The sommelier scoffed when I asked for a bottle of her boldest red. “It’s very exclusive,” she said with arrogance.

I found her whole performance to be off-putting. But I held my tongue.”I’ll take it,” I said, holding her gaze.

The sommelier disappeared momentarily before returning with a dark bottle splayed on a fluffy white towel, like a newly born aristocrat being presented in court.

“This way, sir,” she said, indicating a private room. “As I said, this bottle is very exclusive.”

The sommelier led me into the room, which contained only a small table and corkscrew. There was no wine glass.

“Take your time,” she said, disinterest hanging in the air long after she closed the door behind her.

I corked the bottle and a woman climbed out.

“What can I do for you,” she asked.

“Put things back how they used to be,” I pleaded. I wanted her to fix everything that went wrong. I wanted her to make me someone deserving of the love of the woman who haunts my dreams.

“Very well,” she said, misunderstanding, and disappeared back into the bottle of wine.

I fell to my knees in despair, but hoping for a refund.