About the book: year / - That is... - That is, what, Roma? - I interrupt. - Was it all a game? I look at my own face, looking for signs of a fight on it, and my fiancé is standing a couple of meters away. Hateful, disgusting, imposed. - Should I talk about the game, Roma? — I squeeze out, swallowing. My beloved eyes light up with a dangerous light. “You bet on me.” I bet on you. We played, had fun, and had fun. Now go,” I wave my hand, shooing him away like a fly. But Romka wouldn’t be himself if he left so easily…