“How cool is this? The fame.” He grins, and I can’t help but grin back—he’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 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 have 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.