I’m thrilled today to bring you the lovely Gina Rossi, and talk about her fabulous new novel published recently on Kindle by ThornBerry Publishing. First, a few words from Gina herself.

“Originally from South Africa, I am lucky now to live and write full-time on the French Riviera – not as glamorous as it sounds in the rain-lashed, gale-thrashed month of March. I grew up with books. My parents and siblings were avid readers and, although my teachers complained that I either talked too much in class or gazed out of the window lost in my own world, my love of writing started way back in primary school, thanks to two amazing English teachers.

Moving on, I am a cat and dog person only (happily passing on fish, rodents and suchlike), a lover of Italy and all things Italian, devotee of winter (truly!), Moto GP fan, closet chocolate eater, devoted wife of *mumble* decades, proud mother of four, even prouder grandmother of nearly two small people, and a Pisces who shares a birthday with Dr Seuss – and Daniel Craig, but I digress.

Writing is my daily business. It’s a habit, more than a discipline, to which I look forward each day of my life, even after several years. The empty nest played a large part in motivating me. It emptied abruptly when we moved out of the UK and had to be filled again, quickly, before memories took the place of dreams. Happily, it’s now bursting with a colourful throng of words and imaginary people ‒ such is the life of a writer.”

Life After 6 Tequilas

Thank you, Gina. To us authors living in rain-lashed Britain with no sun and freezing temperatures, living on the French Riviera sounds more than glamorous. What a wonderful place to be able to write one’s books.  I’m envious.

Your new novel is a lively contemporary romance, and I have to say, I loved this book. I would hesitate to call it chic lit, for it is very much more than that. Whilst it contains a lot of fun and humour, there are also some serious issues covered that will provoke many single working mums with a young child to ask the question what they would do if they found themselves in the same situation as Beth. Gorgeous Davit, a most unusual babysitter, is a delightful character and leaves the reader guessing right to the end what his intentions are. As for Beth’s son, Jacob, he steals the show!

Excerpt from Life After 6 Tequilas

We are never allowed to use the term Bridezilla. Never. But, trust me, it’s at the front of my mind from the word go. Darla Parker is something else. She is plucked, waxed and glossy, trimmed with white-tipped nails (and toenails) and her blonde hair is a wall of silk.

“So pure,” Mother-of-Bridezilla says to me, in a conspiratorial whisper. We’re having morning coffee in the Parker’s mega-luxury suite ‒ the Presidential Suite to be exact ‒ waiting for the bridesmaids to arrive so they can all go for a dress fitting. “Do you have someone special in your life, honey?”

“I do. His name is—”

“So virginal, don’t you think?”

I close my mouth, deciding not to tell her about Jacob. Darla, in tight white jeans, t-shirt and false lashes (why?) certainly looks brand new, if not virginal.

“Yes,” I agree. “Lovely.” I can’t be rude. I mustn’t. Mrs Parker’s going out of her way to include me like some sort of pet. A quick glance at my watch tells me there are three hours until my Skype date with Jacob.

The bridesmaids arrive. I can’t tell them apart. The Bridezilla-and-the-Barbies scene is complete.

Trevor’s not the slightest interested in the wedding dress, and it’s me who gets dragged along to the fittings while he goes to the Guggenheim. Frankly, there’s not much to do. Trevor has done all the work (and Spencer, Jenny and me), but the Parkers want us here “in case”. Time will creep and it’ll be a hundred years before I see Jacob again.

The wedding dress studio is awesome. There are no words. There’s an acre of grey silk carpet overhung by the dazzling glitter of spectacular chandeliers, plus the Barbies dancing attendance on their queen while she tries on her dress for the last time. All is white and silver and crystal apart from me in my tailored charcoal suit and the golden faces of the bridal retinue. Someone offers flutes of champagne on a glass tray.

“Go on, honey.” Mrs Parker actually takes her eyes off Bridezilla for a moment and hands me a glass, confirming that it’s okay for the help to drink. This is the part of my job I should be enjoying, but I have this empty hole in the middle of my body, like one of my organs has gone missing. I look at my watch. One and a half hours to go.

Back at the hotel I rush up to my room. My laptop’s been set up for Skype since dawn and I’m desperate. I connect and it rings and rings, unanswered.

I text Davit: “Where are you? I want to Skype with Jacob.”

The reply comes back immediately. “Out.”

I don’t want them to be out. I want to talk to my baby. A message pings into my phone. It’s a photo of Jacob in the park, crawling on the grass in the late afternoon sun. He’s laughing and stretching his hand out to me.

“Thanks,” I answer. “Please Skype the minute you get home. Kisses for Jacob.” Then I go back to the photo and kiss it a hundred times.

Forty-eight minutes pass while I fret and fiddle in the room. Luckily it’s lunchtime and there’s a hiatus in the wedding build-up. What the hell is Davit up to? It’s a few minutes to Jacob’s bedtime. Has he forgotten? I look at the photo on my phone again. It could have been taken anywhere. They could be in a park in Tbilisi for all I know, throwing me off the trail.

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