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“There’s no world where it’s possible?”

He pulls back to look me in the eyes. He studies me those inky blacks, taking his sweet time examining every centimeter of my expression. “No.”

This isn’t the way to gain his cooperation. I’m too consistent, as a character.

He’ll never believe this.

But what the hell would he believe? So far, the only thing I know how to sell is I want to fuck you.

I’m a better actor than this.

I just⁠—

Ugh.

I smile like he’s caught me. An impish smile, like I real am the devil herself. “You’re right. I wouldn’t turn on my boss, unless I had no other choice. But it’s fun to pretend sometimes, isn’t it?”

He smiles sure, we’ll go with that.

We return to dinner. Small talk about old times. The coffee at my favorite shop. Our inability to find good tea when we went to the Azores.

The way we lingered on the beach for hours, completely taken with each other.

The trip was just for us. No work for Mi6. No hired hits. Not even a single ridiculous role play scenario.

I felt so myself, pretending to be the woman he wanted.

I try to slip into that role now, but I can’t quite find it. So I focus on the food. He’s still a fantastic cook. The steak is a perfect medium rare. The green beans are tender and rich. The strawberries and dark chocolate he picked for dessert are just sweet enough.

But it’s not enough to distract me from the real issue.

So I wait until I finish my last bite and I pull out a half-drank bottle of gin from the freezer.

A local brand I left in my apartment four years ago.

It’s almost poetic, this symbol of his vices, sitting in the back of his freezer. I’d be impressed by his theatricality if I wasn’t so fucking mad.

I uncap the gin and take a sip, even though he has every reason to poison it.

It tastes normal. Like juniper and coriander and mint.

“What the fuck are you doing with alcohol in your fridge, Matteo?” I ask.

“That’s none of your business,” he says.

“You’re being fucking stupid. Don’t mess with your sobriety.” I fold my arms in a pose that’s all long-suffering girlfriend.

He never forced me to play that part. I would have refused if he did. I would have left. I could have left a dozen times, but I didn’t. I was having fun by his side. I didn’t want that to end.

Why is he being so fucking stupid now? not going to tolerate it. “We’re partners. I need you at your best.”

He raises a brow. Partners, really? Don’t partners tell each other the truth.

I can’t exactly argue with that.

So I don’t.

He lets it pass without further comment.