Apparently, angels exist because I didn't run into my ex-fiancé until later that day.

It was dinner time and the gang settled around a baroque dining table. Curves and counter-curves ran like wild horses along the legs and the edges. It'd be a pricey piece to pawn, I thought, trailing an idle finger down its length while Helsinki settled down beside me. Plates were passed along and cutlery set down.

"To a successful heist!" Berlin said.

He popped a bottle of Anna de Codorniu and filled The Professor's glass before offering it to anyone else who might enjoy the familiar buzz.

I watched as the alcohol made its rounds around the table. The sun was setting in the horizon and basked the entire room in an amber-gold cast. The roast duck was speared with silver forks. Mashed potatoes and caramelised onions were scooped up in silver spoons. Meanwhile, the conversation between us loosened as the liquor kicked in. If you squinted, we'd almost look like one extensive family reunion.

"Helsinki, Oslo; in the right light, you two could fit in a beer ad," Tokyo quipped, watching the Serbians down their drinks, which looked toy-sized in their hands. A conspirational smile spread across her lips, "I think Nairobi would look good with champagne."

Nairobi snorted and waved a jewelled hand in Tokyo's direction. My gaze lingered on the flamboyant but calculated way she'd flash her fingers like a fireworks show.

"Champagne? That's so pretentious. I'm more of a wine lady myself."

"Oh, I disagree," I said, "you're definitely champagne material. Way too obsessed with money."

Tokyo cackled and 'casually' laid her head on Rio's shoulder while Nairobi made a face of mock-offence. On my right, Helsinki slapped me hard across the shoulder, rumbling with laughter. The Professor smiled across the table but busied himself with his roast duck—and my ex-fiancé smirked.

Of course, he'd smirk in that immaculate waistcoat and tie. Oxford blue. So fucking sophisticated on a man with the emotional capacity of a brute. Berlin still had that (handsome, but headache-inducing) self-assured air about him. That whole 'I could rob you blind and you'd thank me' look; all time had done was give him a track record to back it up. After all, a sword swathed in silk is still sharp.

"Shut up, swindler! You're fruit juice trying to pass itself for cider," Nairobi said, rousing another wave of laughter from our ragtag gang. Rio perked up. His bright-eyed face glowing with the satisfaction of having a witty comment ready.

"Fruit juice is a drink of culture! Five jugs and all you'll get is diabetes," he said.

I snorted and rolled my eyes and The Professor smiled despite himself. Others began to join the 'if-you-were-a-drink-what-would-you-be' game.

"Cairo is wine," Helsinki insisted, "like Berlin. Whine and wine couple"

Oof! That was close to the mark, muscleman.

I elbowed the Serbian 'in jest' and laughed at the pain that shot up my arm. I have no idea what he's made of, but if someone told me Helsinki bleeds concrete instead of blood-I'd believe them. Of course, the former-soldier didn't react at all to the pain (if he even felt any?) Maybe The Professor worked in HR in a past life. In that case: A+ hire.

"I can see it!" Tokyo exclaimed.

"What's the difference between fine wine and fine women?" Denver put on an affected Berlin impression and puffed out his chest, "Wine leaves less of a headache after getting drunk."

Then he finished it off with his insufferable machine-gun laughter. Moscow gave him a swift kick under the table, but it didn't stop our merry band of fugitives from snickering.

"Oh no, no, no. The difference is that wine doesn't try to escape from his cellar," I corrected.

The gang exploded into fits again. The Professor set down his wine glass and clutched at his stomach, gasping for air. I tingled with pride at how even Berlin had to laugh and play along with it—or expose us as exes. He was always a remarkably good actor.

Maybe, in another life, he'd steal hearts instead of diamonds. Clearing my throat, I shouted over the ruckus.

"No hard feelings, eh, Berlin?"

Oh, who was I kidding?

/

AN: Short chapter but we're doing good. As usual, please favourite and/or comment if you enjoyed my work! Your support motivates me to write more

Cursory note that jokes these characters find funny doesn't necessarily reflect my tastes!