Novel & Cerita Izutsumi X Marcille

“Traffic? Or did someone stop to drink my wine again? Every delay, someone’s drunk.” Marco shook his head fast. “No, no, sir. They’re coming. We called they said fifteen minutes.” Alejandro turned to Lucia, who was checking the grape crates. “Lucia,” he said, calmer but still sharp, “make sure the grapes from row nine are kept separate. They’re too ripe. I don’t want them mixed with the new harvest.” Lucia nodded. “Yes, sir. Already done. You know we hate mistakes as much as you do.”

I quickly look away, asking Susan to pour me another glass. “This is the Malbec,” Susan says, presenting another bottle. “It has a bold and spicy taste, made with dark cherries, with a hint of pepper and chocolate.” She pours Anais and Tim a full glass, because they’ve both been sharing one since. Luke declines, while I stretch my glass out for Susan. “You can really taste the chocolate,” Tim hums, passing the glass to Anais. My hands feel like jelly when Susan hands me back the glass. I hold the glass as firm as I can, carefully bringing it to my mouth.

Ellis and I continued to share small talk until our food was served. "Are you familiar with wine, Miss Richardson?" I shook my head. "Not much." A soft laugh left his lips, as he poured himself another glass of wine. "This is a 2018 Zinfandel. It comes from Croatia just on the other side of the Adriatic."

Isaac uttered. "Do you know this wine?" I asked. He nodded then gave details such as, "It originated and planted varietals in China then was known as the aroma of Cabernet Franc and texture of Cabernet Sauvignon." 'He sounded so cool...though I didn't understand a thing.' I picked up another and asked him, "How about this?" Isaac read the label. "Grüner-Veltliner (pronounce as grew-ner velt-leener) It made by white grapes pepper and spice."

Hearing him arrogantly boast about his incorrect knowledge about wines makes me want to laugh hysterically. He’s so pathetic. I smiled wryly at him. “Actually, Lester,” I corrected gently, “it’s a blend of Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvèdre. The Grenache provides the fruitiness, the Syrah the spice, and the Mourvèdre the structure.” I tried my best to hide the disdain in my eyes but it seemed like even if I corrected him in the most gentle way possible, it wouldn't hide the fact that he embarrassed himself in front of his ex-wife.

Some chairs were removed. In their place, a long central table was arranged— Now filled with an impressive display of fine wine. Crystal bottles gleamed under the lights. Among them were: Château Margaux 2005 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon 2012 Romanée-Conti Grand Cru Penfolds Grange Shiraz Each one— Worth a fortune. Each one— A statement. — Then— The Grand Elder stepped forward once again. Microphone in hand. "Everyone," he said.

“Thank you. Just help me outside with the visitors. I can take care of Marika for your convenience.” “No worries, I do not need to avoid anyone,” Essi replied and took a bottle of wine for the Sanchezes. She placed Cabernet Sauvignon glasses on their table. “Can you pour the wine into our glasses, Miss Essi?” Marika said it like a VIP. She crosses her legs while throwing dagger glares at her. “What are you waiting for?” “Of course,” Essi said and poured Marika’s glass first.

Marco looked stern. “This wine isn’t Ronan wine, and it certainly isn’t any old vintage,” Dustin said and shocked everyone as he put the glass back on the table.

Both were blonde, and had striking silver eyes. "What do you want for breakfast, Donna?" Zita asked me. I shrugged. "Um, my name is Isabelle. What's Mariano having?" "Cornetto, coffee, and fruits." (Cornetto - The Italian take on the French croissant, usually smaller, lighter, less buttery and slightly sweet, with an orange-rind glaze brushed on top.) "Yes, I'll have that too, please," I said. "Coming right up." Aria winked at me.

What the hell is wrong with me, I can't help but wonder at my reaction to the person who just entered. "Ah, Mr. Clearwater, how nice of you to join us today," Mr. Ramirez says as the intruder begins walking towards his seat. Instead of going to where he usually sits, I listen as his footsteps move in my direction, continuing towards me until he stops next to my desk. I hear what sounds like sniffing before he makes a deep, low noise—one that I've never heard from another person before. I'm almost positive that he growled, just before the word "Mate!" quietly hits my ears.