Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Andyes,I’dlovesometea.”Kateracesoutofthekitchen.

           Phew,KatherineKavanaghsidetracked.Isliceabagelandpopitintothetoaster.Iflush,rememberingmyvividdream.WhatonEarthwasthatabout?

           LastnightIfoundithardtosleep.Myheadwasbuzzingwithvariousoptions.Iamsoconfused.Christian’sideaofarelationshipismorelikeajoboffer.Ithassethours,ajobdescription,andaratherharshgrievanceprocedure.It’snothowIenvisagedmyfirstromance—but,ofcourse,Christiandoesn’tdoromance.IfItellhimIwantmore,hemaysayno…andIcouldjeopardizewhathehasoffered.Andthisiswhatconcernsmemost,becauseIdon’twanttolosehim.ButI’mnotsureIhavethestomachtobehissubmissive—deepdown,it’sthecanesandwhipsthatputmeoff.I’maphysicalcoward,andIwillgoalongwaytoavoidpain.Ithinkofmydream…isthatwhatitwouldbelike?Myinnergoddessjumpsupanddownwithcheerleadingpom-pomsshoutingyesatme.

           Katecomesbackintothekitchenwithherlaptop.Iconcentrateonmybagelandlistenpatientlyassherunsthroughhervaledictorianspeech.

           IAMDRESSEDANDreadywhenRayarrives.Iopenthefrontdoor,andhe’sstandingontheporchinhisill-fittingsuit.Awarmsurgeofgratitudeandloveforthisuncomplicatedmanstreaksthroughme,andIthrowmyarmsaroundhiminanuncharacteristicdisplayofaffection.He’stakenaback,bemused.

           “Hey,Annie,I’mpleasedtoseeyou,too,”hemuttersashehugsme.Settingmebackdown,hishandsonmyshoulders,helooksmeupanddown,hisbrowfurrowed.