Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 12
“Ijustdon’tthinkourrelationshipisgoingtogoanywhere.”Istaredownatmyfingers.
“IthoughtyousaidyouweregoingtoseehimonWednesday?”
“Iam.Thatwasouroriginalplan.”
“So,whydidheturnupheretoday?”
“Isenthimane-mail.”
“Askinghimtodropby?”
“No,sayingIdidn’twanttoseehimanymore.”
“Andheturnsup?Ana,that’sgenius.”
“Actually,itwasajoke.”
“Oh.NowI’mreallyconfused.”
Patiently,Iexplaintheessenceofmye-mailwithoutgivinganythingaway.
“Soyouthoughthe’dreplybye-mail.”
“Yes.”
“Butinsteadheturnsuphere.”
“Yes.”
“I’dsayhe’scompletelysmittenwithyou.”
Ifrown.Christiansmittenwithme?Hardly.He’sjustlookingforanewtoy—aconvenientnewtoythathecanbedanddounspeakablethingsto.Myhearttightenspainfully.Thisisthereality.
“Hecameheretofuckme,that’sall.”
“Whosaidromancewasdead?”shewhispers,horrified.I’veshockedKate.Ididn’tthinkthatwaspossible.Ishrugapologetically.
“Heusessexasaweapon.”
“Fuckyouintosubmission?”Sheshakesherheaddisapprovingly.Iblinkrapidlyather,andIfeeltheblushasitspreadsacrossmyface.Oh…spoton,KatherineKavanagh,PulitzerPrize–winningjournalist.
“Ana,Idon’tunderstand,youjustlethimmakelovetoyou?”
“No,Kate,wedon’tmakelove—wefuck—Christian’sterminology.Hedoesn’tdothelovething.”
“Iknewtherewassomethingweirdabouthim.Hehascommitmentissues.”
Inod,asifinagreement.Inwardly,Ipine.
