Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 26
Icantellhe’spreoccupiedwithsomething.
“Soshouldyou,”Iretortnotquiteasmildly.
Heglancesupagain,hislipstwitchingwithatraceofasmile.
“Areyouscoldingme,MissSteele?”
“Yes,Mr.Grey,Iam.”
“Well,Ican’tsleep.”Hefrownsoncemoreasatraceofirritationorangerflashesacrosshisface.Withme?Surelynot.
Iignorehisfacialexpressionandverybravelysitdownbesidehimonthepianostool,placingmyheadonhisbareshouldertowatchhisdeft,agilefingerscaressthekeys.Hepausesfractionally,andthencontinuestotheendofthepiece.
“Whatwasthat?”Iasksoftly.
“Chopin.Preludeopustwenty-eight,numberfour.InEminor,ifyou’reinterested,”hemurmurs.
“I’malwaysinterestedinwhatyoudo.”
Heturnsandsoftlypresseshislipsagainstmyhair.
“Ididn’tmeantowakeyou.”
“Youdidn’t.Playtheotherone.”
“Otherone?”
“TheBachpiecethatyouplayedthefirstnightIstayed.”
“Oh,theMarcello.”
Hestartstoplayslowlyanddeliberately.IfeelthemovementofhishandsinhisshouldersasIleanagainsthimandclosemyeyes.Thesad,soulfulnotesswirlslowlyandmournfullyaroundus,echoingoffthewalls.Itisahauntinglybeautifulpiece,saddereventhantheChopin,andIlosemyselftothebeautyofthelament.Toacertainextent,itreflectshowIfeel.ThedeeppoignantlongingIhavetoknowthisextraordinarymanbetter,totrytounderstandhissadness.Alltoosoon,thepieceisatanend.
