Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4) (3 page)

NEVER…hesitate to be the one, take my soul apart

Let’s set our secrets free

FEELS LIKE…something so right, total submission and satisfaction

THESE DREAMS…like perfume on my wrist, are closer than this

YOU SAY…I’m crazy, that I’m in the danger zone

Let’s open the door

I KNOW…I’m loving like never before, we belong together

MANY TIMES…I feel alone without you at my side, I speak of aberrant behavior

ARE YOU…hot tonight, feeling naughty

I…want you, gotta have you

YOU ARE MY…devotion, lover

LET’S…be forever

A Girl Just Wants To Have Fun!

“Since Jemma’s cancer diagnosis, we often compare her to silent screen goddess Jean Harlow or late heartthrob River Phoenix. She lives life in the fast lane, enjoying each day as it comes. I know she fears that one day it’ll end. Maybe that’s why getting tied down with two husbands and a baby wasn’t on her short list of things to do. But as any fabulous Manhattanite will tell you, life is a challenge—meet it head-on. Life is a dream—own your desires. Life is a gift—keep giving to others. Life is love—open your heart.” —Taddy Brill, CEO of Brill, Inc., girlfriend to Big Daddy, and overall bestie to Lex, Blake, and Vive.

Jemma, Will You Marry Us?

Luigi

Three Months Ago

Isola di Girasoli, Mediterranean Sea

On top of the cliff, overlooking the blue sea, I grabbed my boyfriend’s hand, pulled him to my side and asked, “Ready,
bello
?”

Rocco’s short nails grazed my skin. He’d been biting them all week. He always did when he was nervous.

“Jemma is going to say yes…” he whispered in my ear.

“
Sì,
of course she is.”

A few days before, we’d selected the spot.

He’d suggested, “This is where we’ll ask her to marry us,”

I’d agreed.

The view, the place… so magical and
perfetto
.

Inhaling deeply, I smelled the briny air filled with the faint sticky aroma of sunflowers. The ground was covered in them, and Isola di Girasoli had even been named after them. Growing on vivid green stalks, their bright yellow faces open, reaching up to the white sky for warmth and light. They were gleefully rooted about, almost as if cheering us on.

In a way, Rocco and I were similar to those flowers reaching for something—nourishment and love.

We got down on our knees, and the warm soil pressed under my legs. Glancing up at the woman we loved, we each took her hand.

Jemma Fereti. Tall. Striking. Ours. We called her
dolce
because she always tasted like tiramisu when we kissed.

As I studied her finger, the one I’d put the ring on, I thought about us…

For me, taking Jemma as my bride, and Rocco as my groom, meant forever. My life spent searching for intention would soon be complete. Together they made up my everything.

For Rocco, our union symbolized something he’d yearned for: a family.

Hopefully for Jemma it would mean peace after her year-long battle with breast cancer.

“
Amore
, go on. Ask her.” Patience wasn’t Rocco’s virtue.

“Give me a minute—”

In private, we’d talked about the day for the past few months. We’d picked out the perfect engagement ring: a Tittoni Gems of Distinction twelve-carat pink diamond, a custom-made work of art from Manhattan for Jemma. And two simple gold bands for Rocco and myself. We’d planned the vacation: a week alone on the island, getting time away. Only the three of us. This was one of Jemma’s favorite Mediterranean locals. She’d grown up there with her royal friend, Prince Massimo Tittoni, who ruled over the small country.

Having Jemma’s hand in marriage was all Rocco and I ever desired. Over the past few years, we’d loved each other as a thruple. Our special togetherness had been all her doing.

Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined an open poly relationship with one woman and another man working out. Certain jealousy and games would poison the affair, but it hadn’t tarnished our lovemaking in the least.

That is till now
. Rocco yearned for more, and frankly, so did I. Especially when Prince Massimo granted the Poly Marriage Act, legalizing the rights for those who loved openly to wed.

“
Dolce
…we’d like to ask you something…” I got the words out. I wasn’t one to talk much. Regardless, Rocco had insisted it come from me. After all, I’d been with Jemma for almost a year before we’d met him.

My boyfriend was the well-spoken one. The one in touch with his feelings. The man who’d glued the three of us together in ways which went beyond the boundaries of sex. He was the first and only man I’d ever had sex with, and I liked it. Oh, God, I fucking loved it! I loved
him
.

“My
amore
—” Uncertainty quivered in Jemma’s voice.

My left hand reached deep inside my pocket. I pulled out the diamond and held it up to her, sparkling in the sunshine, and asked, “Will you marry us?”

With a smile, Rocco’s face beamed.

Her mouth dropped open, asking, “Huh?” Deep grooves etched her high forehead. Her eyes, usually varying shades of amber, dilated to black. The lips I loved kissing—full and sensual—had evaporated into her mouth as she chewed on them, clearly unsure how to respond.

Hearing the quick intake of Rocco’s breath, he bit on his nails for a second before blurting out, “Luigi and I love you. We want to spend the rest of our lives with you. Let’s share every day together. Start a family. Grow old with each other.
Dolce
, what do you say?”

My girlfriend cupped his face in her hands, her darkly painted nails gliding over his olive skin. She stared at him as if searching for what to say before reaching down, pressing her lips against his, and replying with a kiss.

One could get lost in Rocco’s face: a square jawline, thick eyebrows which framed his intense eyes, and a dimple on each cheek. He was the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on.

Kind and loving.

“My darling, you know since my chemo I cannot conceive a child.”

“We can adopt. Get a surrogate,” he defended, enthusiasm bubbling in his voice about all of the options we had before us. “We can afford to do whatever you want.”

Money for us wasn’t a problem. When it came to living the luxury lifestyle—private jets, fast cars, fierce clothes, gourmet food—we had it all. Working for Girasoli Garment Company and the House of Tittoni had afforded us that much.

“I love you both and would like nothing more than to share the rest of my life with you. We have a
buono
thing going.”

“What better reason than for us to marry?” Determined, he got to his feet and then helped me up.

Putting my arms around them, the three of us brought our foreheads together as one. This felt good, us embracing and talking about our future.

Her long eyelashes fluttered. Avoiding eye contact, her attention cast on our feet.

Our toes were covered in sand crystals. We’d been at the beach all day drinking Bellinis, making love.

“Why do you two wanna screw this up with marriage?” Almost contemptuously, the “m” word came out of her mouth as she clenched her jaw.

Oh, boy…

Irritated, I shifted my weight from one foot to another as my mind spun with bewilderment. I knew she’d be resistant for how this would play out, but Rocco and I had the answers. All she had to do was try.

Just say yes.

In the past, Jemma had filled our ears with stories of how her parents had fought till her mother had dropped dead from a heart attack. Mr. and Mrs. Fereti’s marriage wasn’t anything to emulate. It’d caused Jemma to avoid confrontation and commitment over the years at all cost. As a result, she rarely got deep with us, instead focusing on her fashion designer career, hot sex, and her Manhattanite friends.

“You’re cancer-free now. It’s time for us to get on with our lives,” I reminded, hoping she’d celebrate life and not fear it. For the past year, time had stood still for all three of us.

We’d been with Jemma through every phase of her breast cancer, from her first diagnosis to her mastectomy, radiation, and reconstructive surgery. Each step of the way we’d been at her side, taking care of her. How could she not see “forever” with us? Surely, we saw our future with her.

Baffled and starting to get nauseous over the fact she even questioned our proposal, a bitter taste came up in the back of my throat.

We weren’t losing her. Were we?

“I’m living my life with you two. That’s enough for me. We don’t need
marriage
to make our relationship any more official, Luigi. Weddings ruin everything.” Her mind seemed to whirl. She rubbed her temples for a minute before saying, “And we don’t need to have babies either, Rocco.”

I glanced over at him, his almond-shaped eyes glistening. He was the emotional one, so I comforted. “Don’t…cry.” Wiping my cheek with my thumb I then kissed him.

His body trembled, leaning into me. All muscle, Rocco appeared strong and firm on the outside, like pasta cooked
al dente
, but on the inside, he was sensorial. Unlike any man I’d ever met.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s not weak, just hypersensitive.

“What’s gotten into you two?” The tone in her voice set alarm bells ringing as she became increasingly uneasy.

Surprised by her reply, I didn’t have an answer.

She continued. “I knew this vacation would bring us closer together, but we’re here to relax and unwind. Not get stressed out about our future. A piece of paper saying we love one another means nothing about how we’re to spend the rest of our lives.”

“How can you say that?” he asked.

“What matters is how we treat each other while in this relationship.” With a toss of her head, she tried to laugh the whole topic off, that famous supermodel smile on her face.

Regardless, I could see right through her. It was as if someone else stood before us.

Jemma was terrified of commitment.

I’d seen her behave as such before. Not often.

It was the same face she had the day she’d confessed to being in love with Rocco. Regardless, I accepted him. I’d not only grown to love him, but in time became madly in love with him, too. There would never be another man for me other than Rocco. I wasn’t gay when I’d met him.

Merda
, at times I don’t think I’m even a bisexual, because I don’t look at other guys. Rocco is the only man who turns me on. However, I guess that’s why one calls me “bi” although I’m not fond of that term. I hate any sexual orientation labels, such as homo, hetero, bi, etc.

I’m a man who loves a woman.

I’m a man who also loves another man.

That’s all that matters to me!

It was also the same face she had when the doctor had told her she had cancer.

We’d detected it early. Rocco had found the lump just under the lower part of her breast as we’d been giving her a massage that night. He was the one who’d demanded she go see a doctor. I didn’t know where we’d be without him.