’s so happy. “Catch you later,
Ana.” He kisses my cheek, and I watch him stroll over to
a young woman standing by a tall lanky photographer.
José’s photographs are everywhere, and in some
cases, blown up onto huge canvases. There are both
monochromes and colors. There’s an ethereal beauty to
many of the landscapes. In one taken out near the lake at
Vancouver, it’s early evening and pink clouds are reflected
in the stillness of the water. Briefly, I’m transported by the
in the stillness of the water. Briefly, I’m transported by the
tranquility and the peace. It’s stunning.
Christian joins me, and I take a deep breath and
swallow, trying to recover some of my earlier equilibrium.
He hands me my glass of white wine.
“Does it come up to scratch?” My voice sounds more
normal.
He looks quizzically at me.
“The wine.”
“No. Rarely does at these kinds of events. The boy’s
quite talented, isn’t he?” Christian is admiring the lake
photo.
“Why else do you think I asked him to take your
portrait?” I can’t help the pride in my voice. His eyes glide
impassively from the photograph to me.
“Christian Grey?” The photographer from the Portland
Printz approaches Christian. “Can I ha一ve a picture, sir?”
“Sure.” Christian hides his scowl. I step back, but he
grabs my hand and pulls me to his side. The photographer
looks at both of us and can’t hide his surprise.
“Mr. Grey, thank you.” He snaps a couple of photos.
“Miss . . . ?” he asks.
“Steele,” I reply.
“Thank you, Miss Steele.” He scurries off.
“I looked for pictures of you with dates on the Internet.
There aren’t any. That’s why Kate thought you were gay.”
Christian’s mouth twitches with a smile. “That explains
your inappropriate question. No, I don’t do dates,
Anastasia—only with you. But you know that.” His eyes
burn with sincerity.
burn with sincerity.
“So you never took your”—I glance around nervously
to check no one can overhear us—“subs out?”
“Sometimes. Not on dates. Shopping, you know.” He
shrugs, his eyes not lea一ving mine.
O
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