As they both settled into their seats, side by side, on the elegant expanse of the obsidian-hued couch, Damien graciously served Rosalie a generous pour of deep-red wine. As he turned around to fill his own glass, a vital admonition resurfaced in his mind, prompting him to issue a gentle caution,
"Lady Rosalie, please be careful. This wine hails from the North and wields potent strength. It would be wise to savor it in measured sips ––"
Before he could conclude his counsel, Rosalie abruptly placed the glass, its contents now a mere memory, upon the polished wooden coffee table that stood before them. She exhaled a satisfied sigh, one that bespoke a connoisseur of indulgence, and nonchalantly brushed her mouth with the back of her pale left hand.
"Your Grace, another glass, please!"
Exclaimed Rosalie with an almost mischievous glint in her eyes.
