Divorce didn't make me your ex
Alfonso pulled a small notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket, flipped to a page, and began to read with the same neutrality he would use to announce stock prices:
“She said: ‘Ace Montesino, you insufferable, ridiculous, self-centered, smug, fifth-rate jerk…’” Alfonso coughed. Luna must have demanded he recite it word for word.
What a woman...
I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms, amused from the very first sentence.
“Keep going,” I requested, smiling.
“‘...who do you think you are to send those hellish flowers with that wretched note? I hope you slip on a peony arrangement and break all your teeth. If you want to keep breathing, I recommend you never show your face to me again.’”
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