn’t seen him in months, since before the incident. It was one of the biggest reliefs, but unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end.
“Don’t you look as beautiful as always,” he told me, giving me a kiss on each cheek and lingering too long. “Demasiado hermosa para las palabras.”
I didn’t know what he’d said, but I assumed it had something to do with my symmetrical face.
I stared at his light blue tie, the color of his eyes.
I hated it.
He was the fairest Colombian I’d ever met, and for some reason I resented his blond, comely appearance. What a lie it was.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to take a step back, but his hand went to my lower back and drifted to the top of my ass. My stomach tightened with unease. He was lean but tall, and his presence consumed me like a bad aftertaste.
He’d always been subtly inappropriate—his fingers just grazing things they shouldn’t. Close enough to make me uncomfortable, but not too close to get shot by my papà. If he went further, would my father even believe me now?
Oscar pulled back to look me in the eye, but his hand didn’t leave me. Something crawled under my skin. I realized at this moment why I couldn’t escape the expectations people had for the Sweet Abelli with anyone but my sister’s fiancé. Nicolas Russo was safe. He was marrying my sister. There was no chance I’d have to marry him, no chance my actions would alter how he would treat me as a wife. Most men walking through these doors could be a potential husband to me. Why make it worse on myself?
Oscar’s fingers tightened on my lower back, and he spoke in my ear, “I hear you’ve gotten into trouble since the last time I saw you.”
My heartbeat drummed. He’d always been inappropriate, but politely inappropriate, if that made any sense at all. He’d never brought up something so personal and invasive.
His saccharine voice took a cruel edge. “I was very disappointed when I found out, Elena. You can understand why, can’t you?”
There was one thing that could mean—my worst nightmare—but I wouldn’t accept it, didn’t believe it. I wasn’t going to call him a liar, though.
The Sweetest Oblivion Page 5