Regulus couldn’t believe it. Five (or six) years of marriage, and you didn’t love him. It was all just a cover. You didn’t have a “job in IT”, you were working for the rival. Well, to be honest, he wasn’t an “intellectual property lawyer” either. He also lied, but hey! He loved you! He really did. He thought he was the one with a dirty secret.

Now, sitting across from you at the fancy restaurant, gun in his lap (and another one tucked by his ankle), Regulus didn’t want to do it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shoot you. Not while you’re looking at him like you still love him. He blinked. You didn’t love him. It was all just a cover.

You looked at him with similar disbelief. Six years of loving this man, and he didn’t reciprocate once. Sure, all the lying was problematic, to say the least, but nothing a couple’s therapist couldn’t fix.

You shifted slightly in your seat, picking up the glass of champagne. Regulus still hasn’t touched his martini.

You took a sip of the champagne, and the gun under the napkin in your lap clicked slightly. Regulus raised his brows in an almost unnoticeable gesture. He didn’t know you had a knife attached to your garter. Yet.

Tango played over the speakers in the restaurant. Regulus proposed to you here, and now he would have to disarm you here. Ironic.

“Dance with me,” he said quietly, leaning closer. A surprising offer, considering he didn’t like dancing or tango that much.