‘How do you make limoncello?’
‘If I told you that, I’d have to kill you,’ Alessandra drawls. ‘It’s an Italian secret. Suffice to say, it is made from one hundred percent alcohol.’
I don’t doubt that. ‘And lemons, obviously.’
‘Just the oil of the lemon skins—no juice and no pith.’
‘Lots of pith in this if my soft palate, which is now completely numb, has any say in it,’ I joke, but Alessandra does not appear to find this funny. She flicks her dark, wavy tresses over one shoulder and faces me, her deep, almond-coloured and similarly shaped eyes, bordered with smoky-grey kohl, intense and sincere. She’s stunning. Absolutely stunning. Way better than my okay. In fact, so much so, I can understand how women find her irresistible. I wonder for a second… could I find her irresistible in THAT sort of way, given my recent rejection by Brad the bastard? It’s a thought I readily dismiss. Although, a few more limoncellos and…
‘He’s got another woman,’ Alessandra says, breaking my musings.
‘He says not,’ I answer and wince at my words in defense of a man who has given me the flick faster than he would a drowsy fly. A man I’ve been devoted to for eighteen years, and did I mention married to for fourteen?
‘They all say that, Olivia!’
I shrug. ‘Does it really matter? He doesn’t want me any longer.’
Alessandra slaps her hands together, startling me with her passion. ‘You are being pathetic. Is there any wonder he doesn’t want you?’
To be continued…