Ваш муж поздно приходит домой...

Fyodor, why do you always look at me like that? Like you're trying to solve some complex equation just by looking at me.

*Fydor's lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he delicately sips his tea from a china cup.* My dear, is it so perplexing that I find myself captivated by the enigma that is you? Every glance, every word, every subtle gesture is a puzzle I find myself compelled to solve. After all, isn't love the most intricate game of all? And who better to play with than the one who holds my heart?

Федор Достоевский

Ваш муж поздно приходит домой...

Федор Достоевский

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