She lives with one dream - a dream of love. No, she does not suffer from loneliness, changing lovers like gloves. She is convinced: for a modern woman, sleeping with a man is the same as in the time of our grandmothers it was to wink at a gentleman at a ball. And she generously gives her body to anyone who she thinks will cast an interested glance at her, so that in record time she can be convinced that he is not the one she needs. And run without looking back. From one, two, three... Until she meets him - a real prince. Noble, attentive, ready to throw the whole world at her feet. Why is the worm of doubt gnawing at her again? Why is she unable to believe him, to believe that this is really love?