Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 3
Whyhasthisconversationbecomesoserious?Thisisn’tgoingthewayIthoughtitwasgoingtogo.Ican’tbelieveI’mfeelingsoantagonistictowardhim.It’slikehe’stryingtowarnmeoff.
“Theonlypeoplewhousemygivennamearemyfamilyandafewclosefriends.That’sthewayIlikeit.”
Oh.Hestillhasn’tsaid,“CallmeChristian.”Heisacontrolfreak,there’snootherexplanation,andpartofmeisthinkingmaybeitwouldhavebeenbetterifKatehadinterviewedhim.Twocontrolfreakstogether.Plus,ofcourse,she’salmostblond—well,strawberryblond—likeallthewomeninhisoffice.Andshe’sbeautiful,mysubconsciousremindsme.Idon’tliketheideaofChristianandKate.Itakeasipofmytea,andGreyeatsanothersmallpieceofhismuffin.
“Areyouanonlychild?”heasks.
Whoa…hekeepschangingdirection.
“Yes.”
“Tellmeaboutyourparents.”
Whydoeshewanttoknowthis?It’ssodull.
“MymomlivesinGeorgiawithhernewhusband,Bob.MystepdadlivesinMontesano.”
“Yourfather?”
“MyfatherdiedwhenIwasababy.”
“I’msorry,”hemutters,andafleeting,troubledlookcrosseshisface.
“Idon’trememberhim.”
“Andyourmotherremarried?”
Isnort.
“Youcouldsaythat.”
Hefrownsatme.
“You’renotgivingmuchaway,areyou?”hesaysdryly,rubbinghischinasifindeepthought.
“Neitherareyou.”
“You’veinterviewedmeoncealready,andIcanrecollectsomequiteprobingquestionsthen.”Hesmirksatme.
Holyshit.He’srememberingthe“gay”question.Onceagain,I’mmortified.
