Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Christian,youshouldtakeAnatoParis,”Miastatesfirmly.

           “IthinkAnastasiawouldpreferLondon,”Christiansayssoftly.

           Oh…heremembered.Heplaceshishandonmyknee—hisfingerstravelingupmythigh.Mywholebodytightensinresponse.No…nothere,notnow.Iflushandshift,tryingtopullawayfromhim.Hishandclampsdownonmythigh,stillingme.Ireachformywineindesperation.

           LittleMissEuropeanPigtailsreturns,allcoyglancesandswayinghips,withourentrées:beefWellington,Ithink.Fortunately,shegivesusourplatesandthenleaves,althoughshelingershandingChristianhis.HelooksquizzicallyatmeasIwatchherclosethediningroomdoor.

           “SowhatwaswrongwiththeParisians?”Elliotaskshissister.“Didn’ttheytaketoyourwinsomeways?”

           “Ugh,notheydidn’t.AndMonsieurFloubert,theogreIwasworkingfor,hewassuchadomineeringtyrant.”

           Isplutterintomywine.

           “Anastasia,areyouokay?”Christianaskssolicitously,takinghishandoffmythigh.

           Humorhasreturnedtohisvoice.Oh,thankheavens.WhenInod,hepatsmybackgentlyandonlyremoveshishandwhenheknowsI’verecovered.

           Thebeefisdeliciousandservedwithroastedsweetpotatoes,carrots,parsnips,andgreenbeans.ItisevenmorepalatablesinceChristianmanagestoretainhisgoodhumorfortherestofthemeal.Isuspectthatit’sbecauseI’meatingsoheartily.TheconversationflowsfreelyamongtheGreys,warmandcaring,gentlyteasingoneanother.