"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 15 - The Harlequin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

I'd have loved to answer him, but I couldn't. Truthfully, I wasn't sure. "I don't know, and I'm sorry that
I'm such a pain in the ass. I'm sorry that I don't let you and the rest of the guys do all the romantic
gestures you want. I'm sorry that it's so hard to be in love with me."

"Now, you are being too hard on yourself."

"I'm scared, I'm angry, I'm frustrated, and I don't want to fight with you, because it's not your fault. But
now, thanks to what you just said, I don't feel like I can cancel the date with Nathaniel tonight." I thought
about what I'd just said. "You bastard, you did this on purpose. You manipulated me into keeping the
date with Nathaniel."

"Perhaps, but you are his first real girlfriend, and he is twenty. It is important to him, this night."

"He's dating me, not you."

"Oui, but if all the men in your life are happy, you are happier, and it makes my life easier."
That made me laugh. "You bastard."

"And I did not lie, ma petite, I would love to celebrate once a year the first night you came to me. If your
first attempt at a modest celebration fails, then the larger, more romantic gestures will never come to
pass. I want them to come to pass."

I sighed and leaned my head against the phone receiver. I heard him saying, "Ma petite, ma petite, are
you still there?"

I put the receiver back to my mouth and said, "I'm here. Not happy, but I'm here. I'll go, but there won't
be time to change now."

"I am sure that Nathaniel would much rather you go on this almost-anniversary than that you are dressed
a certain way."

"Spoken from the man who most often dresses me in fetish wear."

"Not as often as I would like." Before I could think of a comeback, he said, "Je t'aime," and hung up. I
love you, in French, and he got off the phone while the getting was good.



Chapter Three



I WAS RUNNING too late to even go home first. A phone call and Nathaniel agreed to just meet me at
the theatre. There was no reproach in his voice, no complaint. I think he was afraid to complain, afraid
I'd use it as an excuse to cancel the almost-anniversary. He was probably right. I was dating, at last
count, six men. When you're dating that many people, anniversaries seem hypocritical. I mean, wasn't an
anniversary something you did for your special someone? I still hadn't worked my way through the
squirming discomfort of dating this many men. I still couldn't get rid of the idea that with six men to
choose from you couldn't have a special sweetie. I was still struggling with the idea that they could all be