Uncensored (The Manhattanites #7)

by Avery Aster

  Massimo felt his chest tighten as if a rubber band bound him. Why hadn’t he asked for her hand in marriage? Why hadn’t he given her a ring?

  She responded, “No, I’m not engaged.”

  Even though he knew it was coming, when Lex answered no, a sinking apprehension flooded his consciousness.

  Poppy’s face contorted as the camera zoomed in for her candid response. “We’ve heard otherwise.”

  The audience cheered and Poppy smiled.

  Massimo felt his heart skip faster.

  “Lex, where did these rumors come from?”

  “I have no idea,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone, not annoyed with the idea.

  Taddy Brill!!!

  “Did Prince Massimo Tittoni ask you to marry him?”

  “No, he never came out and asked.”

  The audience booed and Poppy frowned.

  “Guys, stop.” Poppy motioned her palms to quiet the crowd. “Let her tell us what’s going on. Lex?”

  “I went to Italy for my company, to work on my designs and pick out new fabrics.”

  Poppy squealed.

  Lex continued, “I met the prince, we went to a few events together, and before the Milan Art Auction, everything seemed a dream. But that lifestyle is not for me.”

  “That lifestyle?” Poppy’s painted-on eyebrows arched up.

  “That lifestyle!” Lex repeated.

  “Errrr,” Massimo grumbled.

  Nicolo, Nino and Noe barked.

  “You two look much in love in this photo at the Milan Art Auction, Lex. Before we break for a commercial, I have to ask you one more question.” Poppy paused, choosing her words. Massimo recognized her interviewing technique. “Eddie would want to see you happy. You know I played your daddy’s music on my radio show for over a decade and interviewed him many times.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Massimo hated when people manipulated him into replies while being coerced on the subject by mentioning his father. He knew firsthand how it made Lex suffer. Poppy dove in for the jugular, using the “I know your father” card. His heart went out to her. He wanted to put his arms through the TV and hold her and love her. Why were they doing this to her?

  “We want to see you happy. Regardless of what the press writes today or tomorrow, it’s what we all want for you.”

  The audience cheered.

  “Thank you, Poppy!”

  “My question is are you in love with the prince?”

  He edged the mattress. The dogs were glued in silence to the TV as if waiting for the answer. Massimo sat Indian-style, angry at the questioning. He wanted to protect her and be with her.

  “I love him, and I’m very much in love with Prince Massimo Tittoni.”

  I love you, too, my principessa. He noticed she smirked when speaking, as if she played his full name game. Massimo wondered if she’d known he’d be watching.

  “What if I told you he is backstage in the greenroom and wanted to ask for your hand in marriage? What would you say?”

  Her face lit up in surprise. Lex turned her back to the camera, maybe expecting Massimo to come out from backstage.

  Why is Poppy taunting her?

  “Lex, your prince isn’t here today.”

  The audience grumbled.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Poppy defended. “But do you know what you would say if he asked you to marry him?”

  The camera came in tight on Lex’s face. He could see she’d expected him to be there, to surprise her. As her skin flushed, her chest rose up and down. “I have an answer, and I’d love to share it with him if he asked me—in person.”

  Poppy waved her cue card over her face. “You’re going to make me cry. Okay, girl! We’ll talk more after the break.” The camera zoomed to Poppy. “Coming up after the commercial, we have Debauchery magazine’s editor-in-chief Viveca Farnworth with us.”

  The audience screamed.

  “Viveca is here to give you viewers at home a sneak peek at over one hundred shows taking place inside Lincoln Center from Michael Kors and Betsey Johnson to Marc Jacobs. Miss Viveca has Fashion Week covered.”

  The audience screamed louder.

  Poppy continued, “Miss Farnworth will show three models and looks sampled from the Easton Essentials fashion show scheduled later this week at Lincoln Center. We’ll also be giving away two tickets to sit with me at Easton’s show. Stick around! We’ll be back in two minutes.” The music faded out… Talk about it, cry over it, get it out.

  Taped when she’d arrived back to New York, Lex’s fashion show ran the following day. Mid-afternoon in the States. Lex’s words echoed in his head. He glanced at his dogs with hope. I love him, and I’m very much in love with Prince Massimo Tittoni.

  Massimo reached for his phone on the dresser and called Lex’s office.

  She picked up on the fourth ring and said, “This is Lex.”

  Hearing her sweet voice filled the hole pitted in his stomach. “Lex, it’s Massimo. Ti amo, and I miss you. Please—”

  Lex cut him short. “Thank you for fixing the press, Masi. I’m impressed you put the skanks on TV to confess.”

  “Anything for you, bella,” He rested his back against the pillows, satisfied he’d gained her attention.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner. No moment to breathe, the last two days have flown. I’m happy to hear your voice, but I can’t talk right now.” He noticed her voice grew low.

  “Mi scusi?” Another fucking but.

  “I have a room packed with people. My show is in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I see…” He sat back up.

  “I’m being rude to a blogger who is sitting with me.”

  “Principessa, please give me a few minutes. We have to talk. I have to ask you—”

  “If you wanna talk, you may do so in person, in New York.”

  “What?” He stood up off the bed.

  Click.

  The phone went silent. Did she hang up?

  Massimo heard the worst sound—a dial tone. Then he remembered his call with Lex a few days prior. Such a brat—she’d given his behavior right back to him. Must he always meet Lex halfway on everything? Is this what his life would entail after they married?

  He knew what he needed to do. Massimo called information and asked for Brill, Inc., who put him through to Kiki’s executive office. She placed him on hold to check Taddy’s availability.

  “Get fame, get glam, get Brill, Inc.” The hold music played in his ear. Taddy seemed odd to Massimo. Jemma and Rocco had filled his head with stories about her fashion PR diva ways earlier in the day, articles they’d found online about Brill’s famous Candy Land sex parties. Touted by her industry peers as Lex’s pit bull, he’d assumed as much.

  “Prince Massimo Tittoni, to what do I owe this honor?” Taddy inhaled a puff over the phone and huffed, “Now, before you lay into me, let me apologize for my earlier email.”

  “Mi scusi?”

  “I assumed Girasoli PR’d this courtship. I was clueless to your love for one another, until I saw Lex and she confirmed her feelings for you.”

  “Sì.” It makes better sense now. “It’s nice to speak with you, Signorina Brill. I’m happy to accept your apology in person.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’ll be leaving for the airport in a bit for New York.”

  “Fierce news! You’ll make Lex so happy. She’s under the assumption your schedule remained committed to other engagements.”

  “Lex is my commitment. And she does not know I’m coming. The reason I’m calling is I need your assistance with a surprise I’m planning for her fashion show.” This was a revelation he never dreamed he’d attempt in his lifetime—until now.

  “Honey, seeing as how I love surprises, something tells me we’re gonna become fast friends. Also, I adore what you did with the press in Europe. Many kudos. And anyone who puts my bestie, Lex, on a pedestal has my utmost respect. Am I understood?”

 
“Sì.” He seemed to have rubbed the pit bull’s belly.

  Taddy giggled and asked, “So, what did you have in mind for Easton’s fashion show tomorrow?”

  The next day, Massimo checked into Pierre Hotel on the Upper East Side and walked over to Seventy-Fifth Street. The afternoon brought many nannies struggling to push oversized baby strollers down Madison Avenue’s sidewalks. He stood for a minute, admiring the block. Between the Whitney Museum and Christofle silver store sat a tiny boutique. The storefront’s black and gold awning read ‘Paloma Tittoni’s Gems of Distinction’.

  Crossing the street, he let a Rolls Royce pass by before he stepped up and peeked into the window. Glass cases merchandized dangling rubies, emeralds and sapphires set against velvet. An elegant woman stood in the boutique with her hand to her mouth. Massimo heard a gasp from the outside.

  The woman’s dark almond eyes rounded. They were identical to Massimo’s.

  His sister opened the door wide. “Massimo, is it you?”

  “Sì.” Massimo attempted to overcome the moment’s awkwardness and kissed her on each cheek. “May I come in?” He’d never spoken more than a few words to his sister in his entire life.

  “Of course. My sales girls are at lunch right now. It’s just us.” His sister locked the door behind them and flipped the sign over to say ‘Closed’. Paloma discussed the hot weather for this early fall. Massimo half-listened as he struggled with his conscience, with what he’d come to tell her. “What brings you by?” Paloma finally asked.

  “I flew in for a friend’s fashion show.”

  “Yes, I read the New York Observer this morning.” She handed him the copy from the counter, and the headline read, “Expectations Run High for Easton Fashion Show”. Paloma continued, “Lex came home to such negative press. It’s nice to see the media writing nice things about her family today.” She motioned for him to sit down at a jewelry consulting counter.

  He pulled out a small seat and sat across from her. “Sì, I’m here for Lex. I keep forgetting the world knows about us.”

  Paloma laughed and replied, “Massimo, you live a public life. You always have.”

  “I’m also here to see you.” I am such an ass.

  “Me?”

  “Sì.” He swallowed hard and tried to manage his guilty admission. “I’m here to apologize and ask for your forgiveness.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Paloma, that I shut you out. I’m sorry I did not recognize you as my sister and as a Tittoni.” To not put any pressure on her, he added, “I hope one day you’ll accept my apology.”

  She grabbed his hands, the first time she’d ever held them. “I understand, Massimo. I do. Your anger is directed at Dad and has nothing to do with me.” Massimo studied her fingers and noted a resemblance. He was always told as a child he should’ve played the piano with his long fingers. He wondered if his sister’s fingers hindered or helped with her ability to craft intricate jewelry. “And yes, I accept your apology, but under one condition.”

  Old fears surfaced. He couldn’t imagine what her stipulation might be. He asked, “What is your condition?”

  “You have to forgive Dad.” Her voice was throaty.

  He sucked in air through his mouth and turned his face. “Paloma, you ask the impossible.”

  “Dad made mistakes. Loving my mom, marrying your mother, Dad is misunderstood in life and in death.” He turned back to face her with a questioning squint. Giving his father forgiveness in death, let alone in life, made his eyes tense. She confirmed, “You fought over some girl?”

  “Marcella. She and Dad…carried on an affair.”

  Paloma dismissed his accusations with a laugh and argued, “Dad never slept with Marcella. He created a lie to protect you from her, and he regretted doing so. He—”

  “You, sister,” Massimo stood to leave, “do not know what you speak about.” He wasn’t going to listen to this. He’d come to make amends with Paloma, not to receive some dissertation on how fabulous his demonic father was.

  Her hand came at his wrist, the way a mother would grab a child in a store before he broke something. “Sit down, Prince Tittoni!” She yanked his arm toward her.

  Scolded, he sat.

  In annoyance, Paloma’s face shadowed.

  “Are all New York women this bossy?” he asked, trying to bring humor into the air.

  “Wait, brother.” She tapped his wrist and motioned an apology for pulling on him. “Before Dad died, you and Marcella were all he talked about. Dad wrote you countless letters explaining everything. He sent them to the island and a second set to Milan via FedEx.”

  “I threw them away without reading them.”

  “Dad figured as much. I typed his letters to you into electronic communication and emailed them.”

  “Unopened and deleted.”

  “You never read them?” She gaped at him as he shook his head, and she pulled on his little arm fuzz with her nails.

  “Ouch!”

  “You’re stubborn.” Paloma shook her head in disgust. “Well, if you’d read them, you would’ve learned Dad asked Marcella her intentions the day you announced your engagement.”

  “Sì, he took her into the study to talk.” It was a lifetime ago. Nevertheless, he remembered the afternoon like it was a movie, frame by frame, over and over again, playing in his mind. A nightmare.

  “Marcella suggested the House of Tittoni’s estate would see to her needs. And she intended to marry you and start a family.”

  “Marriage, sì,” Massimo confirmed and realized at nineteen, he may’ve been too young to be making such an enormous decision. Marcella, though, had come up with the idea and persuaded him to ask for her hand in marriage.

  “Dad asked Marcella if she loved you. Quote unquote, Marcella responded with a no.”

  “Lies,” he argued in a nasty tone.

  “Massimo, Dad gave her money to go away to college to remove her from your life. When you went after her, he invented a horrible lie. He concocted the story, including the affair with her, knowing you wouldn’t touch her afterward.”

  “Why would he invent his affair?”

  “Granddad made your father marry your mother. He didn’t want you to be in a loveless marriage as he was. My mother and our father loved one another. And our grandfather made him marry your mother. They never loved one another. I’m sorry, Massimo.”

  His parents’ hatred for one another had already become public knowledge. “Let us say this is true. I still take issue with Padre cutting me from the estate. He left me with nothing.” Massimo had rebuilt Girasoli Garments sale by sale by himself.

  Paloma’s face didn’t waver on her determination for her brother to forgive their father. “Massimo, there was nothing to give.”

  “Padre took money from the casinos.”

  “Those casinos are a money pit. You know as well as I do our grandfather ate through the family money to build up those beaches.”

  “Sì.”

  “The House of Tittoni never recovered. Always in the red, Dad tried for years to get caught up. When he couldn’t and your fight with him started, he folded his cards and came to New York to live with my mother. He died penniless. My mother paid for his expenses to live here.”

  “What about the money he left you?”

  Paloma laughed. “There isn’t any money. The press whipped it up at Mom’s request to make Dad go out in good standing. Mom retired from the jewelry industry, and I took over this store. We never once received a penny from Dad.”

  “I need uno minuto.” Massimo stood and walked around the boutique. Whiplash numbed him from speaking, as if struck by a fast-moving car. He couldn’t believe it. But he did. Paloma’s insight made sense to him against his father’s actions, which remained nonsensical throughout his life. King Umberto stayed secretive about the House of Tittoni’s finances for as long as he could remember. Finally, it seemed logical why he never brought Massimo into the picture to manage the estate or the prope
rties as the dealings reduced to debts and an empty portfolio. But how could Massimo recover from being harsh to his father anymore? King Umberto had died two years before.

  “I will have the Milano news run an editorial in the paper on Padre. Grazie for telling me. I am sick over this, as you can imagine.”

  “Massimo, it’s in the past.” Paloma didn’t scorn him. In fact, she gave the impression she wanted her brother to move on.

  Taking his mind off the news, he looked around at the jewelry in the cases. Getting his bearings and his breath, he complimented, “Such a beautiful store. I’ve seen your work in Town & Country and Vanity Fair over the years.”

  “Never did I figure you paid much attention to my life.” Paloma’s face reddened. She was a year older than him, and her boutique was deemed by Manhattan’s society as the go-to place for important jewelry. Her trademark was mounting large gems.

  “I have and will continue to do so.” He remembered reading Paloma had announced plans to open a boutique on the Champs-Élysées in Paris and Grafton Street in Dublin. “Congratulations on your expanding abroad. Why nothing in Milano?”

  “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “My apology isn’t the sole reason I came to see you.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “I’d appreciate for my sister to help me select an engagement ring.” He rambled for a minute, trying to describe Lex’s taste as American conservative but edgy.

  Paloma’s eyes glazed over in tears. “I’m speechless.”

  “Say you’ll help me, per favore.”

  “I’d be honored.” She stood and walked around the counter. “Let me go to the safe. I’ll be right back.”

  “Sì.” Massimo continued to look around, but nothing caught his eye for Lex. The ring should embody her taste for quality, but he desired flashy. It came from him, though he understood Lex to be modest.

  Paloma emerged from the back and walked to the counter with a box in her hand. “For the last three months, I’ve worked on a setting for a rare sixteen-carat diamond. It’s from the Diavik Diamond Mines. They supply to Harry Winston.” She opened the black leather box. Inside, there was a glimmer fastened to velvet. Paloma unhooked the ring and slid it over her finger to model it for him.