- Meet my fiancé, Marat, dear sister, - I meet Marat’s gaze and freeze in horror. – Marat, my sister is Polly.
It can’t be! This can’t be! Not him.
- Sit down, sister, - Olya ushers me to the table. I don’t feel my body, like cotton, my heart torn from my chest and trampled.
Only a couple of days ago I’d had an affair with this man—today he turned out to be my sister’s fiancé, and they’ll be married in a week.