The maître d' led them to the discreet table reserved by Saul, a secluded corner of the main dining room where the golden light of the sconces reflected off crystal glasses and the satin sheen of the tablecloth. The aroma of truffles and browned butter lingered in the air, blending with the soft murmur of conversations and the distant sound of a piano.
— I hope you like Obeson Ramsay — said the journalist, pulling out her chair with the elegance of someone accustomed to the sophistication of dinners that mixed charm and strategy.
— I think I'm going to disappoint you, after all, I've never watched your shows — Meggie admitted, crossing her legs beneath the light fabric of her dress, as if to make it clear she wasn't there to impress.
— Let me guess your favorite dishes: pizza, hot dogs, popcorn, and cheesecake for dessert — he teased, amused by the contrast between the setting and her spontaneous demeanor.
— I prefer chocolate desserts — she replied, smiling slightly, her voice both sweet and firm.
— Are you allergic to anything? — Saul asked, leaning forward a little.
— No… You can suggest the dish.
— Two Prestige Menus with wine, please — he told the waiter, who withdrew silently like a stage butler.
— Now explain what I'm going to eat, I don't really like surprises — Meggie warned, playing with the napkin.
— The Prestige Menu is a journey through the chef's cuisine — Saul explained, gesturing naturally — we'll taste several dishes in small portions, each paired with wines selected by the sommelier, a renowned Brazilian named Diogo Oliveira. The first course is sautéed foie gras, accompanied by a Sauternes Château de Fargues 2001, produced in Bordeaux.
— Are you speaking Greek? — Meggie asked, raising an eyebrow.
— Actually, it's French.
— Oh! — she laughed, amused — I thought they were the same thing.
— Okay, simplifying the gastronomic vocabulary — Saul continued — it's a dish made with goose liver, with a rich and buttery texture. The Sauternes is a fuller-bodied wine than what you're probably used to, and its sweetness contrasts with the saltiness of the dish, creating a perfect marriage on the palate. — He smiled with the glow of someone who could turn even a culinary explanation into art.
— Does the same wine go with the other dishes? — Meggie feigned interest, teasing him.
— Absolutely not, each dish has its own personality.
— The same goes for wine.
— Exactly! They need to be in harmony.
— Pairing at the table is very similar to human relationships.
— Imagine a relationship between Diana and Francis — Saul said, laughing at his own comparison.
— It wouldn't work, they say he's gay. Now… — she paused deliberately, playing with her glass.
— Now…? — Saul raised an eyebrow, curious.
— Between Diana and you, I can easily imagine it… — Meggie suggested, letting the air vibrate with ambiguity.
— You probably already know that we've gone out casually a few times, driven by temporary interests — he replied, holding her gaze.
— That's a new one… temporary interests — she commented ironically, savoring the challenge.
— We were both interested in the same thing. We're adults and responsible; you don't need to be in love to feel and give pleasure.
— Some people would disagree.
— There are always some annoying people around who think they know better what to do with our lives than we do.
— And why didn't it work?
— There are no perfect wines to accompany complex dishes.
— Only approximations…
— Some attempts are more successful than others.
— It's not wrong to try to be happy, is it?
— Even if only temporarily.
— It's better to be temporarily happy than eternally unhappy.
— In that sense, the mistake is not trying.
— I think I understand… she wasn't really your kind of wine.
— Almost that — Saul replied, looking away. He wasn't willing to expose his intimate life to the assistant, especially during such a carefully planned dinner.
— What do you mean? — she insisted, leaning slightly over the table, her sweet perfume filling the air.
— Sometimes it's the right person, just at the wrong time, that's all… — he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
— In that strange explanation of yours, is there no place for soulmates?
— There are perfect pairings… foie gras with Sauternes is an example you're about to try. Oysters with champagne as well.
— Have you ever found your perfect match? — Meggie went straight to the point, looking Saul in the eyes, her voice lightly challenging.
He lowered his head and sighed heavily. For a moment, the journalist, always so confident and sarcastic, seemed like a different man—someone carrying a past that still bled in silence. His hands rested on the table, and his expression, once proud, dissolved into a mix of melancholy and regret. The piano in the background shifted its tone, and the moment took on an almost liturgical weight.