Chapter 2
Iris's POV
The fraternity house was lit up from the inside out.
Guys on the front steps were shouting over each other, red wine sloshing in their glasses. Music and voices poured from the open door, loud enough to rattle the walls.
Lysandra walked in wearing a low-cut red dress and owned the room instantly. She pulled me through the crowd, stopping every few steps to introduce me.
"This is my roommate Iris." All warmth, all smiles. "It's her first time at something like this—I couldn't just leave her alone in the dorm, you know? Everyone deserves a chance to see how the other half lives."
Each time, whoever she was talking to would glance at me, then give Lysandra a knowing little smile.
I followed with a glass of soda water and watched it all play out.
Nothing to get upset about. She was just doing what she did best.
By nine, the party was in full swing.
A long table at the center of the room was lined with wine bottles. At the head of it, a silver-haired man with an unhurried manner was walking students through a tasting.
"That's Étienne Moreau," Lysandra murmured, eyes bright. "Visiting professor from France. One of the biggest wine experts in the world. Get on his radar and the right alumni doors open right up."
She set down her champagne, smoothed her dress, and pushed to the front.
"Bonsoir, Professeur." Her French came out stiff—rehearsed. "The wine is just incredible, don't you think?"
The professor's brow creased. Probably the accent.
"Thank you, my dear," he said, switching to English without hesitation. "But good wine isn't meant to be praised. It's meant to be observed—with your eyes, your nose, and a great deal of patience."
Lysandra smiled, then turned and pulled me straight to the front.
"Professor, this is my roommate Iris. She doesn't really have much experience with, well, any of this." Her voice carried across the room. "Maybe she could try a blind taste? You know—give her a feel for what real discernment looks like."
The room went quiet.
Dozens of eyes landed on me. Curious. Expectant. A few already amused. Brittany had a hand over her mouth. Jessica's phone was up.
Lysandra held out a glass of deep red wine. "Go ahead, Iris. Don't worry if you get it wrong—no one's gonna laugh."
The professor frowned and started to speak.
"It's fine, Professor." I beat him to it.
I took the glass. Didn't swirl it—just tilted it toward the chandelier light and checked the color at the rim. Then I brought it to my nose and breathed in, slow.
Didn't need to taste it.
The nose told me everything.
"Hmm? Nothing?" Lysandra stepped closer. "Even just a famous name—go on, nobody's gonna hold it against you."
I set the glass down and looked at the professor.
"2015 Margaux. High Cab Sauv ratio. Firm tannins, well-integrated."
Lysandra laughed. "Oh come on. You Googled that. Anyone can throw out a famous château name."
"But there's a problem with this bottle." I kept my voice even. "The cork got damp. Not enough to fully contaminate it, but the mid-palate fruit is buried under wet cardboard."
I paused.
"It's a top wine ruined by bad storage. Shame, really."
Dead silence.
The professor stared at me for a beat. Then he stepped forward, took the glass, inhaled deeply, and took a small sip.
He set it down and started clapping.
"Remarkable." He shook his head slowly. "This is indeed a 2015 Margaux. I slipped it in among the table wines to see if anyone could catch the flaw. Most trained sommeliers would miss it. Young lady—your nose is genuinely extraordinary."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The faces that had been ready to laugh were looking at me very differently now.
"That's—no." Lysandra's smile had frozen solid. "She was guessing."
The professor turned to her. His tone stayed mild, but there was nothing kind in it.
"Discernment comes from years of serious practice, mademoiselle. Not a few rehearsed phrases in French." He let that land, then added: "And the way you held your glass earlier—your palm had already warmed the wine past serving temperature."
Lysandra's face went scarlet.
She'd built the trap. She'd walked right into it.
The professor turned back to me and held out a card. "Iris. I run a small private tasting circle. If you're ever interested."
"Thank you, Professor. I'd like that."
Back at the dorm, Lysandra slammed the door. Her face was thunderous.
I changed into pajamas, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and lay down.
I hadn't turned anything on.
"She was GUESSING." Lysandra's voice came through the silence, tight and vicious, in French. "I am NOT letting this go."
"So what are you gonna do?" Brittany asked.
"Saturday. We're going to L'Étoile downtown." A cold, thin laugh. "Three Michelin stars. The manager Pierre is a friend of my cousin's. I'll have him set up something very special for us."
"And then?"
"Then that little nobody finds out exactly how far beneath me she really is."
"Then that broke-ass bitch figures out pretty damn quick she's nothing. Absolutely nothing."
I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
My mouth twitched.
L'Étoile?
Now that was interesting.
