2 months and three days read online.

21.12.2020 -

Maksim Korshunov, a controversial photographer and the only son of a Russian oligarch, spends his life exploring pleasure. The body for Korshunov is the only instrument by which eternity is measured. Sex is the only state close to immortality. Maxim denies shame. For only outside it can one experience all the shades of pleasure. The body for Arina Krylova is a vessel for the soul. Sex is the highest point of manifestation of love. Shame is that category of morality that protects a girl, a provincial student, barely making ends meet, from debauchery, vulgarity and meanness. There is nothing in common between Maxim and Arina. They are from different worlds, but the feeling that flared up between them sweeps away differences and deprives them of the ability to make the right decisions. From the publisher Two months and three days - the Russian answer to the absolute bestseller 50 Shades of Grey! Author Literary hoax! Behind the mask is a famous Russian writer. What's waiting...

author	Book	Description	Year	Price	book type
Alice Clover	Two months and three days	Maksim Korshunov, a controversial photographer and the only son of a Russian oligarch, spends his life exploring pleasure. The body for Korshunov is the only instrument with which it is measured ... - Author, Two months and three days electronic book	2015	119	electronic book
Alice Clover	Two months and three days	Maksim Korshunov, a controversial photographer and the only son of a Russian oligarch, spends his life exploring pleasure. The body for Korshunov is the only tool that measures ... - Audiobook, audiobook can be downloaded	2015	149	audiobook
Clover A.	Two months and three days	Maksim Korshunov, a controversial photographer and the only son of a Russian oligarch, spends his life exploring pleasure. The body for Korshunov is the only tool with which it is measured ... - Eksmo,	2016	92	paper book
Alexander Ertel	from one root	“It rained not for two, not three days, not a week, finally, but for two whole months. There seemed to be no end to it. November had already come, then it began to come to an end, and there were no signs of winter. Day and night… - Public Domain, eBook	1883		electronic book
Alexander Ertel	from one root	“It rained not for two, not three days, not a week, finally, but for two whole months. There seemed to be no end to it. November had already come, then it began to come to an end, and there were no signs of winter. Day and night ... - LitRes: reader, audiobook can be downloaded		59	audiobook
Taisiya Kudashkina	Anastasia Georgievskaya: how to sleep until noon and build a business with a turnover of 3 million rubles. per month	“I love sales. When a person pays even a little money, his fate changes,” says Anastasia Georgievskaya. “I have a student. And once she writes to me: “That's it, I can't do it anymore. I… - Websarafan, Business success stories audiobook can be downloaded	2016	49	audiobook
Alexander Levin	Family game	Tatyana's daughter Vera comes to Sunday dinner not alone, but with a strange girl, and demands that she call her mother, and Tatyana - grandmother. Vera announces that in a week Zina's father, Oleg, will come ... - TeleAlliance Media Group, The series "Understand. Forgive" audiobook can be downloaded	2019	49	audiobook

Reviews about the book:

Pros: Interesting book!

popova Ekaterina 0

I put off reading the book for a very long time, due to time and circumstances, but as soon as I started ... That's it, don't stop it ... I really liked the book, but maybe somewhere very well lapped up with "50 OS", but still The book is gripping and makes you want to read...

To be honest, throughout the reading of all three books, I could not get rid of the thought that the author of this masterpiece had re-read "50 Shades of Grey" ... I was too fond of this trilogy that I decided to present the OS in the Russian manner, and not particularly bothering and stupidly licking almost all the scenes are from the James books. Only perhaps the heroine is not such a nurse as Anastasia. And this Maxim annoyed all three books, it was possible to make him more interesting, given that Christian Gray is a rather curious character. And so the same thing - the problems of childhood, the rejection of love as a type of emotion, bad parents. And the main character, WELL, OF COURSE, a virgin and loses her virginity with a vicious man. We know, we have read this before in 50 OS. Nothing new.

Valeria Stogova 0

Pros: Interesting plot twists, believable. I have read 2 books in the trilogy. Cons: Too many erotic scenes. It is explained only by the availability of free funds and the profession of a millionaire son photographer. It is only strange that no one except the protagonist noticed the beauty and eroticism of Arina until the age of 20.

Pavlova Irina 0

Well, what can we say, we have another book, "grown" out of 50OS. Only this time written by a Russian author. Well, apparently the popularity of shades will not let the world go soon, and as usual, the book has a rabid advertisement. Despite another imitation of 50 Shades of Gray, I liked the book. At what really captured from the first pages. I really liked the author's style, such an easy syllable. The plot is certainly not new. Arina is a young girl of 19 years old, who studies at the university, works as a veterinarian and somehow makes ends meet, accidentally meets Maxim, who is 10 years older than her. Maxim Korshun is a famous scandalous photographer, many girls go crazy for him, but he is not interested in love and he does not believe in happiness. For him, the main thing in life is pleasure and everything that can lead to it. In addition, he is also the son of a billionaire. And now, tempted by life, Maxim draws attention to Arina, who, with her beauty and innocence, reminded him of Snow White. And he wants to possess her, so he offers her a contract - to spend the summer with him, or rather two months and three days, roughly speaking, he "buys" Arina. Arina, due to her inexperience and youth, falls in love with him and, of course, agrees to everything, she is more afraid of losing him than of what he can do to her. And of course, Arina thinks that she can fix this vicious and spoiled handsome man. In general, the characters are really Russian Anastasia Steele and Mr. Gray :) I liked Arina, a sweet good girl who believes in true love. And brave enough. The author revealed Maxim poorly, and his past remained a mystery, why his mother left him and why he had a bad relationship with his father. I dare to assume that this author has saved up for the following books. Everything ends with a non-happy ending, thereby warming up the reader's interest and wanting to wait for the continuation. Like I said before, the plot is light and reads quickly and excitingly. There are bed scenes, but they are not too much. The relationship between the characters is passionate and emotional. So, overall, I am satisfied with the book, I will gladly finish this trilogy. Still, I wonder if Arina will be able to change Maxim.

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Alice Clover

Two months and three days

How can something so terrible give rise to such wonderful feelings?

I become human only when I am squeezed in an embrace.

Don Juan

Sweet dreams are made of this

Who am I to disagree?

All events, places and participants are fiction or a dream.

In the morning, Maxim caught himself in one desire - that Clarissa would leave and he would be left alone. This surprised and upset him. He liked Clarissa, and they both enjoyed their impromptu escapade. And now, looking at her sleeping - naked, freely and shamelessly spread out on a wide bed - he admired the beauty of her long, flexible, sleek body.

But not so much that he wanted to be with her when she woke up.

Maxim was not afraid of loneliness. He loved him. It's not so scary - to lie on the sun-drenched floor and feel nothing. Breathe, listen to music and wait for what will happen next.

He rolled over onto his stomach. Moving in front of him in the panoramic window were big red dots—double decker buses—and smaller black dots—taxis. The streets of the City of London were filled with these funny bugs - now stopping, then accelerating, and there was neither logic nor sense in this, but there was some kind of hypnotic beauty that you could look at for hours.

The plane to Moscow late in the evening, Maxim thought. A whole day ahead.

It's a pity though. Clarissa had whispered to him before falling asleep yesterday that she expected nothing from him, but Maxim knew perfectly well that by saying that, women meant quite the opposite. Even the most liberated ones.

- Hi handsome. Have you been awake for a long time? - Maxim looked around at the voice, slightly hoarse, mocking.

- Hard to say. And how did you sleep? he asked kindly. Clarissa shrugged and leaned waist-deep off the bed.

- Isn't it hard for you? she wondered, looking at Maxim prostrate by the window.

“I love it when it’s tough,” he replied, emphatically and with a hint. Clarissa's eyes lit up with fire.

“Mmm, I love it hard too, you know,” she arched like a cat, lifting her bare buttocks so that Maxim could see them from below, and smiled a seductive, inviting smile. Maxim licked his lips, staring against his will at the defiantly elastic ass with an alluring hollow between the buttocks.

- Aren't you afraid? he asked in a slightly hushed voice. Clarissa burst out laughing, jumped out of bed onto the expensive floor of warm wood exuding purity and crept up to Maxim on all fours.

“Who needs to be afraid here?” She lay down on her stomach next to him, resting her head on her fists. - And what are you looking at there?

- Yes, nothing ... - Maxim moved closer to her in a businesslike manner, ran his hand along her back, slowly, not hurrying to where he was most attracted. Lingering on her buttocks, his hand penetrated deeper between her legs, and he touched the vagina, brought his index finger to the clitoris - without taking his eyes off her face - and began to massage it with soft movements.

“Are you… not expected in the gallery today?” he asked softly and laughed at how hazy Clarissa's eyes had become under her eyelids. She groaned in response.

- Something is wrong? Max furrowed his eyebrows.

- Oh. He removed his hand and Clarissa opened her eyes. They screamed in frustration.

- What? he smiled. “You know, my dear, I hardly slept last night…

- Are you kidding me? she almost whimpered.

“I drank bourbon, studied the negatives, thought about a possible meeting with my father ... I was mercilessly tired. – Maxim did not move, but only smiled.

“Ah, so tired, poor thing! Clarisse grumbled indignantly. She started, got up and sat down, stretching her legs and leaning her back against the glass of the window. Maxim pulled himself closer to her and spread her legs to the sides, to the full possible width.

“I’m exhausted,” he chuckled, looking with pleasure at the picture that opened up to him. Clarissa's crotch was well-groomed, with a thin strip of red hair, with a mole just above the clitoris. Elastic tanned belly, neat breasts with a tattoo near the shoulder: the little she-wolf continued her eternal run towards the collarbone, but never reached the goal.

– Are we going to fuck or did you decide to bring me to tears first?! - Clarissa was completely angry and tried to move her legs, but Maxim did not let her.

- Such a morning! Why hurry, he murmured softly. “Unless you're expected at the gallery.

To hell with the gallery! Clarissa screams, and then Maxim gets to his feet, helps her up. Her legs are trembling with tension. Maxim picks her up under the buttocks and easily lifts her into the air. Her gaze flickers to him, her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes gliding over his high cheekbones, the tangled dark hair that covers his shifting gray eyes. She admires the beads of sweat on his forehead. His movements are becoming more insistent, his gaze is tougher. He takes it right there, standing with his back against the transparent wall. The thought of what might happen to them if the strong glass fails makes Clarissa's heart beat even faster. Before her mind's eye, a flight down to the London pavement - the flight of two bodies entwined with each other. From the sharp, hard blows of his cock, she screams.

“There is no better than you,” she whispers. - Do you know what I want?

“I can’t imagine,” Maxim laughs, penetrating even further into her body with a confident movement.

“So that there are three of you…” and quiet, iridescent laughter fills the room.

Then, sitting - again on the floor - at the edge of the marble bath, Maxim told her in an everyday voice that he did not plan to return to London in the near future.

- I.e? Clarissa didn't get it right away.

“So it is,” he shrugged and touched the surface of the water with his hand.

“Are you… exposing me?” Clarissa tensed, previously lying comfortably in the foamy water. Maxim looked at her in surprise.

- What is not, is not. If I wanted you to leave, I would just call you a taxi.

Clarissa, grabbing the shower gel, began feverishly soaping it, but throwing the washcloth in her hearts - several splashes hit his face - exclaimed indignantly:

“Richard is right, women should stay away from you. By the way, he thinks that you are ruining my life.

“This is the rare case when your boring brother is absolutely right,” Maxim agreed, and Clarissa helplessly threw a mound of foam at him.

You don't want me to be happy!

- This is not true. I don’t want happiness for myself,” he replied and handed her a large fluffy towel. Happiness is for those who have never experienced pleasure. There is an eternal war between these two gods, and the first prevails until the second appears. And when he comes around the corner, with bare shoulders and swollen lips from kisses, happiness is put aside, like a book opened in the middle, to finish reading later, when it rains and there is nothing to do.

“You talk as if happiness and pleasure are not the same thing.

- These are completely different things. Don't you see yourself? You surprise me.” He shook his head.

Clarissa paused, staring intently at something invisible on the snow-white tiles of the spotlessly clean bathroom.

“One day you will appear once again on my doorstep, in the middle of the night, with this carefree look, and I will be married,” she grinned, wrapping herself in a towel. Maxim leaned towards her and ran his hand over her face.

Do you think this will stop you?

“God, how lucky I am that I don’t love you!” With a flexible movement of her hands, Clarissa threw off the towel and returned to the guest room, where she left her things.

Maxim did not catch up with her. Walking into the kitchen - empty, spacious - and turning on the coffee maker, he took out milk from the refrigerator - Clarissa loved vanilla latte.

In his mind, he already got on the plane, took a seat in the front row in the business class cabin and flew to Moscow - what's there to Moscow, he flew further, into the ever-beckoning and unpredictable mirage called "tomorrow".

2

As you know, there is no bad weather, but there is inappropriate clothing for this day. The best way to understand this is to stand in the middle of the sidewalk in a thin sleeveless cotton dress “under the jeans” and watch with concern how the once boundless blue sky is suddenly and quickly covered with dark steel clouds and a cold wind blows. There will be a thunderstorm. It was necessary to put on another dress, but all the dresses were left in the closet, and the closet was in the room where Nelly lives. And in the room right now - Sergei, one of Nelly's lovers.

One of the "out" ... Arina put on the first thing that came to hand, homemade, in fact, a dress - comfortable, but too open and short, it does not even reach the knees. Sits in a bag, but it's rather good. Under the hoodie you can’t see how clumsy and angular she is. They give out only the elbows of her long arms sticking out with sharp corners.

One of". Arina did not want to think about it, she just froze in the middle of the sidewalk and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Sneakers, a dress and a backpack - that's all she ran out of the house with. People walked around it like water flows around a stone in a mountain river. Arina involuntarily returned mentally to the banknotes lying in the room on the coffee table. Two five-thousandth notes of orange color - you will not confuse with anything. Ten thousand rubles for one night with one "of"? So Nellie is being sold for money.

Arina's entire salary at the veterinary center, where she worked part-time at night, consisted of five such pieces of paper. Three - in advance, two - in pay. There are thirty days in June, which means that it costs 833 rubles a day. One bill has to be given to Nelly for the apartment, or rather for the kitchen in which Arina lived. Another one went to pay off a student loan - a girl from Vladimir failed to enter a budget place. Well at least they took it for a fee. My father helped me get a loan. The mother simply groaned and gasped, marveling at the strange and unexpected "stubbornness" of her daughter, who at all costs decided to become a veterinarian.

At least one more bill went to food, no matter how hard Arina tried to reduce this expense to a minimum. Her efforts, however, were evident - some elbows were worth something, sticking out like those of an anorexia victim, and yet, meanwhile, Arina did not starve of her own free will for a single minute in her life. On the contrary, during the year of living in the capital, Arina managed to find out where and how you can eat “for free”. Krishnaites often fed for free, if you sang their songs a little, there were a couple of social canteens in Moscow, but it was very unpleasant there, you had to wait a long time, and besides, among the homeless, drunks and other outcasts. Having stood there one day with a textbook in her hands - a modest, clean girl with black hair knocked out of a ponytail - she came to the conclusion that it was impossible to save on yourself like that. Yourself is more expensive. It is better to eat oatmeal at home than to wander around such places, wasting time and effort.

Arina tried to save the remaining two bills at any cost, putting it off for a rainy day, which in her case could come at any moment. But it didn’t work out well for her: either the travel pass ended and she had to invest in the “transport component”, or the sneakers finally broke. Walking around the city barefoot was somehow not accepted.

Ten thousand rubles for one incomplete night. Sergei arrived only in the morning, drunk, cheerful, with a bottle of wine in his hand. Arina remembered - recently Sergei "visited" Nelly at least once a week. And then two. Arina had to suppress the impulse to calculate, by multiplying, how much money "lay out" on the coffee table in Nelly's room.

- What would you understand! He just takes care of me.

- Good good! Arina shook her head, just to cut off this conversation.

“But no one wants you at all, you are like a hedgehog,” Nellie said.

These words made the hedgehog - Arina - literally fly out of the apartment in a stupid denim dress with a bag. She didn't want to discuss it. She didn't want to know exactly what Nellie thought about all this, she didn't want to enrich herself with any additional details of Nellie's intimate life. For a Saturday morning, Arina already knew more than she wanted to know. She just couldn't figure out where to go so as not to return to the kitchen on the fifth floor of their rented five-story building for as long as possible. She would only stand day and night to hold out. At least a day, because, of course, sooner or later you still have to go back there.

- I'm not standing on Leningradka in a leather skirt, with whom are you comparing me, you thought ?! You don't dare to judge me!

She didn't judge. That's why she ran away to cool off a little, so that the bright flashes would go out and her imagination would stop drawing sharp, rough pictures from Nelli Zharkova's private life. I had to leave so as not to break loose, not to start asking unnecessary, offensive questions.

After all, is it really her business who her older friend Nelly sleeps with and what she gets in return?

Human streams slowly flowed past Arina, thickening near the entrance to the underground passage. The subway must be warmer. In the wallet were a student card, a travel card for Moscow and about one thousand two hundred rubles - everything that could be spent before the payday, which will only be through ... you should not get hung up on this.

The only thing, Arina suddenly realized, was why this Sergey sometimes looked at her with some kind of dark, greasy look and smiled badly. If he takes care of Nelli once or twice a week according to the tariff and the very essence of commodity-money relations, then what does he think of Arina herself?! They live with Nellie together, don't they?

Arina nodded her head decisively and walked towards the subway.

You can’t explain to anyone that you’re just renting a corner from a friend, moreover, literally, a corner on a sofa in the kitchen. For a separate room, not to mention an apartment, she would not have had enough under any circumstances.

Unless, of course, we exclude the alignment, according to which Nelly groaned, bent and screamed three times a week, preventing Arina from studying. Nelly's loud and some too a la German porn screams forced Arina to plug her ears with her palms. Partly also because these groans, the sounds of the evenly creaking bed behind the wall, embarrassed her and made her blush from completely uninvited thoughts.

A series: Two months and three days

* * *

The following excerpt from the book Two months and three days (Alice Clover, 2015) provided by our book partner - the company LitRes.

- What would you understand! He just takes care of me.

- Good good! Arina shook her head, just to cut off this conversation.

“But no one wants you at all, you are like a hedgehog,” Nellie said.

- I'm not standing on Leningradka in a leather skirt, with whom are you comparing me, you thought ?! You don't dare to judge me!

After all, is it really her business who her older friend Nelly sleeps with and what she gets in return?

Arina nodded her head decisively and walked towards the subway.

Well, where can she chat now? You can travel along the ring line, only Arina didn’t take her textbooks with her, but how long do you travel without reading? Learn by heart the instructions for using the subway? You need to order something in the cafe. At the cinema, buy a ticket. The shopping malls smell too strongly of food, and she didn't have time to eat breakfast. However, you can spend money on bread. I wonder what time Sergey will leave their nest of paid passion?

In general, Arina liked to walk around the city, in the old Moscow center with its low mansions, decorated with snow-white stucco and statues. During the year she spent in Moscow, she managed to wander around the Boulevard Ring and along the streets leading to Sadovoye. Moscow could be gray and dirty in the days of wet autumn, covering the cracked streets with yellow-brown leaves. It could be viscous and dank in the winter, rendering any footwear unusable and covering the hem of the coat with salt. Moscow, an unfaithful lover, shamelessly cheated when it came to spring, promised, but stuck somewhere in a traffic jam.

But now summer was beginning in Moscow, the second summer here for Arina. In the summer, Moscow became a luxurious maiden, a fashion model from an advertisement for expensive perfumes with the scent of daffodils, refined and inspiring. Arina loved Moscow almost as much as her native Vladimir. Now, if it weren’t for the wind and the cold, it would be possible to walk at least all day.

Museums remain. It didn't smell like food, there were no time limits, and besides, the students there were usually given big discounts on admission - that's what you need. And it's interesting again. In the Tretyakov Gallery, for example, you can even sit for hours on a bench upholstered in velor opposite, for example, Laundress and try to imagine their life. But on Saturdays there are too many people in the Tretyakov Gallery.

On Ostozhenka, Arina stopped in front of the MAMM sign, she had been there once and remembered this place well. Six spacious floors, photography in different genres and styles. There are usually few people. A spacious hall, comfortable benches, snow-white lines of a clear, cube-built staircase made you want to jump up, spread your wings and fly to the very top.

- How much does the ticket cost? – asked Arina, and she turned away and peered through the glass at the large spherical sculptures exhibited on the first floor of the exhibition center. The exposition is constantly changing. It was believed that everything exhibited here was, as they say, “on the cutting edge”.

Art. Arina understood little about him.

She divided the photos into two categories - like or dislike. However, this was not only about photographs. One day, Arina came to an exhibition at the Garage, where a living person, a woman, practically naked, covered only by these same garbage bags, was lying in a mountain of garbage bags and empty milk and kefir bags. Installation. Something about how the modern world of technology and information buries the true nature under itself. Arina did not like such art. She was more fond of photographs and paintings of nature and animals.

- With a student card - a hundred rubles - threw the usher and impatiently fidgeted in her chair. There was no queue, and there was no reason to rush, but the ticket attendant acted on autopilot.

– Okay, let me, – Arina once again glanced at the ball sculptures. The balls were, as Nellie would say, "cool".

“The sixth floor is closed today,” the usher snorted. - There will be a press conference. Only for journalists.

– Journalists? Arina asked. What is good about Moscow is that at any moment you can find yourself in the midst of the most incredible events. Shooting a movie about the dead, students protesting against something, scattering leaflets at the feet of passers-by. Journalists with thick microphones with plush or foam tips.

- There they are - behind the fence, - the ticket attendant pointed out to her, but Arina herself already saw that the passage to the square snow-white staircase was temporarily fenced off with red ribbons on the posts. Behind the pillars, inside the artificial fence, there were a flock of sleepy, dissatisfied journalists. To their right, near the wall, banquet tables beckoned to them with tall, champagne-filled glasses and small canapé sandwiches. Arina licked her lips. She thought that she should have stopped by for bread before the exhibition. Another mistake.

– What is it? she asked, nodding towards the media gathering.

“Hatred,” the usher answered even more displeasedly.

- What? Arina shuddered. The ticket attendant tore her eyes away from the computer screen and studied Arina's pale, youthful face, two moles on her left cheek, her black hair pulled into a loose ponytail, as if deciding whether to answer this little girl at all. Then she shrugged her shoulders and snorted again, saying that ignoramuses go around here. They don't know anything, they don't follow anything.

- Exhibition. Photographs of some cult photographer. He arrives today, so they are waiting for him here. And she added caustically, “Paparazzi.

- Hatred? - Arina repeated incredulously, but the usher was apparently tired of “talking” with the client. She opened the ticket and shoved it into her hands, along with a small stack of pamphlets and prospectuses.

Arina walked through the glass doors to the spherical sculptures. Incredibly beautiful photographs flaunted on the snow-white walls. A million bright colors and shapes, as if parallel worlds and universes accidentally fell into the lens. The photos were just incredible. Arina leaned over to the plate and read the title. "Unexplored worlds of the human cell". This transcendental world, which turned out to be macro photography of microbiological samples, made Arina freeze with her mouth open.

Stopping for a second, Arina tried to decide where to go first. To her delight, collections of photographs of the nature of the Russian North were exhibited on the third floor. It was possible to "hang" there. In another prospectus, it was promised that the visitor would be able to "touch the light" that would come to life in the installations of some European artist. Installation, Mr. We'll see. The third brochure, in dark chocolate, was printed on much heavier paper. There was nothing on the first page except the inscription "Hatred" in glowing neon letters, as if hanging in the dark. Behind the letters, behind each one, if you looked closely, there were vague figures, barely visible against the chocolate background.

"Hatred". What beauty can there be in hate? Most likely, nothing, and it is unlikely that the photographer sought to capture beauty. Something pretentious, on the principle of "the more disgusting - the better"? And yet ... curious, what is there "cult", for what all these journalists have gathered here? Or for whom?

- TV people are waiting for Korshun, right? - asked Arina a girl of about twenty-five, who was passing by, was tall, almost as tall as Arina, but in high heels. Arina hated stilettos, almost the whole year, with the exception of a very harsh winter, making do with sneakers or sneakers.

- A kite? Arina shuddered. - I do not know. And who is it?

The girl gave her a contemptuous look from top to bottom, which was easy - Arina was still sitting on the bench. Then the girl pulled out the "chocolate" prospectus from Arina's hands, unfolded it and pointed at the photograph, signed in large white letters - MAXIM KORSHUN.

The face of a man. The expressive face of a handsome man who doesn't care that he is handsome.

In a bright square the color of the sea abyss, his face is full-face - the way people are photographed for a passport. He is disheveled, his dark bangs are tangled and slightly damp, as if he had recently been exercising and sweating. The man holds his head high, neck straight, shoulders proudly straightened. He is wearing an orange robe like a prisoner's. The man looks straight into the lens, into the eyes of the one who holds the prospectus in his hands. In Arina's eyes.

The look is prickly and evil. Ice and fire. The lips are tightly compressed, the jaws are brought together almost by a spasm. Hatred? “What a piercing look,” Arina thought. And then, unexpectedly for herself: “Oh, what beautiful, intelligent eyes.”

- It is he? Arina asked.

“Yeah, in person,” the girl sat down next to Arina and rubbed her foot. Stiletto sandals rubbed her leg. - Good, huh?

“Nothing,” Arina nodded, continuing to look at the photo. If someone needs to do something to get the attention of girls, not this photographer. But he was fairly unshaven, shaggy, and besides sweating. He did not even try to please - neither the camera, nor those who later see this photo, but both women immediately unconditionally recognized him as damn interesting.

“I won’t be me if I don’t get to know him,” the girl exclaimed resolutely and took a compact from her purse.

- Do you think it's possible? Arina was surprised, and at that very moment she suddenly clearly realized that the man from the photograph, whom she had been looking at for several minutes, would now appear right here. He will enter the same glass doors through which Arina passed. He will be here itself.

Suddenly, Arina felt that it became difficult for her to breathe, as if she was flying down a snowy hill in a sleigh, and the wind was blowing in her face, and her heart was fading with delight and fear. At my mother’s house in Vladimir, a poster from a magazine hung over her bed - Jensen Ackles from Supernatural smiles at the viewer with a kind and open smile. He was also naturally beautiful, everyone liked him at first sight, flames danced in his eyes too. And you could think about it if you wanted to. You could even imagine something unimaginable, imagine yourself with him, but it never took your breath away.

After all, Jensen Ackles will never come down to her from the poster. And the man from the photo is about to be here.

Arina suddenly also wanted to get behind the fence to the journalists and see Korshun in life, as he is.

Would he see her too? Suddenly he would noticed?

Not in this life. What nonsense! Now, if Arina were different - in beautiful clothes, with different arms and legs, not with such pale skin and would be a blonde, for example ... Just not an angular teenager, who at nineteen can’t give more than fifteen. If only she were someone else. A beautiful and confident woman. Then he might notice her. "Nobody wants you, you're like a hedgehog!"

“Hatred is like a dream of death, a nightmare from which it is impossible to wake up. Hatred is like thoughts of suicide that are planted in other people's heads. Hate destroys even that which he loves. Hatred conquers childhood and nourishes those who have nothing. Hatred kills, ”the girl in high heels read aloud, in a singsong voice, the words from the prospectus, and Arina silently listened to her, paralyzed by absurd desires and impartial thoughts about herself. She didn't try to get into the verbal communication. She didn't take her eyes off the door.

- The exhibition will stay here until the twenty-fifth, and then - bye-bye. He will go to London,” the woman continued. “But he's here for a couple of days, of course.

And suddenly Arina stood up and froze as if rooted to the spot. The brochures fell from her fingers and scattered across the floor without her noticing. Helplessly, she looked at the unshaven man who had stopped in the glass doors, and her heart began to beat loudly and haltingly, her breathing almost stopped.

He stood in the glass doors.