The Mister Quotes

“I missed my workout this morning, so I vault up the stairs to my flat. Breakfast has taken longer than intended, and I'm expecting Oliver at any minute. Part of me also hopes that Alessia will still be there. As I approach my front door, I hear music coming from the flat.
Music? What's going on?
I slide my key into the lock and cautiously open the door. It's Bach, one of his preludes in G Major. Perhaps Alessia is playing music through my computer. But how can she? She doesn't know the password. Does she? Maybe she's playing her phone through the sound system, though from the look of her tatty anorak she doesn't strike me as someone who has a smartphone. I've never seen her with one. The music rings through my flat, lighting up its darkest corners. Who knew that my daily likes classical?
This is a tiny piece of the Alessia Demachi puzzle. Quickly I close the door, but as I stand in the hallway, it becomes apparent that the music is not coming from the sound system. It's from my piano. Bach. Fluid and light, played with a deftness and understanding I've only heard from concert-standard performers.
Alessia?
I've never managed to make my piano sing like this. Taking off my shoes, I creep down the hallway and peer around the door into the drawing room. She is seated at the piano in her housecoat and scarf, swaying a little, completely lost in the music, her eyes closed in concentration as her hands move with graceful dexterity across the keys. The music flows through her, echoing off the walls and ceiling in a flawless performance worthy of any concert pianist. I watch her in awe as she plays, her head bowed.
She is brilliant.
In every way.
And I'm completely spellbound.
She finishes the prelude, and I step back into the hall, flattening myself against the wall in case she looks up, not daring to breath. However, without missing a beat she goes straight into the fugue. I lean against the wall and close my eyes, marveling at her artistry and the feeling that she puts into each phrase. I'm carried away by the music, and as I listen, I realize that she wasn't reading the music. She's playing from memory.
Good God. She's a fucking virtuoso.
And I remember her intense focus when she examined my score while she was dusting the piano. Clearly she was reading the music.
Shit. She plays at this standard and she was reading my composition? The fugue ends, and seamlessly she launches into another piece. Again Bach, Prelude in C-sharp Major, I think.”
― E.L. James

“Fuck a duck”
― E.L. James, The Mister

“Mister, she whispers as I run my thumb down her cheek.
Maxim. Say Maxim.
Maxim, she breathes. Yes. I love the sound of my name in her accent.
See, that wasn't so hard.”
― E.L. James

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
― E.L. James, The Mister

“The woman is obsessed with maintaining her youth.”
― E.L. James, The Mister

“But during her weekend, in quiet moments, all she’d been able to think about was him. She doesn’t understand why.”
― E.L. James, The Mister

“Love. Confusing. Irrational. Frustrating…Exhilarating.”
― E.L. James, The Mister

“You can’t choose who you love. Love chooses you.”
― E.L. James, The Mister