Author's Note: As a response to all of my readers who had been following "A Taste of Heaven in Hell," hungrily. I thought it would be fun to tell Ronald and William's story before we get to England and the introduction of Sebastian. This story was inspired by the 2008 film "Bottle Shock." It's a fun film so you will see parallels, however it's not entirely the same. I hope you enjoy this series as we explore the elegance of a glass of wine and the strife which goes along with it.
"Wine is sunlight, held together by water"
-Galileo Galei
Prologue:
There is a certain romance when it comes to wine, it's as though the venire has managed to capture the sun, rain, soil and soul in a single bottle. The sun of the season caressing each vine as it crests the hill before making her trip across the sky. The ceremony of popping the cork from a beautiful green glass bottles, the emancipation of a bouquet which teases the tongue and ensnares the senses, and even stop time if only for a moment. Just the right wine can make a meal sing, the wrong one can destroy it and sometimes it may seem extraneous. The perfect wine is much like the perfect gem, nearly impossible to find, yet sought after by many.
On a small street in Paris, just past a book seller is a small shop with dark windows and no awning. The building it's self is a cool gray with an oak door, the same weathered color as the barrels in which wine is aged. The door handle is a smooth and cool brass, the windows have been cleaned and are streak free with a small sign that hands in the window proclaiming it open. The larger window has gold letters across it proclaiming it L' Academy du Vin, shimmering in the light above the name William T. Spears, Sommelier, just bellow in script. Several empty bottles and miniature barrels rest on the sill of the window, all clear of dust. A set of wine glasses resting near a unlabeled bottle are near a vase which is surrounded by silk.
At the counter leaning over the morning paper with bright green eyes, combed to perfection hair, in a three piece suit with tie is none other than the shop's owner. A pair of thick black rectangular glasses rest on his nose. A cup of tea sits steeping off to his left as he sighs and looked over the titles in the paper. A sigh escapes his lips as he hears the distant click of the minute hand making its perpetual trip around the face of the clock. The walls behind him are lined from wall to ceiling with wine racks covered in bottles. There is a small counter which is polished to perfection and a series of red and white wine glasses resting in glass cabinets. Several high stools line one side of the table while only his stool resides on the other. Blindly the young man reaches for his tea cup and brings it to his lips, the ticking of the clock is the only sound which can be heard, other than the occasional rustle of the paper as he turned the pages. The faint smell of wine can be detected, not as potent as the tea which has been steeping for hours, but close.
Oddly, in this shop, early in the morning, is where we begin.