Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 24
IraiseaneyebrowatChristian,whosmirksbackatme.
“Youknow,sometimesit’sgreatbeingme,”hesayswithaconspiratorialbutsmuggrinthatIsimplycan’thelpemulating.He’ssolovablewhenhe’splayfulandcarefree.Heopensmycardoorwithanexaggeratedbow,andinIclimb.Heisinsuchagoodmood.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“You’llsee.”Hegrinsasheslipsthecarintodrive,andweheadoutonSavannahParkway.HeprogramstheGPSandpressesaswitchonthesteeringwheel,andaclassicalorchestralpiecefillsthecar.
“What’sthis?”Iaskasthesweet,sweetsoundofahundredviolinstringsassailsus.
“It’sfromLaTraviata.AnoperabyVerdi.”
Oh,my…it’slovely.
“LaTraviata?I’veheardofthat.Ican’tthinkwhere.Whatdoesitmean?”
Christianglancesatmeandsmirks.
“Well,literally,‘thewomanledastray.’It’sbasedonAlexandreDumas’sbook,LaDameauxCamélias.”
“Ah.I’vereadit.”
“Ithoughtyoumight’ve.”
“Thedoomedcourtesan.”Isquirmuncomfortablyintheplushleatherseat.Ishetryingtotellmesomething?“Hmm,it’sadepressingstory,”Imutter.
“Toodepressing?Doyouwanttochoosesomemusic?ThisisonmyiPod.”Christianhasthatsecretsmileagain.
Ican’tseehisiPodanywhere.Hetapsthescreenontheconsolebetweenus,andbehold—thereisaplaylist.
“Youchoose.”Hislipstwitchupintoasmile,andIknowit’sachallenge.
ChristianGrey’siPod,thisshouldbeinteresting.Iscrollthroughthetouchscreenandfindtheperfectsong.Ipress“play.
