In Which My Boyfriend Finally Admits He Is a Spy and I React Reasonably

The dacha looked like it had personally survived several wars and at least one emotionally devastating marriage.

Snow buried the tiny cabin almost to the windowsills.

Inside, however, it was weirdly cozy.

There was a fireplace.

A massive wool blanket.

Three different rifles.

And a samovar that Aries somehow knew how to use despite allegedly majoring in "international business innovation."

At this point, honestly, I was beginning to suspect the man had not been entirely truthful with me.

I sat cross-legged on the couch wearing:

1. two sweaters,

1. wool socks,

1. and one of Aries's oversized thermal shirts.

Aries stood at the kitchen counter disassembling a handgun with the casual energy of someone making soup.

Outside, wind howled across the frozen countryside.

Inside, I was trying very hard to emotionally process the fact that I had apparently fled across Russia with my boyfriend, who might or might not be an international criminal.

Honestly?

The relationship had definitely experienced communication issues before this.

But never, like, felony communication issues.

I sipped tea cautiously.

"Okay," I said.

Aries glanced up.

"Okay?"

"Okay. So. I've been thinking."

"That's usually dangerous."

"Rude."

He returned to cleaning the gun.

I watched him for a moment.

Then:

"So what exactly is happening?"

Aries went still.

Just slightly.

Enough that I noticed.

Which was honestly growth for me.

He set the gun down carefully.

Then sighed the sigh of a man preparing for the worst conversation of his life.

"Pisces."

"Oh my God," I whispered immediately. "You're married."

"What? No."

"Okay good because honestly I don't think I could compete with, like, a mysterious French intelligence wife."

"There is no wife."

"Russian husband?"

"No."

"Okay."

A pause.

Then Aries rubbed a hand down his face.

"There's no easy way to explain this."

"Usually that means the explanation is terrible."

"It's complicated."

"That sentence has literally never improved a situation."

He looked at me for a very long moment.

Then finally:

"...I might be a spy."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Snow drifted softly outside the window.

The fire crackled.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

I blinked once.

Then twice.

"What?"

Aries exhaled slowly.

"I work in intelligence operations."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"No you don't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Pisces—"

"I thought you worked in software logistics for livestock."

"That was a cover."

I physically recoiled.

"A COVER?"

"Yes."

"Oh my GOD."

I stood up so abruptly the blanket fell onto the floor.

"I defended you."

Aries blinked.

"What?"

"To people."

"What people?"

"To EVERYONE."

I started pacing dramatically across the tiny cabin.

"I told people you worked in agricultural software because it made you seem emotionally grounded."

Aries looked genuinely confused.

"How does livestock software make me emotionally grounded?"

"Because animals are healing, Aries."

"That's insane."

"YOU'RE A SPY."

He opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

Honestly, I think that was the moment he realized I might actually be harder to deal with than international assassins.

I pointed at him accusingly.

"I cannot BELIEVE you're involved in all this capitalist Jason Bourne bullshit."

"That's not remotely what this is."

"Oh really? Because from my perspective you've:

1. lied about your identity,

1. fled multiple countries,

1. exploded our apartment,

1. tranquilized me,

1. and thrown me into a Russian river."

"That last one was unavoidable."

"You know what else was unavoidable? HONESTY."

Aries leaned against the counter looking exhausted.

"I was trying to protect you."

"By emotionally obliterating me?"

"Yes."

"That's literally worse."

He rubbed his temples.

"You don't understand how dangerous this is."

"Oh my God, dangerous people dress better than you."

"...What?"

I gestured wildly at him.

"Honestly, what kind of spy even ARE you?"

He looked down at himself.

Black thermal shirt.

Combat boots.

Cargo pants.

A knife strapped to one thigh for absolutely no psychologically healthy reason.

"I dress fine."

"Aries, you look like a divorced flashlight salesman."

His face twitched.

Possibly from irritation.

Possibly from holding back laughter.

I continued pacing.

"I just thought spies would have more... elegance."

"Elegance."

"Yes."

"Pisces, I literally rappelled into your office from a helicopter."

"And it was deeply tacky."

Aries stared at me for a full five seconds.

Then finally:

"I work for Mossad."

Silence.

I blinked.

"...The skincare company?"

Aries closed his eyes.

"No."

"Oh."

A beat.

Then:

"Wait."

Another beat.

Then my soul briefly exited my body.

"Oh my GOD."

Aries watched me carefully.

I pointed at him in horror.

"Like... actual spies?"

"Yes."

"Like international covert operations?"

"Yes."

"The Israeli intelligence agency?"

"Yes."

I sat down very slowly.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

"Oh my God."

Aries crouched in front of me carefully.

"I never wanted you involved in this."

I stared at him.

Then suddenly narrowed my eyes.

"...Wait."

Aries visibly tensed.

"You can't work for Mossad."

"...What?"

I pointed at him aggressively.

"You're uncircumcised."

Absolute silence filled the cabin.

Even the wind outside seemed to pause.

Aries stared at me like I had just psychologically assaulted him.

"...Pisces."

"No, because now I'm confused."

"That is what confuses you?"

"You literally told me you were in Israeli intelligence."

"And your immediate concern is my dick?"

"Well NOW it is."

Aries stood motionless for several seconds.

Then sighed the sigh of a man reconsidering every life choice he had ever made.

"I was born in a specialized training village."

I blinked.

"A what?"

"A specialized intelligence community."

"That sounds fake."

"It's not."

"Aries, that sounds like the plot of a Netflix series starring an emotionally constipated British man."

"It's real."

I folded my arms.

"Okay then explain the uncircumcised situation, James Bond."

Aries pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We don't do it intentionally."

I stared.

"...WHAT?"

"For operational flexibility."

"OPERATIONAL—"

"So agents can blend in internationally."

I physically leaned backward.

"That is the CRAZIEST sentence anyone has ever said to me."

"It's practical."

"Your penis is not supposed to be geopolitically adaptable."

Aries looked deeply exhausted.

"You asked."

"I DIDN'T THINK THERE WOULD BE AN ANSWER."

He turned away muttering something in Hebrew that sounded profoundly regretful.

I pointed at him dramatically from the couch.

"Oh, my God. You were literally genetically optimized for lying."

"That's not what I said."

"No wonder you're impossible to argue with."

"Pisces—"

"You emotionally catfished me with livestock software."

A pause.

Then quietly:

"...You really believed the goat thing?"

I stared at him.

"Aries."

"Yes?"

"You once spent forty minutes explaining sustainable alpaca importation laws."

"...I panicked."