Henry Sullivan lowered his eyes with a smile, and Ivy Miller shouted, "Robert Weston, don’t you look down on people! Do you know who my husband is? He is..."
Henry Sullivan grabbed her hand and looked at Robert Weston: "Is that so? Then thanks for your hospitality, I won’t be polite."
Ivy Miller looked at him puzzled. What’s up with this guy? He actually just took that humiliation?
Oh, right, she seemed to have forgotten that the uncle didn’t know her relationship with Robert Weston, so it really seemed unnecessary to get angry over such a thing.
But... Robert Weston’s words sounded so awful! How could he be indifferent, really unbelievable.
So does this captain only have a bad temper with her?
Then isn’t she unjustly treated?
At this time, Henry Sullivan raised his hand and called over the waiter: "Bring a bottle of ’86 Lafite."
The waiter shot him a surprised look: "Sir, you mean from ’86?"
"Yes," said Henry Sullivan with his arms crossed, "today we have a generous man here inviting us, you can open it with peace of mind."
"Okay," the waiter turned and left. Ivy Miller covered her mouth with a giggle, and when she looked back at Robert Weston, she thought his face had turned green.
She raised her hand and linked it with Henry Sullivan’s arm: "Honey, I’ve never had such good wine before, today it’s really thanks to your luck."
"How can it be my luck, gotta properly thank your senior."
Ivy Miller giggled and looked at Robert Weston: "Thanks, for broadening my horizons."
Robert Weston gritted his teeth: "You’re welcome."
Mila Hughes and Chloe Wilder lowered their heads and snickered. They didn’t really know that this captain could be so cunning.
When the red wine was brought, Henry Sullivan picked up the bottle and glanced at it. The waiter said, "Sir, since this wine is quite precious, we only have three bottles at our bar. Once opened, it can be stored here, but it cannot be returned or exchanged. Please confirm before having us open it."
To be honest, once this kind of wine is opened, if there’s any problem, the waiter couldn’t afford to compensate, so it was already agreed upon beforehand.
Henry Sullivan glanced over it, "Open it."
"Wait a minute," Robert Weston immediately said, stepping forward to look at the bottle: "How do you know your wine isn’t fake?"
"Anyone who knows wine can tell with one taste. This can’t be fake; it’s from our boss’s private collection."
"Sure, any seller wouldn’t admit their wine is fake."
"Sir, we don’t sell fakes here, or we compensate ten times the amount."
Ivy Miller crossed her arms: "What’s wrong, Robert Weston, are you worried you can’t foot the bill for this wine?"
"That’s not what I mean, I mean... if this wine turns out to be fake, and none of us can tell the difference, it would be a waste of money."
Henry Sullivan said indifferently, "Doesn’t matter, I know wine. I drink this kind of wine often, once it’s opened, I can take a sip and tell immediately."
Ivy Miller tried hard not to laugh, the uncle’s way of showing off deserved 101 out of 100, one extra point for him to be proud.
Robert Weston clung to the bottle tightly, unwilling to let go. Everyone was watching him, and he was too embarrassed to admit he didn’t have the money.
"Robert Weston, your girlfriend is so rich, wouldn’t even cover a wine bill for you? Such a poor marriage into a rich family," Ivy Miller shook her head, clicking her tongue twice.
"Easy for you to say, why don’t you go and pay the bill," Robert Weston huffed discontentedly.
Henry Sullivan rested his hand on Ivy Miller’s shoulder and said to the waiter, "I’ll pay the bill, open the wine." This text is hosted at novel⸺fire.net