He thought she was being a little unjust to the chianti they'd tried earlier, but neither of her suggestions were poor ones. He was a bit surprised that she had experience with expensive wines — but perhaps she didn't, really, beyond knowing how to pronounce the names. He'd written to her and not anyone else for this trip because he assumed, based on their conversation at her music hall, that she would be able to get through a week on the continent without embarrassing him with her lack of class or taste. So far it seemed he'd assessed her correctly. She either had taste, or she was a better actress than any of her performers. Ultimately, it didn't make much difference to him as long as the appearance was there.

He raised his eyebrow at her last suggestion. He was familiar with the stories* and thought her choice of wine was more about the suggestive nature of the name rather than the taste. Well, if she wanted to escalate things he had no qualms with cutting this particular event short. Oz waved the waiter over from the interior of the villa. "We're through sampling," he said, waving away the fresh glasses and bottle the man had brought with him. "A bottle of Barolo to my room, and Vin Santo to the table, please."

Oz looked back towards his companion across the table. "Should we order a dessert to complement it?"

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