Rosas Y Champagne Novels & Stories

Madame Rosla said loudly, letting her voice travel to where Phantasus stood. The snap of his neck in our direction was proof that he had heard her, but we showed no sign of being aware of his presence. Rosla handed me a champagne glass of a strange looking punch, whispering to me not to drink any of it. “You’re not of this world, my dear. You would become intoxicated by Dionysus’ wine by just smelling it.” she warned. She linked her arm through mine and together we walked back to where the rest of the succubae sat.

I witnessed how anger fumed in Esmeray's eyes in my peripheral vision. “You serve champagnes here? Rosé Dom Pérignon would be very much appreciated.” Molly gawked at Alonzo. It was her first time hearing a fine wine request from the customer. “Alonzo, that's on the upscale side. I don't think they'll be able to serve us an expensive champagne.” “What was it?” The manager popped into the VIP room. He was suddenly hands-on with everything that we might need. “Mr. Waldorf wanted Rosé Dom Pérignon. We don't serve that kind of wine here.”

Carissa blushed and lowered her gaze as she poured the wine. The small, intricately carved gold cups were tied with delicate white ribbons, adding a touch of elegance. As the wine was poured, a rich rose aroma filled the air. It was indeed the perfect rose wine to drink. "This wine smells wonderful," Rafael remarked, reaching for the two cups. He handed one to his wife, feeling his heart suddenly race. Their hands intertwined as their faces drew close, nearly touching. They could almost hear each other's breath. Perhaps it was the glow of the candles, but their eyes sparkled with shared emotions.

Alexander: You're a beautiful flower that I'm starting to really like. I squealed silently...if that's even possible...in excitement, a goofy grin overtaking my features. This was definitely a scene straight out of one of my romance novels. Rosette: So in this category, what do I call you? Best to play it safe for now. Alexander: Choose Rosette: What if I don't want to? Alexander: You have to, so please do. Rosette: Fine Rosette: Alexander No reply, I waited for what seemed like minutes but was actually just seconds.

They walked towards the bartender, and Stacy seductively relaxed her body over the bar and ordered a bottle of Lafite and a bottle of champagne. They found a seat and sat on it. "Do you feel uncomfortable?" Stacy asked. "No, why should I feel uncomfortable, I'm sexy, so they are the ones who feel uncomfortable." Rosie blinked her eyes and answered innocently. Stacy closed her eyes, nearly cussing out. Rosie has a weird thinking circuit. She shook her head. "Anyway, tell me if you feel uncomfortable," Stacy stated. "I'm certain that I might get drunk after finishing a bottle of champagne, Stacy do you want to get me drunk?" Rosie asked, her eyes turning to slits.

Nina Morrison sniffs and looks at Sunny confusingly. It is the engagement of Lucien Gray and Jasmine Harris, how could it become the proposal ceremony for her? Seeing the confusion look of Nina Morrison, Sunny knows that she doesn't understand. She points to the champagne roses and hyacinth in the hall, "Nina, do you know what the flower language of champagne roses and hyacinth are?" "What are they?" Nina Morrison doesn't know about these things.

A hope. Evelyn clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and decisive. "Right! Tea is inadequate. We need champagne! Well, I need champagne. Sophie, darling, Marguerite makes a spectacular alcohol-free sparkling elderflower concoction. You’ll adore it." She moved towards a discreet intercom panel hidden behind a giant monster leaf. "Marguerite? The ’09 Dom Pérignon. Immediately. And the special elderflower for Sophie. We are celebrating a seismic event!" As she spoke into the intercom, Damian drew me closer. He slid his arm fully around my waist, his large hand settling possessively over my lower belly.

I sink into the cushions, crossing my legs with ease, and lift my voice toward the open space. “Champagne,” I call out smoothly. “Bring the good one. And a glass.” Moments later, the bottle arrives. I watch with interest as the maid pours Dom Pérignon Rosé into a delicate crystal flute, the glass tall and slender, catching the light as the liquid settles inside. Excitement hums beneath my skin. I take the glass from the table, swirling the rosy drink slowly, watching it cling to the sides before sliding back down. Then I lift it to my lips and take a small sip, smiling into the taste as Lior’s stunned expression flashes through my mind.

We walk past tables lined with cards and dice, velvet cloths, and servers in crisp white shirts carrying trays of champagne. The place smells expensive, that mix of perfume, cash, and something darker beneath. A man with slicked hair and too many rings nods at us, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long. I force a smile that feels like paper. Rosie leans close and whispers, “You’re fine. Just breathe.” I reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray, my fingers trembling slightly. The bubbles rise in the golden light like tiny lies, elegant and empty. I pretend to sip, even though my stomach is already twisting.

I looked at the label and felt something warm and unexpected bloom in my chest. Château Rosaire. A small-batch red from a vineyard in the south of Casavera that produced only three thousand bottles a year and sold most of them before they left the estate. The label was simple, a hand-drawn rose on cream paper, and the wine itself was dark and velvety, tasting of blackberries and woodsmoke and the particular ache of a memory you didn't know you had until something brought it back.