- NO NAMES
- NO PERSONAL QUESTIONS
- NO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS
The Professor concluded our first lesson with an agreeable 'thank you' and the prompt erasure of the chalk notes he wrote on the board. One of the younger guys, Denver, already swivelled around to shoot the shit with Rio, our computer whizz version of Mozart.
"Class is dismissed. Feel free to explore the rest of our countryside home. Dinner will be in the dining room at six," The Professor said.
Most of my classmates rose to their feet and left the classroom. Tokyo, another criminal with robbery experience, sauntered over to Rio. Maybe I would've, too. He had the boy-next-door look in spades and I've heard of the time he compromised a Swiss mansion's security system. Looks and brains. Too bad, he was practically fresh out of teenagehood. I'm a lot of things but I'm not a cradle-snatcher. Even criminals have a code of conduct and I happen to observe it. Thank you for listening.
Berlin, the man who proposed to me a decade ago, was still in the room. I watched him fix his pricey cuff-links. An old habit for both of us. Even the way his suit rests on his shoulders screamed self-indulgence. Likely some Ermenegildo Zegna piece. I could practically hear him in my head.
Careful. My suit costs more than your house. Allow me to rub it in as much as grammatically possible.
He'd lead the assault inside the Royal Mint, which was a shame because I could see him singling me out to roll out the red carpet for him — all the while knowing that I can't deny him unless I blow my cover. None of the other robbers would step in unless they'd want their heads on the cutting board sometime soon, either.
I pushed my chair back and made my way to the door. We could have our first post-breakup chat over dinner, where there'd be a team of other criminals around as potential chaperones in case things got ugly.
"Muy buenos, Cairo."
His voice sounded the exact same as I remembered it. My professional swindler instincts kicked in before I could've said anything irreparable.
I summoned up every pleasant memory I had after pulling a vanishing act on him. I passed myself off as a non-existent duchess, fostered a cat, sold "bill" printers for thousands, pretended to be an aircraft repo woman and stole off with a private jet, anonymously donated to a charity out of guilt — I've been Spain's patron saint.
"Muy buenos, Berlin," I said, smiling and turning to face him, voice warm like apple pie.
He straightened his tie, which didn't need fixing, and leaned back against the nearest desk. The years brought on hints of salt and pepper in his usually black-brown hair. His smile lines were heavier, or maybe it seemed that way because he swapped out a trimmed beard for stubble.
Berlin's gaze raked up and down my body. He took the sight of me in like a shark eyeing squid and considering whether he was hungry enough to warrant hunting it down. Tokyo was right. He was a shark in a swimming pool. His attention lingered on the crook of my neck before flashing me one of his toothy grins.
"Why Cairo and not Ulaanbaatar?" he said, "You should wear your Mongol blood like a badge. Age has been merciful to you."
"Why Ulaanbaatar and not Mörön?" I quipped.
Berlin's dark brown eyes glinted like cognac when he snorted at the joke. He spread his arms for a hug and, for a moment, I swore I saw a flicker of vulnerability while he waited for me to either hold him or turn him down.
Turns out, I was wrong.
He pulled me close to whisper in my ear. Berlin's voice was ice water on my skin. His fingers gripped me firmly as though he needed to emphasise his point. "I haven't forgotten your entirely romantic runaway," he hissed.
"I tend to have that effect on people," I said.
"Then I'm a lucky man to have you as a model hostage."
Berlin let go of me and patted me on the shoulder as if he wasn't underhandedly threatening me two seconds ago. For the sake of two billion euros, I beamed like we were best friends and shook his hand.