Still, I missed getting to see the most protective of my three mafia daddies like crazy.
Jonathan had barely been home since Paris. Hospital visits whenever he could, all-hours meetings that made Devin’s shoulders tense and Alex’s jaw clench.
Everyone whispered about Anthony Butera like he had already died, even though he was technically still alive. Barely.
I thought about Jonathan constantly. What he was carrying. What he wasn’t saying.
And, stupidly, I thought about the fact that his father might die without ever knowing who I was.
Not that Anthony would like me. Or approve. Or even look at me for more than two seconds without moving on to bigger, better mafia business.
But there was something inside me—something small and hopeful—that wanted Jonathan’s family to see me.
All of them.
The guys spent so much time together, so much shared history woven between them, that it sometimes hit me how little of my family they really knew. I had no relationship with my father, so that introduction was out. But my mom?
I wanted them to meet her. Eventually.
When my break rolled around, I slipped into the tiny library office and gave my mom a call, hoping she’d have service wherever her cruise ship was docked.
The ocean breeze was practically audible through the phone. Lois Taylor sounded radiant. Relaxed. I hadn’t heard her this happy in years.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s wonderful. They have lifts on the pool, and I’ve met the nicest group of younger wheelchair users. They’re all very fun.” She paused, lowering her voice. “And you know what? They’repolyamorous. Isn’t that exciting?”
I almost dropped my phone. “Mom!”
“What?” She laughed. “It’s interesting! They’re all in their thirties. Very progressive. I told them they made me feel like the world is expanding faster than I can keep up.”
I pressed my forehead to my hand, smiling despite myself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m old, Frankie, not dead.”
“You’re not even that old,” I protested.
Another chuckle. “Honestly, I’m glad younger people feel comfortable exploring things like that now. Much healthier than pretending monogamy is the only path for every person on earth.”
That brave little spark inside me flared up.
“Actually…” I twisted the hem of my cardigan between my fingers. “I kind of meant to tell you something.”
“Oh?” Her tone shifted instantly—gentle, open, ready to catch me.
“So I told you that I was seeing someone, but that wasn’t exactly the full truth.” The words stumbled out, but I forced myself to keep going. “Or it was all true, except…there are three someones.”
Silence.
Then—
“Well,” she said carefully, “good for you.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Frankie, sweetheart, you are young, beautiful, smart, and compassionate. If three men, or women, want to cherish you, and you want to cherish them back…why should I object?”
A laugh burst out of me—half relief, half disbelieving joy. “Okay, um. Do you want their names?”
“I would love their names.”
