Without saying a word, Oliver grabbed the wrist of Andrew, who was holding Carla's hand. He gripped Andrew's wrist firmly, making Andrew roar in pain.
"Dog, that really hurts!" Andrew squealed, surprised by the strength of Oliver's grip.
Automatically, Andrew released his grip from Carla's arm. But Oliver was still clutching him and was now twisting his arm, causing him to yelp in pain again.
"Dog dog dog, it hurts, you bastard! Let go!" Andrew shouted, making Oliver smile because, in his eyes, it was so funny.
Several people turned their heads toward them.
Carla realized that. Not wanting to be the center of people's attention, she quickly acted.
"That's it! Stop your silly behavior before we get kicked out by security!" Carla stepped forward and tried to let go of Oliver's hand.
Oliver complied and let go of Andrew's hand. Andrew immediately waved his hand around, observing the reddish color that appeared on his wrist.
Andrew gave Oliver a hateful look. Oliver, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy Andrew's hostility.
To avoid any further silliness, Carla immediately dragged the two of them into the VIP guest room.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." The waiter came to greet them and escorted them to their reserved tables.
The interior design of the French restaurant was elegant and luxurious. Classical music played softly from the stereo equipment. From the beat of the rhythm, Oliver knew very well that the instrumental music being played was Norwegian Wood by The Beatless.
"Why, is this the first time I've heard music this classy? What a bumpkin!" said Andrew when the three of them were seated.
"Carla, I honestly wonder why you brought your trashy husband here. Didn't we just want to have dinner together? I swear, he doesn't belong in a fancy restaurant like this. His appearance is okay, not bad, but a bumpkin is a bumpkin. He'll embarrass us!"
Andrew blurted out so lightly as if he didn't care whether Oliver would respond or not. Perhaps he had forgotten that just moments before, Oliver had caused him pain.
"Never mind. Let's not talk about that. Now let's just eat," Carla said.
Andrew was a little surprised by Carla's response, as was Oliver.
Andrew had thought Carla would be in conspire with him, joining in the criticism of the Harvey Family's trashy husband. Oliver, however, sensed a defensive tone from his wife, which was unusual.
Had Carla's feelings for Oliver changed?
The waiter arrived, asking for the orders of the three of them. The waiter asked in English, but Andrew then acted like a big shot, answering the waiter's question in French.
Despite his stammering accent, Andrew could apparently speak the language of the country famous for its Eiffel Tower. Then, still, in his bumbling style, he asked Oliver and Carla what they wanted to order.
Andrew acted as if he was a reliable translator. He relayed Oliver and Carla's order to the waiter, in French, of course.
The waiter smiled and nodded politely, then left. Andrew smiled and puffed out his chest. He seemed so proud of his mediocre French.
Oliver glanced at Andrew while trying his best to hold back his laughter. Andrew's behavior was becoming more and more like a joke to him. It was ridiculous that he was sharing a table with someone like this.
While waiting for their orders to arrive, they chatted. As expected, Andrew started bragging.
"That's right. Right now, my business is really going uphill. I got a tender yesterday from an acquaintance in Lyon. I only know them online. But he was really interested in joining my business. I think he's very professional and knows very well which businesses have potential...."
Andrew continued to blurt out like a broken radio even though no one asked. And as he did so, his eyes kept wandering to Carla's cleavage, which looked beautiful in the dress she was wearing.
He occasionally paused and picked up the glass of water in front of her, and as he drank, his eyes kept falling on Carla's cleavage.
"Now I'm really sure that my business is ready to go international. That's why I recently started learning French. Online, through an app. But, because maybe I'm a smart person by nature. Even though I'm only learning through an app, you can see for yourself. I can already speak French."
Andrew took a deep breath and leaned his back against the back of the chair. His chest heaved with pride. How ridiculous!
Oliver was amused earlier and was fed up too. Andrew's narcissistic behavior made him want to vomit.
If Carla hadn't been there, he would have kicked Andrew's ass.
"Wow. That's great. That means you've already been to Paris, right?" said Carla, mesmerized.
"Uh... oh... Yes, I have. Hehe," Andrew replied, sitting in an awkward position.
Judging by his gesture, Oliver knew that Andrew must be lying to get Carla's attention.
"Cool! I'd love to be taught French sometime. I also want to go on a vacation to France someday," Carla responded innocently like a child.
"Oh, okay. I'll teach you later. For free, of course. You can just come to my apartment," Andrew replied enthusiastically.
At this point, Andrew reached out his hand slowly, intending to grab Carla's hand on the table.
Oliver realized this, and he wasn't going to let it happen. With a move like cutting down a tree, Oliver swatted Andrew's hand away!
"Heh, asshole, what's wrong with you?" Andrew snapped, angry.
"You trash! If you've never been to school, you're like this. You can only play physically! I honestly feel sorry for you. You can't even speak French like I did, you can't even speak English very well, that's why you're so physically strong!"
After saying that so vehemently, a mocking smile spread across Andrew's face. The war between the two of them began.
"What, French? Did you say that in French?"
Oliver asked with a slightly confused face, deliberately provoking Andrew's anger.
"Oh my God! You stupid trash! It's really like a curse that Carla has to marry used oil like you! Let's see, I'll call the waiter once again. Look closely, so you can learn like me!"
Andrew waved his hand to call the waiter.
Andrew ordered a white wine from the waiter using his mediocre French.
After that, he looked at Oliver with a more or less meaningful look: "See, I'm good at speaking French, right?"
Oliver remained silent with a flat expression on his face. He wasn't ready to act yet.
Soon the waiter arrived with Andrew's order.
"Here, have a taste of the best quality white wine imported directly from France!"
Andrew stylishly poured the wine from the bottle into Carla and Oliver's glasses.
Oliver followed Andrew's game. He grabbed the glass of white wine and brought it close to his face.
With just a whiff of the aroma, Oliver knew it was a local white wine from London…
"Is this imported wine? Yeah... Hahaha..."
Oliver laughed in satisfaction as he put the glass back on the table.
Unhappy with her husband's insolence, Carla stepped on Oliver's foot and gave him a sharp look.
"Ouch..." Oliver said, then smiled. He was really enjoying this game.
Andrew, meanwhile, was infuriated that the wine he called imported was being laughed at by Oliver.
"You little rascal! How can trash like you understand expensive wine! You usually drink rice-washing water!" Andrew scolded, eyes widening.
Oliver really had to restrain himself from grabbing Andrew's chin and slamming him onto the table.
Slowly, Andrew reached for the stemmed glass on the table and gulped down the contents.
"Ukkhh!"
Andrew choked on the first sip.
"Hahahaha..."
Oliver's laughter erupted instantly.
After wiping the wine from the corner of his lips, Andrew said something to Oliver in French.
Oliver's face reddened instantly. Oliver knew that even in his home country, a public transportation driver wouldn't say that word!
"Listen, Andrew, let me translate what the waiter said. When you ordered wine, the waiter said that only local London wine is available at the moment. You don't understand French!" said Oliver with his jaw tightened.
"Dog, you're such a smartass!" Andrew was not having it.
"I know what you're talking about!"
Oliver glared threateningly at Andrew.
Feeling something different in Oliver's gaze, Andrew immediately puckered up like a bird in the rain.
Carla noticed it, too and began to worry. She'd been uncomfortable all along because Andrew kept stirring things up, and his words to Oliver honestly disturbed her.
Oliver raised his hand, calling out to the waiter.
Once he arrived at their table, Oliver ordered an appetizer.
"Je…Je voudrais commander trois foies gras poêlés, soupe à l'oignon feuilleée." (I would like to order three French fried foie gras, puff pastry, and onion soup.)
Oliver said it in perfect-sounding French. His accent even sounded better than the waiter's. What a surprise!
The waiter widened his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand. He marveled at the way Oliver spoke. He said it was the first time the restaurant had a guest whose French was as perfect as Oliver's.
Carla was surprised to learn of her husband's hidden talent. Unconsciously, she looked deeply into Oliver's face.
Oliver's voice, as he spoke the words in French, sounded so melodious and pleasing to the ear. Carla was mesmerized.
In addition, the way Oliver had responded to all of Andrew's insults and remarks against him earlier, calmly and elegantly, had opened Carla's eyes.
'Where have I been all this time?' Carla thought bitterly.
For the first time, Carla could see the hidden beauty in the man who had healed and married her. And to get to this point, years had passed.
Carla shook her head; she couldn't believe she had missed something this interesting!
Meanwhile, Andrew, from the moment Oliver started talking to the waiter, looked as pale as if he had seen a ghost.
Without realizing it, he kept staring at Oliver and secretly marveled at how fluently Oliver spoke French.
What a different level they were on!
After the waiter left, Oliver looked at Andrew. From his eyes, a number of arrows seemed ready to be shot into Andrew's chest.
Continued....