50 shades darker from face gray. fifty shades darker

Gray got darker

Eksmo publishing house publishes Fifty Shades Darker, a novel by the English writer E. L. James, which continues the Fifty Shades trilogy, in October.

Russian lovers of gray will be able to trace the further history of the difficult relationship between millionaire Christian Gray and student Anastasia Steele. With bated breath, watching passions run high to the limit, readers will learn a little more about the childhood of a mysterious millionaire who hides the drama that left its mark on his whole life. The detective line adds some sharpness to the plot. Familiar characters appear in a new light, and the ambiguous ending leaves questions that will be answered in the third part.

The first novel in the trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey, was published in Russian this summer. In the wake of the commercial success of the western original, the initial print run sold out in a matter of days, the outrageous bestseller immediately took the first lines of the sales ratings of the leading bookstores.

Exclusive rights to publish the trilogy of E. L. James "Fifty Shades" in Russia belong to the Eksmo publishing house.

"Fifty Shades of Grey" and the intellectual balance of the world

There is, perhaps, the only position in which Moscow is not inferior to London and New York, and this position was occupied by the British blogger Erica Leonard, known throughout the world under the pseudonym E L James. Someday 2012 will go down in history as the year when everyone read Fifty Shades of Grey, and this fact will tell about the mindset of mankind no less than the history of the protest movement, the trial of Pussy Riots, the tightening of the law on pedophilia and the introduction of the notorious age restrictions on TV. Most likely, all these facts will be systematically analyzed and regarded as "links in the same fucking chain." Interestingly, according to sociological measurements, Erica Leonard's erotic fanfiction is read by approximately the same group of the population (educated women over 40), which throughout the past year provided record sales to the collection of stories by Archimandrite Tikhon (Shevkunov) (8th place), which survived 4 reprints in 11 months and firmly settled in the top 10 major metropolitan bookstores.

A word about back pain

For a full-fledged, I would add - a comprehensive retelling of the new world bestseller, one page is enough. However, let's not forget that this is only the first book in a voluminous trilogy. Abroad, careless housewives have long enjoyed all the parts of Shades, but for us, Russian book lovers, it remains to discuss the first volume, which contains almost 600 pages. What are they about?

University graduate Anastacia - a pretty 21-year-old girl, a virgin who refuses all boyfriends - agrees to replace her ill best friend Katherine and travel a hundred miles to the office of a young billionaire to interview for a university newspaper. With a curse, the girl gets to the place, literally tumbles into the office of the charming 27-year-old prince, who has never been seen in the company of women, and begins the interview: questions with the smell of the inimitable tabloid style. Further, solid trivialities: the girl returns home, the businessman “accidentally” ends up in the store where she works, then a drunken disco and Anastacia wakes up in the luxurious bed of rich Christina Grey.

The usual tale of a young prince's sudden love for a shy girl from a simple family would naturally hardly become a bestseller if it weren't for the savory condiment as the billionaire's strange hobbies. As the novel progresses, it is revealed that Christian loves helicopters and paragliders, and - not to all ears and eyes - to dominate; quite briefly: in everything to subordinate to your beloved not only employees of a huge company, business partners, but young ladies who prefer a pinch of pain to sex.

There is sex in the book. It can even show someone that it is too much. Elderly E L James went down the beaten track, rewarding her beloved heroine with a series of orgasms. The point, of course, is the skillfully lover-billionaire - the victim of pedophilia and the owner of "impressive size." Christian Gray looks like Oscar Wilde's Dorian Gray in places. Perhaps the charming Lord Henry will appear in the next parts of Shades.

An expensive laptop, a mobile phone and a red Audi convertible (only this brand is welcomed in the book) fall at Anastasia's feet, in addition to an agreement that has no legal force, but clearly explains and warns the girl what can happen to her as soon as she gets into the paws of a worried billionaire. While the student is "thinking", young Christian continues his sexual experiments. “I’ll fuck you in the mouth” (Anastasia turns out to be a blowjob queen; doubted?), “I have plans for your ass” (spanks a couple of times, but will not reach anal sex), “we will keep this fur” (about pubic hair ) and so on. A businessman "uses" an inexperienced girl in sex, forcing her to experience orgasm after orgasm. Anastasia cums quickly, simple caresses are enough. At the mere sight of a beloved man, she has “butterflies in her stomach”, she feels wet (all signs of readiness for intercourse are meticulously repeated in each chapter) and it is enough to squeeze one of the girl’s nipples with her teeth in order to bring the matter to a discharge.

That's the trouble, Anastasia dreams of love, rejects the contract, which indicates forty of their relationship - three months. “I want more,” she says, biting her lip. “I warned you not to bite your lip and don’t roll your eyes,” Christina answers her habitually. As a rule, after such a dialogue, which E L James stretches for ten pages, there are three to five pages of passionless and ridiculous sex, and all BDSM tricks - it seemed to me, "kindergarten" compared to how sometimes our men with by their wives. “I will spank you, but not as a punishment, but for our pleasure with you,” the phrase appears on page 417.

God knows what's in the minds of the 40 million housewives who have mastered the Ms. James trilogy. The author of these lines barely finished reading the first book and, of course, will read the second and third - purely out of professional curiosity. I don’t advise others to read, but if you have already read it, then I raise my hands, they got ahead of me, you are infected.

Joys of the day

“Five hundred and twenty-eight pages? Are you serious? We thought it was just a pornographic pamphlet” - approximately such exclamations could be heard in a bookstore at the start of sales. And after that, many buyers modestly hesitated at the checkout: “Damn it, they will point the finger at us now” - as if buying some kind of Hustler. In general, the sensations of the adventure with the purchase of "Fifty Shades" can be compared with the first trip to the pharmacy for contraceptives, adjusted for the apparent intellectuality of the undertaking.

We read the synopsis: touchy Anastasia Steele, just before the final exams from the university, goes to Seattle to interview the rich man who presents diplomas for the student newspaper. Pinocchio's name is Christian Gray (it's strange that it's not Dorian - since E. L. James obviously doesn't know how to play literary games: all her allusions, if I may say so, are issued directly on the forehead). He owns a Charlie Tango helicopter, a phenomenal income-generating corporation, a dedicated bodyguard Taylor who doesn't ask too many questions, and a whole bunch of blondes who shy away from the boss's stern gaze. The interview does not go well: at first, Anastasia stumbles on the threshold of the office and falls right into the arms of her betrothed, then for some reason she asks if she is gay, but in the end she still receives an invitation to work. Tactfully refusing, she runs home. The millionaire, on the other hand, sensed the prey and does not intend to let it go just like that. They meet a few more times and by the hundredth page they finally fall into bed. Well, it would be better if they didn’t do it - it’s simply impossible to read everything else (although even before that, reading is like a marathon in girlish passions). Postpone. We read a little more and put it off again.

And almost all the literary observers of our country acted in this way for almost two weeks. "Fifty Shades of Grey" is a book for the most persistent reader. Not everyone can reach the final. But the experience, of course, is invaluable: you will break through three dozen orgasms of the unfortunate Anastacia, and then at least lead the construction team. True, there is no need to talk about the plot, intrigue and ups and downs here: scenes of a sexual nature alternate with unintelligible dialogues and a description of the mental turmoil of a young but purposeful American woman. Yes, the heroine loses her innocence, falls into sin, seriously reflects on her passion for BDSM culture and writes e-mails to her beloved (they are not much easier to read than descriptions of intercourse). Now you know what the whole world hides under your pillow... judging by the ratings.

But why does this rubbish work? Why forty million copies sold? We dismiss the theory that the world has gone mad and Western culture is in deep crisis. It seems that in this case there is a mechanism that involves, ahem, ahem, "erotic centers of recognition." If you didn't know, there are some aesthetes who thrive on intertextuality - on something that is understandable only to their narrow circle, who read the first, second and tenth. For them, the pleasure from most of the novels of the 20th century is born from a sense of their own superiority, literary snobbery: “and here is a quote from there, and here the author copies the style of such and such” ... In “Fifty”, “shades of gray”, for all its insignificance language and techniques, this mechanism is exposed to the limit: the centers of recognition are indeed "erotic". Literally, the literary dot ji.

Alexander Kirillov

James offers 50 Shades of Gray from Christian's point of view (the first three books were told from Anastasia's point of view), and it's full of new information about the enigmatic billionaire.

Fans have been waiting for this for a long time. Many have stated that this story should have been told from Christian's point of view from the beginning. After all, Christian is such a complex person, and the reader has repeatedly wondered what he felt or thought at certain moments.

And now James tells a love story from the point of view of a strange power-hungry heartthrob - Christian Grey.

Christian's characteristic internal monologues reveal his deep, dark desires. Thanks to the "psychological component", in the new book of James, the reader will for the first time be involved in his emotions.

The story is filled with dreams and memories, hints of Mr. Gray's difficult childhood, nightmares that still haunt him in his dreams and in reality. We learn that in his love for Anastacia, he is involved in a constant struggle with his complexes. Deep down, he is convinced that he does not deserve to be loved. His attempts to analyze his feelings for Anastasia Steele end with a keen desire for another BDSM session. BDSM is an attempt at surrender, a means of drowning out the fear of strong feelings and a way to "tame" one's desires.

“Maybe the feeling would subside if I handcuffed her and whipped her,” he says of his growing love for Anya.

While eager fans will be thrilled by the more intense sex scenes, romance lovers will finally get the answers they've been craving.

Image of Christian

For most of the book, Christian acts like a teenager or a cranky child who leaves empty glasses in the sink, hoping for servants, and hiding things even if they are not very important. The reader wants to look under the mask of a spoiled playboy, hoping that he will appear as a different person. But those who were in love with the domineering Gray, with his essence l'homme fatale, will be deeply disappointed: Mr. Gray will simply expose the softer, sensual and vulnerable side of his nature, and also give himself the opportunity to list those sentimental things that excite his no less romantic notebook lady from the novels of Jane Austen. He seems to have inherited Ana's self-deprecating irony, her timidity. In this novel, Christian sometimes looks like a child who cannot understand his own emotions. His outpourings betray in him not an adult, but a boy, unsure of himself and with a lack of life experience.

Christian's nightmares

We get a glimpse into Mr. Gray's subconscious, a dark place that is not as pleasant to touch as the reader might expect. Christian is still tormented by complexes from his abusive childhood.

The image of Anastacia

It's still the same sweet, fragile, clumsy Ana! She disappears in a cloud of grammatically improbable metaphors and reappears to stun the main character with her charms or stretch out on the road, almost falling under the wheels of a cyclist.

Love for Anastasia

Even if Christian wants to hurt Anastacia when they are in the Red Room, he adores her. E.L. James describes in detail how he pays attention to every part of her body, how he sentimental, looking into her eyes, comparing her smell to the aroma of apples in his grandfather's garden.

Sadism and Masochism

Christian shares his BDSM addiction with the innocent Anastasia Steele.

His point of view in the sessions makes the reader wince - especially striking is his craving to see her skin 'pink'.

"No one hears you, baby, only me," he says, going all out.

When Ana desperately tries to touch him, he thinks, "God, I want to hear her cry."

Sexual intercourse between Anastasia and Christian is not just a physical punishment, but also a mental one, as well as a way to enjoy them. The reason for these inclinations is in the distant traumatic childhood of Christian.

Job

The reader will learn that the fabulous state of Mr. Gray is not a mythical, but a real value. Proof of this is the work, negotiations and conclusion of contracts. James shows how Christian runs his business affairs while tormented by thoughts of Anastasia along the way.

Outcome

James' new novel is a repeat of the original Fifty Shades book. Nothing more than a retelling of a story that is already known to the reader. Letters, texts, contract, conversations between Christian and Anastasia - all this is nothing more than a rehash of the same things familiar to the reader, but with minor changes.

"Fifty Shades of Gray. The story, told from Christian's point of view, is likely to receive mixed reactions from readers who have been enthusiastic about the other books in the series.

For some, the new book is a match for the weak and black tea that the main character loves.

For the latter, it is a long-awaited invitation to look into Christian's mind and gain a better understanding of his character, to understand the motivation behind his decisions and actions.

For others, it is a story that is already known, but like a mosaic, it is made up of small pieces that distinguish it from the previous ones.

The best lines from the novel "50 shades of gray from the face of Christian Grey":

"She disappears into the building, leaving a trail of regret, the memory of her beautiful blue eyes and the scent of an apple orchard in autumn." Anastasia, Pour Homme and Pour Femme.

“She is too young. She's too inexperienced, but damn, I love the feel of her hand in mine."

“But why England? I ask her. “This is the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy. I would love to see the places that inspired these people to write such wonderful books.” Obviously, this is her first love. Books.

"That means I'm competing with Darcy and Rochester and Claire's Angel: all those impossible romantic characters."

"Wow. She is angry at me, pouring her contempt into every syllable of my name. It's novel. And she leaves. And I don't want her to leave."

You speak like a consumer. Her subjective line from the interview comes back to haunt me. Yes, I would like to have things - things that will increase in price, like the first editions.

"She's an oil slick in my troubled, deep, dark waters."

“I wake up with a pervasive sense of guilt, as if I had committed a terrible sin. Is it because he fucked Anastasia Steele? A virgin?"

“Please pass me my sweatpants,” she demands, pointing at them. Wow. Miss Steele can be a bossy little thing."

“This is the first time I don't have to consider a partner's sexual history. That's the advantage of having a relationship with a virgin."

"Enough. I will forget about it today. I have work to do and a meeting to attend.”

“Diamonds in the ears complete the ensemble; I should buy her a couple."

“I am stunned by her confession, but glad too. Sensuous Creation.

“The apples are falling. They fall on me. I turned around and they hit me on the back. But the smell is still there, sweet and fresh. Ana."

"It has a fresh, healthy scent that reminds me of my grandfather's apple orchard."

“Her eyes widened. They are really beautiful, the colors of the ocean in Cabo, the bluest of the blue seas.”

I am lying in a sun lounger in the company of a book predicting the collapse of the Western banking system. The rays of the sun fall on the pages, blinding the text. I break away from reading and shift my gaze to the blue sky, like Anastasia's eyes. Amazingly, even it reminds me of Miss Steele, more recently Mrs Grey. Who would have thought how many years I have been going to Flynn, tried all the methods in psychotherapy and nothing helped, but this woman was able to change me. Thanks to her, I got rid of nightmares, the main fear - touch. She is like a talisman in my life, my angel. Showed the way to salvation, led out of the eternal darkness and gloom, led to the sun. I was able to take a different look at the world, break out of the shackles of Elena, which I had not noticed before, or refused to notice. But now I understand the main thing - I like the new way of life, I'm not going to return to the old one, except sometimes, solely for the sake of our joint pleasure. So, get together Grey, it's time to remind yourself.

Miss Acton did a good job, the white bikini looks perfect on my Mrs wife. But for now, she'd better shield herself from the midday sun, given that she was asleep. I go up to Anya and whisper in her ear in a calm voice:

You will burn.

Only from you. She opens her beautiful eyes and looks at me with a smile. I smile back. While Anastacia is about to add something else, I deftly move the chaise longue into the shade.

You are such an altruist, Mr Grey. Thank you. She bites her lip again. Oh, for that I would love to fuck her here and now, but I have no desire to arrange a sex show with my wife in front of strangers.

Not at all, Mrs Grey. And I'm not a climber at all. If you burn, I won't be able to touch you. But I suppose you know it yourself, and therefore laugh at me.

Really? Ana looks at me with big eyes, with the air of an innocent child. This makes me want to laugh.

Yes, that is exactly what you are doing. And often. And this is just one of those many little things that I like so much about you. - I lean towards Anya, I feel a familiar attraction. Our tongues intertwine in a passionate fiery dance. I release my desires: I bite her bottom lip.

I thought you'd rub suntan lotion on my back. - Anastacia is trying to portray an insult, to be honest, it will turn out badly for her.

Mrs Grey, this is a dirty job, but... an offer like that is impossible to refuse. Sit down. - From the anticipation of the process, my voice becomes hoarse, it is hard to restrain my sexual desires near their source.

Ana complies, and it makes me damn happy to know that. Unfortunately, in this situation, she obeyed for her own pleasure, for which she will now receive easy revenge from Mr. Gray.

With leisurely movements, I spread the lotion over her body, enjoying the look of snow-white skin, however, after our rest, a slight tan appeared. My fingers move to her breasts, it's not just Mrs. Grey's pleasure now. Ana's nipples harden at the deft movement of my hands.

You really are adorable. I'm lucky with you.

So it is, Mr. Grey, lucky. She looks at me from under lowered eyelashes, trying to remain unnoticed.

Modesty suits you, Mrs Grey. Roll over. I want to work on your back.

Once again, my order was promptly executed, oh, if only it had always been like this. I remove the back strap of her bikini and mentally imagine how I will remove it in our cabin. Ana turns, looks at me with a sly look.

How would you feel if I sunbathed topless like other women on the beach? - What?! It was not enough for all sorts of perverts to look at my wife. Enough of her sexy bikini look.

I wouldn't like it very much. In my opinion, you have too few clothes on, don't tempt fate. - Ana's eyes instantly widen, from which the desire to quench the itch in the palm of your hand is replaced by another - to laugh.

Is this a challenge, Mr Grey?

Not at all, Mrs Grey. Just a statement of fact.

I think the lotion is enough. Pretty slapping her appetizing ass.

Enough of you, beauty. At this moment, my Blackberry vibrates. Damn, ruined my plans for Mrs Grey. Ana frowns, as if reading my mind. I shrug and smile.

It's confidential, Mrs Grey. I put on a serious face, slapping Anastasia once more on her delicious ass, and return to my sun lounger.

Mr Grey, this is Barney. I sent you a new program for a solar-powered tablet, I think it is worth improving the design.

Okay, Barney. I'll take a look and let you know. This is all?

Have a nice day, sir. - I press "hang up" and go to Anya. Damn, she fell asleep, I don't want to wake her up. I return to my sun lounger and look through the new program. Barney did a good job, but he was right, the design really needs to be worked on and the interface made more convenient. This version is hard to figure out.

"Blackberry" vibrates again, "Eliot" appears on the display. Hell, I'm thousands of miles from Seattle, and he gets on my nerves here, too.

Hey Eliot. What did you want?

Hey bro. How's the honeymoon? Do you miss your empire? “Damn, I don't like his failed attempts at a joke. It seems that my brother has no sense of humor at all.

Don't say you're calling to ask if I miss my empire. Our vacation is going well, but you are preventing us from making it even better.

Christian, you're a bore. I wanted to ask when are you coming back? Mia insisted that I call and ask. You know her, she's up to something again, looks like she's going to throw a comeback party this time. Yes, it's my sister's style. Since childhood, she was happy to help her mother with the organization of any events.

Tell her nothing's changed and she knows when we're coming back. This is all?

Dude, sometimes I feel like you're a robot. Learn to relax, you're on your honeymoon, not a day at the office.

I will heed your advice. So long, Eliot. - I leave the "blackberry" on the table, and start reading the book.

I put the book I've already read aside and look at the clock. I didn't notice how three hours flew by. It's time to eat, Ana took practically nothing today. I gesture to the waitress.

Mam "selle? Un Perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light pour ma femme, s" il vous plaît. Et quelque chose à manger… laissez-voir la carte. I select two first courses from the menu, and wave the waitress away. She looks at me embarrassedly from under lowered eyelashes, clearly does not want to go. What is she hoping for? I'm married, and besides, I can't stand blondes.

Ana looks at me in surprise.

Do you want to drink?

Yes. “Hmm, Mrs. Gray is not fully awake yet, it’s time to correct the situation.

That's how I would look at you all day. Tired? - She blushes, as then, during our first meeting.

Have not had enough sleep.

Me too. - I rise from my seat, the shorts have slipped from the hips so that you can see the swimming trunks. I smile predatory, take off my shorts and slippers, gracefully moving towards Anya. Her lips curl into an "o". - Let's go for a swim. I extend my hand, but she looks at me in a daze. - Shall we swim? Ana is still silent. - I think it's time to shake you up. - With a sharp movement, I lift my wife in my arms, from which she begins to squeal.

Let me go! Let go!

Only at sea, baby. - The French are watching the free show with interest, from which my smirk turns into laughter. Anastacia tightens her grip on my neck.

You won't dare.

Ana, my little one, have you really not understood anything in the short time that we have known each other? I lean in and kiss her passionately on her lips. Anastacia runs her fingers through my hair, kissing me back. I know very well what she is after, and if I do not calm down, I will lose this battle. I take a sharp breath of fresh air.

You can't fool me, I know your games. We plunge into the cool water, lips reaching for her again, my Mrs Grey.

You seem to want to go swimming.

Swim with you. I gently bite her lower lip. “Still, I would not want the pious inhabitants of Monte Carlo to see my wife in a paroxysm of passion. - Ana ... do you want to go to sea? Wrapping my tail around my wrist, I pull back her head and leave a trail of kisses down her neck from her ear and down.

I pull away, I see passion in her eyes.

Mrs Grey, you are insatiable. And you are so shameless. What kind of monster did I create?

A monster to pair with. Would you tolerate another me? “The thought of another makes me cringe. No, I don't want anyone but her.

I'll take you any way I can. And you know it. But not now. Not in public. I nod towards the shore. As Anastacia watches the audience of our little show, I wrap my arms around her waist and toss her up. She takes off like an angel, but immediately falls into the water, onto the soft sand.

Christian! Anastasia frowns slyly. I have to bite my lip to keep from breaking into a smile. Of course, this gesture does not go unnoticed by Mrs. Gray, and splashes of water fly in my direction. Hold on baby, you asked for it. I answer her the same, no longer trying to suppress a stupid smile.

We still have the whole night ahead of us. Later, baby, later. - I dive under water, emerge only near Ana.

As I swim, I notice that Anastacia is no longer at sea. Where the hell is she?! Unexpected fear fills me, I urgently need to return to the shore. I want to know that my wife is here and everything is all right with her. Back on land, I see her in a sun lounger. As I step closer, a wave of anger surges through me like never before, barely able to stop myself from spanking her right there. Damn it, how dare my wife take off her bathing suit knowing she wasn't alone on the beach?!

What are you doing? - From my cry, she quickly wakes up and looks at me in confusion.

The text is large so it is divided into pages.

It's been a few minutes since Ana left, and I still can't get over it.

She left.

I do not believe in that!

"That's right, Grey. She is not a match for us. Let's find a new subconscious? ”, - Oh, no, only the subconscious was not enough for me now. I told you to pack your things.

The desire to forget myself in alcohol overcomes me. I'm going to the kitchen.

Yes, I'm definitely drunk today. I put Ana's robe on the bar and find a bottle of whiskey in my bins. Chivas Regal. What you need.

I'm pouring whiskey into a glass and I'm about to drink when I hear my phone ringing.

I pull out my phone, hoping it's Ana, but no, it's Elena.

Dear Christian, hello, she purrs.

You don't call, you don't write. I'm worried, she says indignantly.

When did she start to annoy me like that?

Elena, of course, we are friends, but this does not mean that I should be accountable for my every step, - I say irritably, holding a glass in my hand, which at any moment can crack from my pressure.

Honey, what's happening to you? Everything was different before. We...

Elena, I'm sorry. I have to go. For now, I interrupt her and switch off.

After meeting with Ana, I realized that what we were doing with Elena was all wrong.

Ana helped me a lot, and now it's my fault that she left. I pick up my glass again and raise it to my mouth as my phone says new mail.

Will they give me a drink today or not? I look at my phone and read.

From: Anastasia Steele
Time: 22:18
Subject: My departure
To: Christian Gray

Goodbye.

WHAT?

She loves Me? How can you love me? I'm a monster. Who needs a man like me? A man who is into BDSM loves to spank girls and has his own red room.

Well, everything. Now, I will definitely get drunk and no one will stop me! I gulp down the first glass, the second, the third...

What a headache. There, that the third world? I urgently need a cold shower. He will help me, but first you need to get to him. I lower my legs to the floor, and immediately I touch an empty bottle of cognac, and it falls.

Cognac? I started with whiskey.

"Yes, Grey, you'll be drunk so soon," I say in my mind.

I barely trudge into the shower. I turn on the water and immediately a cascade of icy water falls on me.

Yes! So much better. After standing in the shower for five minutes, I still go out. I wrap myself in a towel and go to the kitchen to assess the extent of the disaster.

They turned out to be very large.

The vase is broken, the flowers are lying on the floor. The head of the figurine lies at my feet, and its entire extension is scattered throughout the living room. Everything is scattered and lying around no one knows where.

What is waiting for me in the kitchen? It's even worse in the kitchen. Am I breaking dishes? To my delight, I only broke a couple of plates, and my least favorite mug that says: "I love London"
There are two bottles of whiskey and more wine on the floor. That's why my head hurts so much.

I take my phone. Phew! I didn't call anyone. No SMS either. Things are already getting better. So, I'm still standing in the towel in the middle of the kitchen.

Gotta get dressed.

I return to the room and wander into the dressing room. I put on pajama pants. Today there is definitely no mood to work.

I turn off my phone so no one touches me. Today I want to think only about my Anya.

Crap! She is not mine now. How bad for me. Bad not from alcohol, but from the pain that I have in my heart. What do I have at the bar?

“Grey, drinking at 11 am! What are you doing!” my subconscious tells me.

I spit on it and pour myself some Armagnac. Very tasty. So tender and sweet. Just like the skin of my Anastacia.

“I found something to compare with,” the subconscious says, stamping his foot.
I will now see Anna in everything.

I've already drunk a whole bottle. I may be a little drunk, but years of training as a teenager have paid off. It doesn't look like I've had a drink. I stand firmly on my feet and go to the piano.

Chopin's Chopin Prelude in E Minor 4.

Just about me. I'm suffocating without her. Can't live. My heart hurts now, even though I thought I didn't have one. The soul will now turn out.

I never thought that after leaving subs Ana will feel that way. But, Ana is not a sub, she did not sign the contract.
Yes, even if she signed anyway, she can't be herself.

"Only in another way you can not." my subconscious hisses.

It's right. I can't stand any other relationship.

Dedicated to Z and J

You are my favorite forever

Gratitude

I want to express my deepest gratitude to Sarah, Kay and Jada. Thank you for everything you have done for me.

I also give a HUGE thanks to Kathleen and Christy for taking on the brunt of the writing.

Thank you too, Niall, my love, my husband and best friend (most of the time).

And big, big hello to all the wonderful, amazing women around the world with whom I enjoyed talking and whom I now consider my friends, including Ail, Alex, Amy, Andrea, Angela, Asucena, Babs, Bee, Belinda, Betsy, Brandy, Britt, Caroline, Katherine, Dawn, Gwen, Hana, Janet, Jen, Jenn, Jill, Katie, Kelly, Liz, Mandy, Margaret, Natalia, Nicole, Nora, Olga, Pam, Polina, Rayna, Razy, Ryan, Ruth, Steph, Susi, Tasha, Taylor and Yuna. And also to all the talented, funny and kind women (and men) with whom I communicated online.

Thanks to Morgan and Jenn for everything about the Hitman Hotel.

And finally, thanks to Janine, my editor. You are the cornerstone upon which everything rests. That's all.

Prologue

He is coming back. Mom is lying on the couch, sleeping, or she feels bad again.

I hide in the kitchen under the table, leaning against the wall so he won't see me. I cover my face with my hands. Through my fingers I see my mother, her hand on a dirty green blanket. His huge boots with shiny buckles stop in front of her.

He beats his mother with a belt. “Get up! Get up! Fucking bitch! Bitch! Fucking bitch! Get up bitch! Get up! Get up!..”

Mom sobs. "No need. Please don't!..” Mom doesn't scream. Mom curled up into a ball and hides her face.

I close my eyes and plug my ears. Silence. I open my eyes.

He turns and stomps into the kitchen. With a belt in hand. Looking for me.

He leans over and looks under the table. A disgusting stench hits my nose, a mixture of cigarettes and whiskey. "There you are, you bastard..."

He wakes up to a bloodcurdling howl. God! He's covered in sweat, his heart is pounding. What the hell? He sits up abruptly and shakes his head. Devil, they're back... He howled himself. He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, trying to calm himself, to force the smell of cheap bourbon and stinky Camel cigarettes out of his nostrils and out of his memory.

Chapter 1

I somehow got through the Third-Day-Without-Christian and my first day at work. However, she managed to relax a bit. New faces flashed by, I tried to delve into the work. And then there's my new boss, Mr. Jack Hyde... Here he comes to my table, smiling, sparkles in his blue eyes.

- Well done, Ana. I think you and I will get along great.

Not without some effort, I stretch my lips into what looks like a smile.

- I'll go if you don't mind.

“Of course, go, it’s already half past five.” Till tomorrow.

- Goodbye, Jack.

- Goodbye, Ana.

I grab my bag, pull on my jacket, and walk to the door. Once on the streets of Seattle, I sigh deeply. But the early evening air still doesn't fill the void in my chest, the vacuum I've felt since Saturday morning, a painful reminder of my loss. I trudge dejectedly to the bus stop and wonder how I can now live without my beloved old woman, Wanda ... or without an Audi.

I immediately pull myself together. No. Don't think about him! Yes, of course, I can now afford a car - a beautiful, new car. Perhaps he paid me too generously ... After this thought, my mouth becomes bitter, but I prefer not to notice it. You have to get everything out of your head. Don't think about anything, don't feel anything... And don't think about him. Otherwise, I will roar again, right now, on the street. Only this was not enough for me.

Without Kate, the apartment is empty and dreary. Probably lying on the beach in Barbados now, sipping a cool cocktail. I turn on the flat screen TV so that the sound fills the vacuum and gives at least some sense that I'm not alone, but I'm not listening or watching. I sit down and stare blankly at the wall. I don't feel anything, only pain. How much longer can I endure this?

The trill of the intercom brings me out of my daze, and I shudder in fright. Who is this? Hesitating, I press the button.

– Delivery for Miss Steele.

The voice is lazy, dull, and I'm filled with frustration. I go down the stairs. Downstairs, leaning against the front door, stands a boy with a cardboard box, chewing gum. I scratch my signature on the receipt and take the box. Although it is large, it is surprisingly light. Inside are two dozen long-stemmed white roses and a card.

Congratulations on your first day of work.

Hope it went well.

And thanks for the glider. Very nice of you.

He decorated my desk.

I look at the card, at the letters printed on it, and the emptiness in my chest grows. I have no doubt that all this was sent by his secretary, hardly Christian himself. It hurts me too much to think about it. I look at the roses - they are luxurious, and my hand does not rise to throw them away. There is nothing to do, I slap into the kitchen and look for a vase there.

This is how my life goes: awakening, work, and in the evening - tears and sleep. Well, trying to sleep. Christian haunts me even in my sleep. Glittering gray eyes, bright copper-coloured hair... And music... a lot of music - now I can't hear it at all. I run from her. I wince even from the bell in the neighboring bakery.

I didn't tell anyone about this, not even my mom or Ray. I don't have the strength for it. And I don't want anything at all. Now I am left alone on a desert island, on war-scorched land where nothing grows, where the horizon is dark and empty. Yes, I am. At work, I can communicate with everyone - and with no one in particular. That's all. If I talk to my mother, I will break down completely - and in my soul there is nothing whole left anyway.

I lost my appetite. On Wednesday at lunch I overcame a glass of yogurt - the first thing I ate since Friday. I exist on cappuccino and diet cola. I'm on caffeine, and that's not good.

Jack often comes up to me, bothers me, asks questions about my personal life. And what does he need? I try to be polite, but I don't let him near.

I'm sitting at my computer, looking through Jack's mail and I'm glad that this stupid job distracts me from problems. My mail is beeping, I quickly look to see who the letter is from.

Damn what news! Letter from Christian. No, that's all I needed! Why write here?

From whom: Christian Grey

Subject: Tomorrow

To whom: Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia.

I'm sorry I'm writing to you at work. I hope I don't bother you too much. Did you receive my flowers?

I know that the gallery opens tomorrow, there will be an opening day for your friend. It’s a long way to go there, and you probably didn’t have time to buy a car. I'll be perfectly happy to take you there - if you want.

1