Page 2 of Made to Sin

My stomach churned in disgust, remembering I was fifteen, and he was thirty-six, but nobody taught me it was wrong.

So on my eighteenth birthday when Papà told me Marco wanted me to be his wife, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe someone had loved me for as long as he did— an unhealthy longing stemming from Mamma’s abandonment.

Little did I know, it was not love in the slightest. I doubted Marco had a heart in the first place, and our wedding night was the ultimate confirmation.

—

“You’re the sexiest thing I have ever owned,” my husband slurred, voice filled with a satisfaction that made me beam.

We had just finished our wedding reception, and the guests were leaving to give the newlyweds their night alone. I was beyond nervous, everyone telling me to save my chastity for the man I loved.

Today was finally the day.

Marco’s palm came up to stroke my cheek, and I leaned into it. His wrinkly fingers idly brushed my smooth skin as a contented grumble arose from the back of his throat.

I smiled harder, my cheeks hurting at the idea of someone being utterly in love with even the peach fuzz on my face.

As fast as it came, the moment of peace was gone. He slid the hand behind my head and pulled me toward him. I wasn’t stupid, I knew there wouldn’t be anything gentle from a mob boss, but itcaught me by surprise nonetheless.

I let out an unwilling gasp, accidentally taking in a big whiff of his alcoholic stench. The foul odor mixed with his sudden roughness raised alarms in my head.

Like a bad dream, the situation progressively got worse.

My chest tightened as my breathing loosened, my heart racing a hundred miles per minute. I started to panic.

After Mamma left, I began experiencing sporadic outbursts. I foolishly thought they were nightmares at first, but then they started happening during the day too.

I had hoped my wedding day was spared, but Lady Luck didn’t seem to care what I wished for. I could already tell another outburst was coming.

Words weren’t forming even if I wanted to say something, and if the sheer terror was evident on my face, Marco didn’t seem to care. His lips sloppily slammed against mine, his arms trapping me in place.

Aside from the adrenaline-packed kiss at the altar for show, this was my first real kiss. There was no cheering crowd to make the decision for me. This was for our intimacy as a couple. This was what I was going to have to get used to and learn to love for the rest of our lives together.

As I absorbed the weight of his cracked lips against my softer ones, I allowed him to take control and mold me to his liking. I tried to kiss him back, but the tongue swirling in my mouth made me sick to my stomach.

Invisible hands strangled my throat and blocked my airways.

I couldn’t breathe.

From the lack of oxygen, my panic grew tenfold.

I was going to die.

The tears blurring my vision started to fall.

“What are you crying about?” My husband growled as the mascara-filled wetness streamed down my cheeks to touch our connected lips.

“No- Nothing, I’m a bit nervous,” I lied.

Sucking in a shallowed breath, I resumed our kiss. It was clear by the moment our lips met that my body refused to cooperate. If I kept going, the night was likely going to end up with me vomiting over this ridiculously fluffy wedding dress.

I hated myself for it, but I needed space. I reared my head away and took a few steps back to create distance. The air was stiff, stretching tauter for each step I took.

My husband’s irritation was palpable as his narrowed eyes traced my steps. “What now?”

Abundant thoughts ran rampant in my head. I couldn’t think straight with the failure dangling between us. My husband knew I was inexperienced, but who would want a girl who couldn’t even kiss correctly? My naive heart couldn’t take the chance that he wouldn’t want me anymore if he found out the truth.

I willed my tears to stop and blurted anything I could think of— anything to explain the juvenile crying. “I’m not a virgin.”

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