Timur opens the door to my room sharply, enters quickly, not caring at all whether I’m dressed or not. “Get ready,” he barks, and I climb onto the bed and crawl away. “I won’t go.” You can’t force me! - Ella, this is your father’s order. It is not discussed. “I don’t want to listen to his orders!” “I’ll have to.” Timur rests his knee on the bed on which I’m lying. It bends over, and I have nowhere else to retreat. I’m trapped: there’s a wall behind me, Timur in front, and my fragile childish resistance is about to be broken. “Kiss me, then I’ll go,” I say and close my eyes.