20. Twenty

After they leave the diner, they spend the next few hours bickering over radio stations and flirting shamelessly. 

Lucifer drives. The Detective sits in the passenger seat, one of her legs folded beneath her. The pie box sits between them, a constant reminder of what’s ahead. Every once in a while, Lucifer catches the Detective glancing toward the box. He wonders what she’s imagining. He wonders if she has any idea how much he wants her.

When they finally arrive in the tiny roadside town they decided they’d stop in for the night, the Detective insists that they go out for an early dinner before they check into their hotel. Lucifer huffs at her, impatient to get her alone and naked. She smirks, and reminds him what he said about anticipation. He relents, but insists on picking the restaurant. She agrees, and they end up at a decently stylish restaurant that looks out over the Green River. 

The food is good. The company is better. He knows she misses her daughter and her friends and her life, but she doesn’t seem preoccupied or haunted. She seems...relaxed. He wonders if maybe the time away from everything might actually do her some good, but he doesn’t dare suggest it. 

He manages to make her laugh a fair amount, which makes him proud. He catches her watching him once or twice when she thinks he’s not paying attention. There’s so much affection in her eyes that it makes his heart do that funny flipping thing in his chest that’s only ever happened around her. When the waiter asks if they’re interested in dessert, the Detective blushes. Lucifer wants to kiss her, but he knows if he starts he won’t be able to stop, so he doesn’t. 

The sun has set by the time they leave the restaurant. He’s far past regretting what he said about anticipation. He wants her so badly that he feels like his body is thrumming with need. 

When they get to the hotel, everything is a blur. There’s a girl at the front desk and a pair of plastic card keys and then the very new experience of carrying his own luggage back to their room. When they’re finally alone, the Detective turns to look at him with a shy smile. 

He kisses it from her lips. He kisses her everywhere. He takes his time with her, and he puts the pie to good use, and it’s even better than he thought it would be. He’s eaten dozens of things off innumerable lovers but none of them tasted as good as apple pie tastes when it’s smeared along the inside of the Detective’s thigh and across her stomach and over the swell of her breasts. He tells her she tastes better than the pie, and it’s not a lie. He sends her over the edge several times, and each one is prettier than the last. When he finally lets himself fall over the edge too, it feels like coming home. 

They lay draped over each other for a while after that, catching their breath, and then she complains that she’s sticky from the pie and needs a shower. He joins her. He likes shower sex, given that he’s far more athletic than the average man and thus it’s a far less dangerous pursuit, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel the need to claim her again. He just wants to be close to her. 

He likes the way she closes her eyes when she’s beneath the spray of the showerhead. He likes the way she tips her head back to rinse her hair, which is far darker when it’s wet. The bathroom light bulb appears to be on its last legs, and the dimness makes the color of her eyes even more striking than usual. The scar on her shoulder from their first case together is a shade lighter than the rest of her skin. He kisses it and promises himself for the millionth time that he’ll never let her get another. 

When they’re finished, she puts on one of his shirts. He’s admiring the length of her legs and fantasizing about how it would feel to have them wrapped around his hips again when she flops onto the bed and reaches for the TV remote. He joins her. She flips through channels but he’s focused on her legs. He likes her legs. 

“Ooh yes,” she murmurs. She scoots closer to him and cuddles into his side, her head on his shoulder and her arm draping over his abdomen. “Wanna bet on what they’ll pick?”

He finally tears his eyes away from her legs and glances up at the TV. There’s a man and a woman bickering onscreen. He doesn’t recognize them. He frowns. “What is this?”

“Wait, seriously?” she says, pushing off his chest to lean back and look at him. “You’ve never seen Love It or List It? ”

“What on earth is Love It or List It? ” 

Her eyes light up. “Okay, so, there’s these couples, right? And one of them wants to move cause they hate their house, and the other person wants to stay. So these two come in.” 

She gestures at the still-bickering people on TV. “Hilary remodels their house to try to convince them to love it, and David finds them a bunch of new houses to try to convince them to list it, and then when the remodel is done and they find a new house they like, they have to pick whether to love their remodeled house or list it and buy the other one.”

Lucifer glances at the TV, and then back at the Detective. “And you like this?”

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “It’s fun.” 

He shakes his head. “No. Eating apple pie off your naked body and then eating you out is fun. Watching home remodeling shows is not fun.”

“Lucifer,” she hisses, shoving his shoulder. She’s blushing again. Someday, maybe, they’ll get to a point where she doesn’t blush all the time. Until then, it’s very pretty.

“We both know you had fun,” he tells her. “There’s no need to blush about it.”

“But this is fun too,” she insists. 

He casts a skeptical glance at the TV.

“Look, just try it, okay? We can bet on it.”

He perks up at that. A bet means there’s a winner. And if he wins, he gets a prize. “What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. If they love it, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Oh, careful Detective,” he murmurs, leaning into her space. “A blank check is a dangerous thing to give the Devil.”

“If they list it,” she says, the corners of her mouth tugging upward, “then I win. And that means I get whatever I want.”

“This sounds like a win-win for me. I agree to your terms.”

“You don’t even know what I want yet,” she points out. “What if I say I want you to braid my hair and then sing me to sleep?”

“Then I’ll braid your hair and sing you to sleep. And then I’ll wake you up and ravish you.”

She rolls her eyes again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably handsome, yes. I concur. Now hush, I need to hear every word of this show so I can gloat about it when I win.”

He doesn’t win. 

“Unbelievable,” he says an hour later, throwing up his hands. “That kitchen was pristine. What kind of fool turns that down?”

“They wanted a backyard,” the Detective points out with a laugh. “The house David found had a huge backyard.”

“They gave up that kitchen for a bunch of bloody little rats?”

“They weren’t rats, Lucifer. They were dogs. And I thought they were cute.”

He scoffs. “They were rats with long hair. Disgusting little creatures.”

She smirks at him. “Trixie’s been begging for a dog, you know.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. “I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” she says incredulously. 

“I forbid it,” he repeats.

She grins. “You’re not king up here, babe. You don’t get to forbid things.”

“I will never step foot in your home again if you buy the urchin a glorified rat.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Oh you think so?” he says, rolling toward her. He reaches across her to put his hand on the mattress and then loom over her the way she seems to like. “You wish to tempt fate?”

She strokes her fingers over his chest. “Not fate. Just the Devil. Speaking of, I won the bet.”

“Ah yes,” he hums. He ducks down to brush a kiss over her neck, and she tilts her head to give him better access. “Time for you to have your wicked way with me.”

“Pretty sure those weren’t the terms of the bet.” She traces her hand down to his abs, her fingernails raking gently along the indentations of muscle. He flexes beneath her touch and hopes she lets her hand wander even lower. “We agreed you’d do whatever I want.”

“We did,” he murmurs, trailing his mouth down her neck toward her collarbone. “And what is it you desire?”

“I want you to watch another episode with me.”

“Mm, yes I—” He stops with a frown, and then picks his head up to look at her. “You want me to do what? ”

She shoves against his chest, and he’s too surprised to resist, so he flops onto the mattress beside her like an overturned turtle.

“You’re going to watch another episode with me,” she says with a grin. “And you’re going to keep your hands to yourself the whole time.”

“Detective.”

“Bet’s a bet, Lucifer.” She scoots a few inches away from him so that they’re not touching. “Now hush, it’s already started.”

He gapes at her. He knows she notices because she’s trying and failing not to smile. He searches for some kind of explanation for the sudden distance between them. Did he somehow become less stunningly attractive in the last hour? A quick once over of his body reveals that no, nothing has changed. He’s just as good looking as he’s always been. He’s half naked in bed next to her, ready and willing and eager, and she wants to watch a bloody TV show about home remodeling. What the hell.

“You should close your mouth,” the Detective suggests in amusement. “You look like a fish.”

He huffs at her. The gall of this woman. “This is a crime,” he announces.

She laughs. “I’m a cop. This isn’t a crime.”

“You’re a homicide detective. There are other crimes besides homicide.”

“And what crime is this, exactly?”

“Well I don’t know, but it’s a damn bloody crime, that’s for sure. Were all the years of blue balls before this moment not enough for you? You have to continue punishing me just because you can?”

“You’re such a drama queen,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s an hour long episode, Lucifer. Be a good Devil for an hour and then we’ll see what happens.”

“Sex,” he sputters at her. “Sex is what happens.”

She smiles and lifts her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

He glares at her. She ignores him. After a minute or so, when it becomes clear that she’s serious, he sighs dramatically and folds his arms over his chest and turns toward the TV to pout. He hates her a little, but he’s not about to renege on a bet. He has a reputation to maintain, after all. Besides, he waited thousands of years for her. What’s another hour?

A few seconds later, her hand slides over his knee. 

He snaps his head toward her in surprise. She doesn’t look at him. He swallows, stares at her thumb stroking idly over his knee, and then looks back at the TV. She’s testing him. He knows it.

A few minutes later her hand slides higher, up to his thigh. 

He turns his head slowly to look at her. She doesn’t look back. He considers his options, and unfolds his arms. He waits a few seconds, trying to ease into it, and then slides his hand across the mattress toward her leg. 

“Hands to yourself, Lucifer,” she says in the same tone she uses with suspects. 

He yanks his hand back, is immediately annoyed with himself that he obeyed her so quickly, and then is immediately turned on. He wasn’t lying before. He does think it’s sexy when she’s bossy. And whatever she’s up to right now...well, he’s into it. 

By the time the insanely annoying couple on the TV is finally arguing over whether to love or list their house, Lucifer is desperate. Thousands of years in Hell don’t hold a candle to the exquisite torture the Detective has put him through over the last hour. She’s stroked her hands all over him. She’s squeezed and fondled and caressed. About five minutes ago she leaned across the space between them and started sucking on his neck, and he’s fairly certain he’s going to explode. He’s sitting on his hands in an attempt to behave, but it’s not going to work much longer. Her tongue is fucking witchcraft. He’s never been so turned on in his life. 

“We’ve decided to love it,” the husband announces on the screen.

“Show’s over,” Lucifer blurts out and lunges at the Detective.

She squeaks in surprise as she careens backward on the bed beneath him, and then she laughs when he immediately buries his face in her neck. They’re facing the wrong way on the bed, their feet on the pillows, but Lucifer couldn’t care less. All he cares about is the Detective. Naked.

He rips the dress shirt of his that she’s wearing open, and buttons fly all over the room. He doesn’t care. How can he care about anything when there’s all this skin to lick and kiss?

He sets to work on her chest—he loves this part of her, because he fantasized about it before he even knew her and it thrills him that it’s all his now—and she arches up into his mouth. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, her fingers combing through his hair. 

“Show’s over,” he insists between kisses. “It’s called Love It or List It and they decided to love it and now the episode is over and I was a good Devil so excuse me while I claim my reward.”

She laughs. It vibrates through her chest and he loves that. 

“I should confess something,” she says, her nails scratching over the back of his head. 

He lifts his head to look at her. “Oh?” And then he grins. “Is it a secret fantasy you’ve always had? You know how I love fulfilling fantasies.”

She smiles at him. “I’d already seen the episode we made a bet over.”

He frowns. He doesn’t understand what she means. And then it hits him. 

“You little cheat,” he hisses. 

She laughs. “I never said I hadn’t watched it.”

“It was implied!”

She tilts her head. “I don’t think it was. You just assumed. And you know what they say about making assumptions.”

He sputters at her. She laughs again. He lunges at her, kissing the laugh from her lips. She hums at him and wraps her arms around his neck. 

“I’m going to punish you for that,” he murmurs into her mouth. 

She arches beneath him suggestively. “Promise?”

He grins. 

Spending the night at the Comfort Inn in Green River, Utah is a far cry from spending it in a mansion overlooking the Vegas skyline. 

Under normal circumstances, Lucifer would be hard pressed to say that his current accommodations were satisfactory. He’s used to suites, but this is a single room. The view from the window reveals nothing but a sad looking shrub and a parking lot. The thermostat is set to an acceptable temperature, but the room is chilly. He thinks there’s a draft coming from somewhere he has yet to identify. The bathroom smells faintly of lemon cleaning solution, and the rest of the room smells like fabric softener. All in all, it’s not his idea of the ideal place to spend an evening.

But it’s hard to complain when he’s with the Detective. 

The view from the window doesn’t matter when she’s in his arms, her hair fanned out over the pillow behind her as she sleeps. The room is chilly, but that just means she’s cuddled close to him, seeking his warmth beneath the sheets. The room smells like fabric softener, but her hair smells amazing. He needs to read the label of her shampoo bottle. He’s not entirely sure it’s not magic of some sort. How else to explain how the scent of something so cheap is so intoxicating?

The Detective sighs in her sleep, and then she starts to snore softly. Lucifer can’t help but smile. It’s a horrific sound, really. It should annoy him. It doesn’t. It amuses him that a woman so beautiful can make a sound so terrible. But that’s his Detective. Full of contradictions and surprises. 

And full of doubts too, apparently. 

That’s why he’s still awake even though he’s tired. He can’t stop thinking about their conversation at the diner. He can’t stop thinking about the softness in her voice and the apprehension in her eyes when she murmured that she was afraid she wasn’t enough for him. He thought she knew what she meant to him. He hasn’t said the words she wants to hear, of course, but he thought she knew. She said she knew. 

But maybe it’s not about that. Maybe she really does know that he cares for her more than he’s ever cared for anyone, but she also believes that his affection isn’t enough to keep him faithful. He did tell her once that he would be bored with the same person in his bed every night. But when she’d asked him that question, he hadn’t realized she was thinking of herself. If he had, he might have answered differently. He certainly never dared to dream that she would fall in love with him. Shag him senseless once or twice, sure. Everyone wants to do that. But love him? Love him? Who would dare?

Her, apparently.

Miracle indeed.

It upsets him that she’s unsure of his commitment to her. It frustrates him that even in the midst of this waking nightmare, when he thought he’d made it abundantly clear that he is ready and willing to sacrifice anything and everything to give her back her life, she still has doubts about him. It pains him that even though she knows he spent thousands of years pining over her, she still wonders if he’ll wake up one morning and want someone else. The idea that he could want someone else in his bed after she graced the sheets is preposterous. Ludicrous. Laughable.

But she doesn’t seem to know that. 

He thinks, perhaps, that it’s because he didn’t get a chance to woo her. He doesn’t know much about relationships or love, but he’s fairly certain that wooing is important to women. It seems to solidify for them that their suitors are in it for the long haul. And it’s not as though he hasn’t tried to woo the Detective. He had plenty of plans before that mess with Father Kinley. He had plans before all this mess with Dream too. But now they’re on a road trip across the country to meet Death, and road trips aren’t exactly conducive to wooing. 

Then again, maybe he’s mistaken. Maybe he’s just not thinking outside the box enough. Diner bathrooms aren’t exactly conducive to orgasms, but he pulled a pretty spectacular one from the Detective earlier. Love It or List It isn’t really conducive to foreplay, and yet the Detective had him panting with need as they watched an episode. Who says the Devil can’t woo his beloved during a road trip?

An idea starts to form. They were meant to stay in a tiny town an hour or so outside Denver tomorrow night. But what if they don’t? What if he plans something special for her in the city instead? The stars have aligned in that regard, actually, because he knows someone in Denver who owes him a favor. He’ll have to be careful to keep things discreet so they stay off the radar of the Detective’s law enforcement colleagues. It will take a lot of work, and likely a considerable amount of money. 

But maybe, if he does everything exactly right, she’ll finally understand. 

Lucifer is acting weird.

In and of itself, that’s not exactly unusual. He’s always been eccentric. To be fair, a lot of his eccentricities seem a lot less bizarre now that Chloe knows he’s the actual Devil. But still, he’s quirky. 

This is, like, a whole new level of weird though. 

She notices it as soon as she wakes up. Her internal alarm clock has her awake at seven local time, which is annoying. She glares at the clock on the bedside table and tries to snuggle deeper beneath the covers, but then she realizes she’s alone. She picks her head up off the pillow and cranes her neck to see behind her, and sure enough, the bed is empty. 

She blinks, confused. “Lucifer?” she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.

No answer. 

She rolls over and props herself up on her elbows and squints around the room. It’s a small room. There’s nowhere for him to wander off to. Unless he’s in the bathroom. But the light is off and the door is open and there’s no noise. He’s not here. 

She rubs a hand over her face. She’s trying to decide whether she’s annoyed or confused or worried when the door swings open and Lucifer breezes in, his cell phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear. He’s got a white plastic bag hanging from one wrist, and a paper cup in each hand. 

“No, no, that won’t do,” he says into the phone in a hushed tone. “I want the entire box, you understand? Complete privacy. I don’t care what it costs. Money is no object. Call me when it’s done.”

He balances one of the paper cups on top of the other and snatches his phone away from his ear, but it tumbles out of his grasp and bounces across the floor. 

“Oh bloody hell,” he sighs. 

“Who are you talking to?” Chloe asks.

Lucifer startles at the sound of her voice, glances up with wide eyes, and then smiles. “You’re awake.” 

He strides across the room and sets the paper cups down on the bedside table. “The one closest to you is yours. No whiskey.” 

He bends forward and snatches his phone off the floor. After he tucks it back into his pocket, he dumps the plastic bag out on the bed between them. Two containers of yogurt, a plastic spoon, a banana, an apple, two bagels, and what appears to be a cheese danish tumble across the bedspread. 

“Didn’t know what you’d fancy, so I got one of everything that looked appetizing. The eggs looked like something you’d find in a loop. And I’ll spare you a description of the waffle batter.” He shudders. 

Chloe frowns at the banana that’s resting against her knee. “I would’ve gone with you.”

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there before. A memory of bolting awake last night, a strangled scream stuck in her throat from a nightmare, assaults her. He was right when he said the dreams would get worse. They are. 

She swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat and sits up. He watches her, concern clear in his eyes, but she pretends she doesn’t notice because she can’t deal with that right now. Maybe after she’s had some coffee. 

She rakes a hand through her hair and reaches for the coffee he brought her. It tastes bitter on her tongue. Too bitter. 

“It’s terrible coffee, I know,” Lucifer says. He smiles. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in some whiskey to smooth it out?”

She smiles. “No.”

“Your loss,” he muses. And then he claps his hands together. “Now then. I’ve got calls to make. You think you can be ready in half an hour?”

Chloe frowns at him over the rim of her cup. “Why?”

“Well so we can hit the road, obviously. I’ve already loaded my belongings into the car, so that’s done. All we need is you and yours.”

Chloe glances at the clock on the bedside table again, just to make sure she didn’t misread the numbers. 

“It’s seven o’clock,” she says incredulously. 

“Yes. And?”

She frowns. “And why are you in such a hurry?”

His face freezes the way it does when he’s trying to figure out a way to answer a question without lying. “Just eager to get moving,” he says after a minute.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Lucifer.”

He snatches his coffee cup off the bedside table. “I’ll just be outside, darling.” He practically sprints toward the door. “Try not to dawdle!” 

The door slams shut with a bang a second later. Chloe blinks, confused, and then rolls her eyes. 

“Weirdo.”

Forty minutes later, Chloe is closing the trunk of the Escalade when Lucifer materializes next to her. 

“Would you mind driving?”

“Shit,” she says, lifting her hand to her chest. “What the hell, Lucifer.”

“Sorry,” he says with a grin. He dangles the keys in her face. “Will you drive?”

Chloe takes the keys from him. “Are you going to work on your laser beam hands again?”

He huffs at her, probably because of her word choice, but doesn’t voice his disapproval. “No. I’ve got other, more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like what?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Detective.”

“Good thing I’m not a cat then.”

He grins at her and opens his mouth, but she smacks her hand over it before he can speak. 

“No pussy puns, Lucifer. It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

He wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her hand down from his mouth. “It’s never too early for a pussy pun, darling.”

She rolls her eyes. He leans forward and kisses her. She thinks he means for it to be just a brief peck, but she fists her hands in his lapels and holds him close when he starts to pull back. She hasn’t kissed him yet today. He didn’t even kiss her good morning. Another weird thing. 

She leans back eventually, but only far enough to look him in the eye.

“For the record,” she murmurs, straightening his jacket, “I prefer waking up with you next to me instead of alone.”

He blinks in surprise, and then his lips smooth into an almost shy smile. “Duly noted.”

“You going to tell me who you’ve been calling all morning?”

“Nope.”

She sighs. “Fine. I didn’t want to know anyway.”

“Liar.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and heads for the driver’s side door. 

“You look like your child,” he calls out after her.

Chloe glances at him over her shoulder. “She looks like me. I’m the OG.”

Lucifer grimaces. “Please never say that again.”

Chloe laughs.

Twenty minutes later, as the sound of Rob Thomas crooning You’re so smooth over Carlos Santana’s guitar emanates from the Escalade’s speakers, Lucifer pulls a set of earbuds out of his pocket. 

Chloe frowns at him. “If you hate this song that much, I can change the station,” she tells him.

“Don’t be silly,” he says. “You’re driving. Listen to whatever your heart desires.”

“And what are you listening to?”

“Curiosity killed the—”

“Alright fine,” she cuts him off, her temper flaring a little. “Don’t tell me then.”

He grins at her and leans across the center console. “It’ll be worth it,” he murmurs in her ear and then kisses her cheek.

“What does that mean?” she grumbles.

He just grins and shoves the earbuds in his ears.

He spends the next three hours hunched over his phone. Sometimes he scrolls, and sometimes he fires off a series of texts at an alarming speed, and every once in a while he takes a call and mutters vague words in hushed tones that she strains to hear. She tries to catch a glimpse of his phone every now and then, but he catches her every time and turns the screen away from her with a click of his tongue. The bits and pieces of the spoken conversations she manages to hear aren’t helpful either. Her detective brain kicks into high gear, and she rearranges all the facts she knows a million different ways, but she can’t figure it out. What the hell is he doing?

They stop for lunch. It’s another diner, and when Lucifer teases her about a repeat performance in the bathroom, she tells him he’s not getting any sex until he tells her what the hell he’s being so weird about. She expects him to be horrified by the threat, but he just smiles. 

He puts his phone away for most of their meal, at least. By the time the waitress drops off the check, Chloe’s almost forgotten that he spent all morning being a weirdo. But then his phone rings, and he freezes when he glances at the caller ID on the screen. 

“I have to take this.”

Chloe frowns. “Who is it?”

“No one you need concern yourself with,” he says dismissively. 

Her temper flares. “Seriously, Lucifer, what the hell is going on?”

He climbs out of the booth. “Everything is fine, Detective.” He answers the phone. “Yes, hello. Did you succeed?” He listens with his eyebrows furrowed, and then he sighs. “Well why didn’t you say so? Hold on.” He shoots an apologetic look at Chloe and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “Would you mind…?”

She snatches the wallet out of his hand. “Fine.”

He turns as if to walk away, but hesitates.

“Just go,” Chloe snaps.

He gives her another apologetic look and turns on his heel and heads for the exit. 

She watches him go. She can see him through the window next to their booth as soon as he gets out into the parking lot. He strides toward the car, and then paces back and forth next to it. He’s waving one of his hands through the air, talking animatedly, and Chloe chews her lip. She’s starting to worry. What if it’s Constantine or Zatanna? She knows that Lucifer checks in with them a few times a day just to make sure Trixie is safe. What if something is wrong, and he won’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to worry?

She sighs and climbs out of the booth. She grabs the check from the table, and then heads for the register at the front. The teenager behind it smiles at her, and she smiles back as she hands him the check. She opens Lucifer’s wallet and pulls out enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip. 

“Just keep the change,” she tells the cashier. 

He smiles at her gratefully. Chloe turns away from him, glancing down at Lucifer’s wallet to fold it closed again, and that’s when she sees a small corner of something white sticking out of one of the slots. She frowns. All the other slots are filled with credit cards and their fake IDs, but whatever is in this one doesn’t appear to be made of plastic. 

She shoves the front door of the diner open with her shoulder as she digs her fingers into the slot. It takes some effort, but she finally manages to pull whatever’s inside free. She frowns when she realizes it’s a photograph that’s folded in half. She unfolds it, and then stops dead in her tracks on the sidewalk outside the diner. 

Her own face is looking back at her. So is Trixie’s. Trixie is in her soccer uniform, a medal hanging around her neck and a small plastic trophy clutched in her hand. Chloe is crouched next to her, her arm wrapped around her daughter’s waist, and they’re both smiling broadly at whoever is taking the photo. She thinks it was Dan. This was taken a few months ago, after Trixie’s soccer team won a weekend tournament and Trixie scored a goal in the championship game. Chloe still has the trophy displayed proudly on a shelf in their kitchen. 

Grief slams into her, unexpected and awful. She misses her kid. She hasn’t heard her voice in days. The last time she heard it, Trixie was screaming at her, begging her not to go.

And she left. 

Tears prick her eyes. She swallows around the tightness in her throat and wills the tears to go away. She can’t spend the next week crying every time she misses her kid. She’ll be a mess by the time they finally meet Death. She swipes at her eyes, and then lifts her head to look for Lucifer. He’s still pacing by their car. She glances down at the photo, and then back up at him. 

Why does he have this folded up in his wallet? How did he even get it?

She strides across the parking lot. As she gets closer to him, she hears his end of the phone conversation. 

“An array, you understand?” he’s saying. “A few sensible options, and then a few that are a little more, well...” He pauses, and then he laughs. “Yes, precisely. And that’ll be that, correct? Everything else is in order?” 

He pauses again as Chloe stops behind him.

“Splendid,” he says. “I’ll see you shortly, darling.” Another pause. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you are. You two will be thick as thieves in no time, I’m certain. Goodbye for now.”

Chloe frowns. Who the hell is he talking to?

He hangs up and turns around, and then stops short when he sees her. “Detective. Hello.” He frowns. “How much did you hear?”

Chloe wants to ask him who he was talking to and why he’s being such a damn enigma all of a sudden, but she knows he won’t tell her. She holds up the photograph in her hand instead. 

“Why is this in your wallet? How did you get it?”

Lucifer glances down at the photograph in her hand, and then the color drains from his face. 

“Oh,” he says softly. He looks a little embarrassed all of a sudden. “It was a gift.”

“What?”

“Your offspring gave it to me shortly after I returned from Hell. She was concerned I would leave again, and I told her that although I didn’t want to, I might not have a choice. She thought I might want something to remember the two of you by if I was forced to leave again, so she presented me with that.”

Chloe stares at him, dumbfounded. Grief is clawing at her chest again. Of course Trixie gave it to him. Of course she did. And he put it in his wallet. He could’ve refused to take it or thrown it away or tossed it in a drawer somewhere in his penthouse. But he folded it up and put it in his wallet, and he’s been carrying it around with him all this time, and the fact that the two people she loves most in the world had this moment she didn’t know anything about makes her ache, because they aren’t having those moments anymore. If she and Lucifer don’t fix this mess with Dream, they’ll never have another moment again.

Tears well up in her eyes. 

“Detective,” Lucifer breathes.

She waves him off. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he murmurs. He brushes his hands over her cheeks, and then pulls her into his chest. She melts into him, wrapping her arms around his torso, the photo still clutched in her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the top of her head. 

Chloe shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t trust herself to be able to get the words out. 

They stand there like that for a while, Lucifer’s hand rubbing gently over her back, and then she finally pulls out of his embrace. 

“Alright?” he murmurs, brushing his hands over her cheeks again. 

She nods. 

“I’ll drive.”

“Don’t you have more mysterious calls to make?”

He smiles at her. “Angsty, are we?”

“Just tell me what you’re doing,” she begs, sounding remarkably like Trixie. “It’s driving me nuts.”

She wonders if he’s also noticed how much she sounds like her daughter, because he smiles as he presses a kiss to her hairline. “Just a little longer, darling.”

“A little longer until what? ”

“You’ll see.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, frowning at the gorgeous single-family homes outside her window, “what are we doing?”

“Hm?” Lucifer hums.

Chloe turns to look at him. “Why are we driving through a Denver neighborhood?”

“Oh, are we?” he says innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Lucifer, we have to stay off the radar, remember? There’s a reason we picked hotels in tiny towns where no one will notice us. We’re wanted fugitives. Staying in the city limits is a bad idea.”

He reaches across the car and grabs her hand. “You needn’t worry, Detective. I’ve taken all the proper precautions to keep you safe.” He peers out the windshield, and then his face lights up. “Ah. Here we are.”

He guides the Escalade into a marked parking spot in front of a modern looking gray house with blue trim and a blue roof. It’s surrounded by a stylish fence with horizontal slats. Chloe gapes at it. The landscaping is immaculate and the decor is cheerful but classy. It’s definitely the kind of place she’d live in, though it seems a little understated for Lucifer. 

She turns to look at him. “What is this place?”

He smiles at her. “I’ll fetch your luggage.”

He gets out of the car without further comment. Chloe stays put in the passenger seat, bewildered, until Lucifer appears outside her door and knocks on the window. 

“Come on, darling,” he says brightly. “We mustn’t keep her waiting.”

“Keep who waiting?” Chloe demands. She swings the door open and climbs out of the car. Lucifer turns toward the house, but Chloe grabs his arm. “No, stop. I want answers. Now.”

“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot.”

He sets her bags down and pulls his wallet out. “We’re using these IDs while we’re here. You’ll want to keep this in your purse.” 

He holds out one of the driver’s licenses that Javier made for them. Chloe’s face stares up at her next to the name Kate Jones. She takes the ID. 

“Who are you?” she asks, looking up at Lucifer. “In case someone asks me.”

“William Jones.” 

Chloe frowns. “Jones? We have the same last name?”

Lucifer suddenly looks uncomfortable. “We’re married. I won’t be able to say that if anyone asks, of course, but you can. Although, I suppose referring to you as my partner is truthful and won’t run afoul of our cover identities.”

Chloe gapes at him. 

“It was Javier’s idea,” Lucifer says, shifting from one foot to the other. He rolls his shoulders. “I didn’t think...well, I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

Chloe swallows. “No, I...I don’t mind.”

“Valerie knows who I am,” he says. “So when we get inside there’s no reason for you to call me William. Later, though, you’ll need to refrain from calling me by my real name in the presence of others.” He fidgets again. “Valerie will uh...well, she’ll take care of appearances. So to speak.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“You’ll need a ring,” he clarifies. “Just for the night. You won’t have to...well, you can take it off as soon as we’re alone. If you’d like.”

Chloe stares at him. She’s trying to wrap her mind around the idea of pretending to be Lucifer’s wife for the evening when he bends down to pick up her bags. 

“Come along,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel rushed.” He starts up the sidewalk leading to the house. 

Chloe frowns. “Rushed?”

“Come on, Detective,” he calls without stopping.

She hurries after him. She catches up to him as he swings the front door open and deposits her bags just inside the door. 

He motions at her. “After you, darling.”

Chloe steps over the threshold and into the house. It’s just as gorgeous inside as it is outside. The hardwood floors are a dark shade of brown, and the walls are a light shade of gray. She can see most of the first floor from her position inside the door. There’s a glass table that seats four up ahead to the right, and a stunning kitchen straight ahead, and a seating area surrounding a fireplace and a mounted TV toward the left. She can see the railing of a staircase leading upstairs on the left too. On the far side of the house is a set of accordion glass doors that lead out to what appears to be a patio. 

Chloe is turning toward Lucifer to ask him to explain what the hell they’re doing here when a very pretty black woman in a bright yellow dress and matching yellow heels descends the stairs and turns the corner to face them.

“Lucifer,” she greets brightly. “Right on time.”

“Valerie, darling,” he greets, smiling broadly. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine.”

Valerie grins at him, and then turns her attention to Chloe. “And you must be Chloe.” She strides forward, her heels clicking on the floor, and extends her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Chloe casts a look at Lucifer as she shakes Valerie’s hand. “You have?”

Valerie laughs. Her laugh is just as pretty as she is. “I have. I spent half an hour this morning listening to him gush.”

Lucifer huffs. “I don’t gush.”

“You do about her,” Valerie says dryly. She winks at Chloe. 

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile. 

Lucifer clears his throat loudly and turns to Chloe. “Right, well, this is where I leave you. Valerie will take care of everything you need.”

Chloe frowns. “What? Where are you going?”

“Elsewhere,” he replies vaguely. “I’ll pick you up at six.” He leans toward her. “I won’t be late, so make sure you’re ready.”

“What are you talking about? Lucifer, what’s—”

She’s stopped short by his lips brushing against hers. He cups her cheek briefly, his thumb stroking over her skin as he kisses her, and then he leans back with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, love.” 

He winks at Valerie, and then he steps out of the house and pulls the door shut behind him. 

Chloe stares after him, stunned. Silence rings in her ears. What the hell?

She turns to look at Valerie, who smiles. “You must be very confused.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Valerie folds her hands in front of her. “He told me that you’re very detail oriented, and also suspicious by nature given your job, so I’ll give you some details about myself before we start, shall I?”

Chloe has no idea what the hell they’re about to start, but she nods. “Okay.”

“My name is Valerie Hathaway, but you can call me Val. I’ve known Lucifer for a few years now. I used to own a luxury lifestyle management business in L.A., which is a ridiculous way of saying that I was a concierge for rich and famous people. That’s how we met.”

“He was a client of yours?”

“Sort of. He used my services occasionally, but I used his connections just as much as he used mine. It was a mutually beneficial partnership. And a strictly professional one, for the record.”

Chloe nods. She wasn’t going to ask, but she’s strangely relieved to know that this woman hasn’t seen her boyfriend naked. 

“And then I fell in love,” Valerie continues. She lifts her left hand to show off a massive, sparkling diamond ring. “His name is Chris. He’s a surgeon here in Denver. I asked Lucifer to help me move my business here and get me established. He came through in spades.”

“So you’re here because you owe him a favor.”

Valerie smiles. “I’m here because Lucifer made it possible for me to do what I love in the same city as the man I love. Based on all the gushing he did this morning, I’d say he feels the same way about you that I feel about Chris.”

Chloe glances at the wedding ring on Valerie’s finger, remembers that she and Lucifer are going to have to pretend to be married while they’re doing whatever it is they’re doing tonight, and feels her heart start to thud in her chest. 

“So you’re the one he’s been on the phone with all day?”

Valerie nods. “Yes.”

“And you know what he’s got up his sleeve for tonight?”

“Yes. But I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Of course you are,” Chloe sighs.

Valerie smiles. “Given what you do for a living, you might be able to glean some clues once you see what I’ve procured for you.”

“Procured?” Chloe says with a frown. 

Valerie beckons her forward. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Chloe leaves her bags by the front door and follows Valerie into the house. They climb the stairs to the second floor, and walk down the hall past an open seating area and office space and into what appears to be the master bedroom. There are ten pairs of high heels arranged neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed, and six different clutches arrayed nearby. Several velvet boxes are sitting on top of a long dresser. 

Valerie passes them all and heads for the white garment bag draped across the bed. “He was pretty insistent about giving you plenty of choices,” she says. “But not when it comes to the dress.”

“The dress?” Chloe says. “What dress?”

Valerie leans forward to pull the zipper on the garment bag down, pushes the bag out of the way, and then leans back. “This dress.”

Chloe stares. The dress is a beautiful, vivid shade of red. It’s strapless and full length and there’s a long slit up the right side. She crosses the room, her mouth hanging open, and reaches out to touch it. It’s cool beneath her fingers, probably satin or silk or a combination of the two. She spots the designer label sewn into the fabric on the back interior of the dress, and shoots a look at Valerie. 

“How much did he spend on this?”

Valerie smiles. “Let’s look at shoes.” 

She gestures at the high heels on the floor. “If you don’t see something you like here, I’ve got some other options in the car. If you’re looking for something simple and comfortable, I’d go with these.” She nudges a pair of simple nude pumps with her own yellow high heel. 

“But if you’re feeling a little dangerous,” she says with a smirk, “I’d go with the Valentino pair.” 

She nudges a pair of metallic silver gladiator high heels that appear to be studded with tiny gemstones and have a zipper up the back of the heel. A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face the last time she wore strappy high heels floats to the surface of Chloe’s mind. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I like the Valentinos.”

Valerie’s smile widens. “Silver clutch too then, right?”

Chloe glances at the array of clutches, considers the silver one, and nods. “Yeah.”

“Well that was easy,” Valerie says with a laugh. “On to the good stuff.” 

She crosses the room toward the dresser, and opens the first of three velvet cases. “He thought with a strapless dress, you might want something around your neck. See what you think of these.”

Chloe crosses the room for a closer look and then feels her mouth go dry. There are six necklaces inside the velvet case. The one on the far left is a literal rope of diamonds that probably costs more than she makes in an entire year. The necklaces get less ostentatious as she scans from left to right. The last one in the case catches her eye. She steps closer. 

Valerie follows her gaze. “That’s Cartier,” she says. “White gold chain with a half carat solitaire diamond. You like it?”

“Yeah.” 

“He said you’d pick that one.”

Chloe looks up. “He did?”

Valerie nods. “Easy enough to tuck under a t-shirt when you get back to L.A.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait, these are...these aren’t loans? He bought these?”

“Well I’ll return the ones you don’t want,” Valerie says, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. “Unless you want to keep all of them?”

“No,” Chloe blurts out.

Valerie smiles. “Well then technically no, he didn’t buy all of them. Just the one that you like.”

Chloe stares at the diamond necklace and suddenly feels a little dizzy. 

Valerie pushes the velvet box aside and reaches for another one. She pulls it open, and reveals nearly a dozen pairs of earrings. “See anything you like here?”

Chloe stares. She’s feeling a little overwhelmed. Twenty minutes ago, she and Lucifer were going to spend the night at a Best Western in Sterling. She thought they’d get some dinner at a local restaurant, and maybe grab a drink at a dive bar where no one would notice them, and then go back to their hotel room and get lost in each other. Maybe watch a movie afterward. Now she’s standing in a beautiful house in Denver, next to a beautiful woman who’s a concierge for rich and famous people, staring at cases of diamonds.

“Um,” she says, rubbing her forehead. 

Valerie seems to notice she’s feeling overwhelmed. “I’d go with these,” she says kindly. She gestures at a dangly pair nestled in the middle of the case. “They’re also Cartier, and just as understated as the necklace. You probably won’t wear them to work, but definitely on special occasions like your anniversary.”

Chloe blinks. Do she and Lucifer even have an anniversary? 

“Chloe?” Valerie prompts.

“Yeah,” she says, snapping to attention. “Yeah, those are good.”

“Excellent,” Valerie says. She pushes the box aside and reaches for the final velvet case. “That just leaves these.” She opens the lid of the box, and Chloe’s heart stutters to a stop. 

Engagement rings. These are engagement rings. There are two dozen of them at least, and they’re all spectacular. Some of them are huge solitaires, and some of them have four or five smaller diamonds nestled together. One of them has a sapphire set in the middle, and another has a ruby, and there’s one with a diamond that’s sparkling so brightly Chloe thinks she might go blind. She’s suddenly finding it hard to breathe. 

And then, all of a sudden, she remembers that time they pretended to be an engaged couple. She remembers how offended Lucifer got when she called him cheap, and the tension loosens in her chest. 

“He did this on purpose,” she murmurs with a smile.

“Did what?” Valerie wonders.

Chloe gestures at all the jewelry in front of her. “It’s his way of saying he’s not cheap.”

Valerie frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Nevermind,” Chloe says. She darts her gaze over the case again, and her eyes catch on a ring in the bottom right corner that she hadn’t noticed before.

It’s simple and elegant. Unlike the others, which all scream Look at me, I’m taken! this one doesn’t have a massive rock. It’s just a band. Well, actually it’s two bands, interwoven to form what appears to be an infinity symbol, and studded with tiny little diamonds all the way around.

“This one,” she says, reaching out to grab it. 

“Are you sure?”

Chloe studies it, turning it over in her hand as the tiny diamonds glint in the sunshine streaming through the windows. She hesitates, her heart racing in her chest, and then slides it on her fourth finger. She wore a wedding ring for years, but she’s not accustomed to the weight anymore. It feels different. Maybe because it’s not Dan’s. It’s not Pierce’s, either. It’s Lucifer’s. 

She tries not to smile and fails. “I’m sure.”

Valerie shuts the case. “He really wasn’t kidding about you being low maintenance.”

“One of us has to be,” Chloe quips.

Valerie snorts. She pulls the necklace and the earrings Chloe selected out of the other cases, and then shuts those too. 

“All right. So the bathroom has been stocked with all the products he said you preferred. The kitchen is stocked too, in case you’re hungry, but I wouldn’t eat anything too filling. You’ll have dinner before you...go wherever it is you’re going.”

Chloe smiles. “Still not going to tell me?”

“Nope,” Valerie says with a laugh. “Is there anything else you need? Trust me, I can get anything.”

Chloe glances over at the dress that’s still draped over the bed. “I don’t think so. Looks like he thought of everything.” She frowns. “Except…”

“Except what?”

“Is the dress all he asked for, clothing-wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there isn’t any...” She feels her face flush. “Lingerie?”

“No,” Valerie says with a smile. “That didn’t come up.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Interesting.”

Valerie lifts a shoulder. “Maybe he didn’t want to assume.”

“No, Lucifer always assumes.”

Valerie snorts. 

Chloe eyes the dress. He’s going to enjoy taking that off her later. The bras and underwear he bought for her in Vegas are nice, but they’re not that nice. Not designer-dress-and-shoes, dripping-in-diamonds nice. 

She chews her bottom lip and considers her options, and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she says, glancing at Valerie and then down at the floor, “so if this isn’t something you usually do, then I can—”

“I can have a dozen sets of lingerie here within half an hour.”

Chloe snaps her eyes up to meet Valerie’s.

Valerie smiles. “If that’s what you want, I mean.”

Chloe smiles.