Chapter 967: The Dinner

Doyle was clearly in a bad mood. Oscar had insisted on this dinner; refusing would be disrespectful to the Commander of Northfield, but agreeing felt equally unpleasant. If Doyle were merely a brand designer, there would be no such dilemma. He wasn't part of Northfield; slighting the commander wouldn't matter. However, as the Prince of Jolencami, negative publicity could severely damage relations between the two countries, potentially escalating into an international incident.

After considerable deliberation, Doyle reluctantly conceded, "Alright then, let's go."

"It's not like we're losing anything by going," Besse remarked.

Doyle nodded and instructed the staff, "Tell Mr. Commander we were outdoors all day and need showers before dinner. We may be late; if he wishes to wait, so be it."

"Yes, sir," the staff replied respectfully.

Doyle took Besse's hand and they entered the lobby, taking an elevator upstairs.

"Why are you so upset about dinner?" Besse asked, aware of Doyle's tendency to be emotionally transparent.

Doyle was vexed. "Do you want to have dinner with him?" he countered.

Besse instinctively shook her head. She harbored reservations about Oscar, though she couldn't articulate why. However, mindful of Doyle's position, she prioritized avoiding any loss of face.

Only after seeing Besse's reaction did Doyle confide softly, "I always feel like Oscar is trying too hard, scheming or stealing something from us."

Besse chuckled lightly. "Maybe he just wants better relations between our countries."

"No," Doyle replied firmly. "He knows I don't want to go, yet he forces me. If he wanted my approval, he shouldn't have disregarded my wishes."

Doyle, though sometimes emotional, was not foolish. His extensive education allowed him a clearer perspective than most in such situations.

Besse nodded in agreement; Oscar's true intentions remained unknown until they accepted his invitation.

They returned to their separate rooms, showered, and changed clothes, deliberately delaying their descent in hopes that Oscar would wait all night.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, they found only Oscar and the staff. His bodyguards were stationed at the entrance, a display of sincerity. The staff respectfully guided them to the lone table. Oscar rose to greet them.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Doyle apologized superficially.

"Not at all. It's expected," Oscar smiled, then addressed Besse: "Good evening, Miss Besse." He extended his hand.

Besse frowned at Oscar's outstretched hand. Before she could respond, Doyle took her hand, saying, "It's getting late, Mr. Commander, let's eat."

Oscar lowered his hand without awkwardness. He instructed the staff, "Serve us."

"Yes, Commander."

The three sat down.

"Prince Doyle has traveled far; I've prepared some special Northfield red wine for you to try," Oscar initiated the conversation.

"Okay," Doyle nodded.

"Miss Besse, you might enjoy some as well," Oscar added.

"She doesn't need any. She can't drink alcohol; even low-alcohol wine would intoxicate her," Doyle immediately refused. He then instructed a staff member, "Prepare a cup of hot milk for her."

Besse glanced at Doyle; he'd denied her wine, now even a suitable alternative. She preferred something other than milk.

"Be good, you'll need more milk when preparing for pregnancy," Doyle, sensing her resistance, gently coaxed her.

Oscar, holding a glass of red wine, seemed to stiffen slightly at the mention of "preparing for pregnancy," but he slowly sipped his wine without betraying any unusual behavior. Besse, naturally, detected nothing. She compromised, watching as Doyle attentively cut her steak and wiped food from her mouth.

They ate mostly in silence. Oscar ate little, claiming he wasn't hungry. He drank wine, observing Doyle's constant attention to Besse. Doyle, noticing Oscar's gaze, asked, "Mr. Commander, aren't you going to eat?"

Oscar resumed eating, replying, "I was hungry earlier, waiting for you. Now I'm not so hungry."

"You didn't have to wait, Mr. Commander. I'm just an ordinary person on a business trip or vacation."

"Prince Doyle is in Northfield; it's my duty as a host to extend hospitality."

"If my presence inconveniences you, I should have left with Besse earlier."

Oscar pursed his lips, apologizing, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you trouble or make you want to leave."

Besse looked up at Oscar. She'd prompted Doyle earlier to discourage further intrusions by implying they didn't want to be a burden. Oscar, however, shifted the blame back onto them.

Given the diplomatic context, Doyle couldn't admit his dislike of Oscar, but his annoyance was evident. Besse quickly intervened, "I'm sure there's a misunderstanding, Mr. Commander. Doyle means we're sorry to disturb you."

"You didn't disturb me," Oscar said, looking at Besse. This was their first conversation.

"We did," Besse replied. "Mr. Commander waited until this hour; by the time we finish, it will be midnight. You need to work tomorrow; we're sorry to intrude on your sleep."

"I don't have work tomorrow," Oscar smiled. "It's my vacation."

"You have a vacation?" Doyle exclaimed incredulously.

Oscar chuckled. "I'm not a machine; I need time off."

"Then you shouldn't waste your precious holiday on us," Besse quickly added, "You should spend it with your family."