Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 6
“Wouldyoulikeadrink?”heasks.Iblinkathim.Afterlastnight!Ishetryingtobefunny?Foronesecond,Ithinkaboutaskingforamargarita—butIdon’thavethenerve.
“I’mgoingtohaveaglassofwhitewine.Wouldyouliketojoinme?”
“Yes,please,”Imurmur.
Iamstandinginthisenormousroomfeelingoutofplace.Iwalkovertotheglasswall,andIrealizethatthelowerhalfofthewallopensconcertinastyleontothebalcony.Seattleislitupandlivelyinthebackground.Iwalkbacktothekitchenarea—ittakesafewseconds,it’ssofarfromtheglasswall—andChristianisopeningabottleofwine.He’sremovedhisjacket.
“PouillyFuméokaywithyou?”
“Iknownothingaboutwine,Christian.I’msureitwillbefine.”Myvoiceissoftandhesitant.Myheartisthumping.Iwanttorun.Thisisseriouslyrich.Seriouslyover-the-topBillGates–stylewealthy.WhatamIdoinghere?Youknowverywellwhatyou’redoinghere,mysubconscioussneersatme.Yes,IwanttobeinChristianGrey’sbed.
“Here.”Hehandsmeaglassofwine.Eventheglassesarerich…heavy,contemporarycrystal.Itakeasip,andthewineislight,crisp,anddelicious.
“You’reveryquiet,andyou’renotevenblushing.Infact,IthinkthisisthepalestI’veeverseenyou,Anastasia,”hemurmurs.“Areyouhungry?”
Ishakemyhead.Notforfood.“It’saverybigplaceyouhavehere.”
“Big?”
“Big.”
“It’sbig,”heagrees,andhiseyesglowwithamusement.Itakeanothersipofwine.
“Doyouplay?”Ipointmychinatthepiano.
“Yes.
