was a friend to his sister--and hopelessly infatuated with him. He smiled, masking his desire to be anywhere except alone in the wine cellar with Marisela.
“I’m not alone.” He said cleverly. “The spirit of my family is here--this wine cellar contains a part of my lineage because every one of these bottles came from one of my families vineyards in France.”
Marisela giggled, then she wobbled, before gracefully regaining her balance. She’d obviously had too much to drink. The cellar had been built specifically to store wine, and not to entertain guest. Each room was lined with wooden shelfs, and the space in between these shelfs was limited. Marisela strolled over to where Lucien stood, crowding his personal space.
She lifted up on tiptoes whispering in his ear...
“That’s not what I meant--and you know it.”
Lucien lifted a bottle, then blew dust off the label to read it. Marisela sneezed. She shook her head wildly, rubbing her nose free of the dust. When she gathered herself, she closed the distance, pressing firmly against his side. She gave his arm a feel of her breast. Lucien was a patient man but he didn’t come down here for this. If he wanted to steal away, finding a cozy place to cuddle--it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be with Marisela.
He remained focused on the task at hand, while she slurred saying...
“So...what’s so special about this champagne that you’d much rather be in this dusty old dark cellar--instead of partying upstairs with me--and your other guest?”
Lucien placed the bottle back in its slot. He didn’t waste time looking at her. He wasn’t interested in her, or how she looked. Plus...the space had gotten overly cramped, so he abandoned his task. He placed one hand at the base of Marisela’s back, keeping his eyes on the passageway. While guiding her with gentle nudges, Lucien would urge her to move whenever she slowed and he feared she might stop.
When they were at the tasting table and the stairs were within sight, Lucien said...
“I was looking for a special champagne--a vintage bottled by my grand-poppa. It’s a New Year’s Day tradition. My family--we have reason to celebrate.”
“Yes--I can see how that would be a special reason to be down here. Family...”
She said and he heard a sadness in her voice. Unexpectedly, she twirled unsteadily on high heels to face him. Lifting up to his height, she slanted her head at an angle, attempting to line up their mouths. She aimed her lips to kiss him but her body swayed, giving Lucien time to bob, then dodge her efforts. She said...
“I wish I was one of you--a Delors. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
Her breath smelled like a bouquet of all the wine and mixed cocktails she’d drank--and the combination didn’t smell like flowers.
They were out in the open, but her stare cornered him; and this feeling was worst than being trapped. He had to get out of this cellar. More to the point, Lucien needed to get away from this woman.
“We’d better get back upstairs.” He suggested. “They’ll be looking for us--and we wouldn’t want to make them worry.”
“No...we wouldn’t want that” she said, as if the notion was an afterthought.
Marisela followed his lead, staggering when they got to the stairs. She blurted out...
“I love you Lucien--I always have.”
Oh God--Lucien thought to himself; what in the world had he done to deserve this. He ignored her drunken remark, directing her focus on her feet and moving up the narrow staircase.
“Maris...” he used the shortened version of her name. “...lift your head and keep your hand on the railing.”
With each step, Lucien had to encourage her to lift her leg, then to plant her foot on the next step. He guided her every step of the way. Considering her unsteadiness, Lucien surmised that he’d underestimated her drunkenness. His sister, Chantel had told him
“I’m not alone.” He said cleverly. “The spirit of my family is here--this wine cellar contains a part of my lineage because every one of these bottles came from one of my families vineyards in France.”
Marisela giggled, then she wobbled, before gracefully regaining her balance. She’d obviously had too much to drink. The cellar had been built specifically to store wine, and not to entertain guest. Each room was lined with wooden shelfs, and the space in between these shelfs was limited. Marisela strolled over to where Lucien stood, crowding his personal space.
She lifted up on tiptoes whispering in his ear...
“That’s not what I meant--and you know it.”
Lucien lifted a bottle, then blew dust off the label to read it. Marisela sneezed. She shook her head wildly, rubbing her nose free of the dust. When she gathered herself, she closed the distance, pressing firmly against his side. She gave his arm a feel of her breast. Lucien was a patient man but he didn’t come down here for this. If he wanted to steal away, finding a cozy place to cuddle--it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be with Marisela.
He remained focused on the task at hand, while she slurred saying...
“So...what’s so special about this champagne that you’d much rather be in this dusty old dark cellar--instead of partying upstairs with me--and your other guest?”
Lucien placed the bottle back in its slot. He didn’t waste time looking at her. He wasn’t interested in her, or how she looked. Plus...the space had gotten overly cramped, so he abandoned his task. He placed one hand at the base of Marisela’s back, keeping his eyes on the passageway. While guiding her with gentle nudges, Lucien would urge her to move whenever she slowed and he feared she might stop.
When they were at the tasting table and the stairs were within sight, Lucien said...
“I was looking for a special champagne--a vintage bottled by my grand-poppa. It’s a New Year’s Day tradition. My family--we have reason to celebrate.”
“Yes--I can see how that would be a special reason to be down here. Family...”
She said and he heard a sadness in her voice. Unexpectedly, she twirled unsteadily on high heels to face him. Lifting up to his height, she slanted her head at an angle, attempting to line up their mouths. She aimed her lips to kiss him but her body swayed, giving Lucien time to bob, then dodge her efforts. She said...
“I wish I was one of you--a Delors. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
Her breath smelled like a bouquet of all the wine and mixed cocktails she’d drank--and the combination didn’t smell like flowers.
They were out in the open, but her stare cornered him; and this feeling was worst than being trapped. He had to get out of this cellar. More to the point, Lucien needed to get away from this woman.
“We’d better get back upstairs.” He suggested. “They’ll be looking for us--and we wouldn’t want to make them worry.”
“No...we wouldn’t want that” she said, as if the notion was an afterthought.
Marisela followed his lead, staggering when they got to the stairs. She blurted out...
“I love you Lucien--I always have.”
Oh God--Lucien thought to himself; what in the world had he done to deserve this. He ignored her drunken remark, directing her focus on her feet and moving up the narrow staircase.
“Maris...” he used the shortened version of her name. “...lift your head and keep your hand on the railing.”
With each step, Lucien had to encourage her to lift her leg, then to plant her foot on the next step. He guided her every step of the way. Considering her unsteadiness, Lucien surmised that he’d underestimated her drunkenness. His sister, Chantel had told him
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