Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chloe had never planned a wedding before—quickie at the courthouse with Dan notwithstanding—but she’d heard plenty of horror stories.

Brides-to-be losing their minds over the menu. Feuding family branches clashing at the reception. Vendor drama and venue mix-ups and hijacked toasts, and that wasn’t even getting into the truly terrible things she’d seen, like a man with a grudge and a rifle crashing the ceremony and jumping the gun on “’til death do you part”. Chloe had expected wedding planning to be hard. Especially with barely two months to get it done.

The hardest part so far—for a very loose definition of the word—had been settling on a date.

Lucifer had suggested using the same day as the first time they’d exchanged vows, such as they were, which had made perfect sense to Chloe. Mid-May, the weather was sure to be beautiful, it still gave them a little time to plan, and it would simplify the answer to any future questions about the date of their anniversary. The only downside was that it would fall on a Monday that year. This one small detail threatened to become a minor obstacle for an entire week, until Chloe was watching the news one evening and learned that the governor had declared May 14^th a state holiday. Chloe had groaned, called Lucifer ridiculous, and spent the rest of the day expressing her appreciation.

“‘Too easy’?!”

“I know! I know it’s stupid,” Chloe admitted. Both hands covered her face, muffling the words. Dinner—provided by one of their prospective caterers, of course—sat forgotten and cold on the plate in front of her. “I’m living a… a fairytale. I have literally nothing to complain about. Vera Wang herself is designing my dress!”

“Well, if it’s a challenge you want, darling, there are still quite a number of decisions to be made about the décor.”

The décor.

Someone help her, the décor.

Over a year ago, she’d made one flippant, off-hand comment at a murder scene about teal and daisies. Two weeks after they’d gotten “engaged” (Chloe still had… complicated… feelings about exactly how married they already were), she’d gone downstairs to find a club that had been stripped of furniture and filled, instead, with a freaking wedding planner convention. Teal and goddamn daisies as far as the eye could see. They’d had samples of their work. Displays. Booths, for goodness sake. Every single one of them had had their name mentioned in at least one bridal magazine in the past year.

It had taken a glass of wine and a second trip down the elevator before Chloe could bring herself to actually approach any of them.

“Or perhaps you’d prefer a different designer for your dress?” Lucifer suggested. “Just say the word, love. Anything you desire.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Chloe wasn't sure, herself, exactly what it was she wanted. She wasn’t even sure why the whole thing was making her uncomfortable. She’d long since made her peace with the fact that Lucifer’s fortune was now their fortune. She hadn’t even batted an eye when he’d suggested buying a literal castle for their honeymoon. It was just the wedding itself that she was stuck on, for some incomprehensible reason.

“I guess I just want something… normal,” she said. She pushed a piece of asparagus around on her plate with her fork. “And yeah, I know—we’re not normal. I mean, we were half-naked the first time we did this! I just…”

“Hang on,” Dan’s voice crackled over her earpiece. “What do you mean, the first time you did this? Did you guys get hitched in Vegas or something?”

Chloe could feel the warmth of a blush gathering in her cheeks. “Oh, um…”

“Just the vows, Daniel, not the legal documents,” Lucifer answered for her. “A very, uh, private affair. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss any pomp and circumstance.”

“Yeah, all right.” Dan sighed and fell silent for a little while, and Chloe tried to nibble at her dinner. “Tell you what, though, I’m starting to worry we might’ve missed our killer. Any sign of him from your end?”

“No, nothing. You don’t think he figured out it’s a setup, do you?”

“God, I hope not.”

Days of planning would be wasted if the killer realized that the man sitting across the table from Chloe was her fiancé, not her affair partner. Even if she had started sleeping with him before her divorce from Dan had been finalized.

“Actually, Daniel,” Lucifer said. “While we’re sat here with our thumbs up our arses waiting for this poor sod to come try to kill the Devil, there’s, uh… Well, there’s something I’ve been meaning to run by you, if you would.”

“Sure, man. What’s up?”

Chloe smiled to herself—as much as Dan and Lucifer might bicker, they never hesitated to have each other’s backs when it really counted. It’s kind of cute, actually, she thought to herself with a soft giggle.

What was that strange smell?

It was making her head feel… weird.

“Well,” Lucifer said, his voice echoing strangely, “I’m told it’s traditional for both parties to have a bit of an entourage for—”

Chloe washed back up onto the shores of consciousness some time later.

“There you are,” said a familiar, beloved voice. Blurry shapes resolved themselves into Lucifer’s face, shoulder, arm. Sideways. He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thought you were going to sleep the whole night away.”

“W’happened?” Groaning, she pushed herself up from the couch until she was sitting upright; Lucifer kept his hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Some sort of gas,” he told her. “Knocked you right out, face first into the mashed potatoes. Not to worry—I cleaned it all up. And we caught the killer, of course.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “Good. Yeah.”

She looked around, noting the officers now swarming their dining room, and forced her way back to her feet. She didn’t see any sign of a serial killer. Probably handcuffed in the back of a cruiser heading to jail at that very moment. Someone else would take care of booking and processing. Chloe just wanted to go home… well, go to one of their other properties, and go to bed, because whatever knockout gas the killer had used had given her an awful headache.

Or was that from all the wedding planning?

“Hang on.” The last few moments before she’d lost consciousness had just arrived, belatedly, like bits of flotsam onto a storm-washed beach. “Did… did you just ask my ex-husband to be a groomsman for our wedding?”

Another week, another deluge of potential vendors, and Chloe’s inexplicable discomfort about the whole thing had only gotten worse. While Lucifer had flown to Andalusia to look at possible properties for their honeymoon, Chloe had taken refuge at Linda’s house.

At the moment, she was bouncing baby Charlie in her lap and remembering when Trixie had been that age. Charlie gurgled and smiled toothlessly up at her, looking every inch the perfect little cherub he was. Aside from the lack of wings, anyway. Linda had been relieved. Amenadiel had been heartbroken. Chloe was just glad she could hand this particular child back to his parents when he made a different sort of smile and she felt the sudden urgent need for a new diaper present itself against her knee.

She stopped bouncing him. “Hey, Amenadiel!” she called. “I think your kid needs you!”

Amenadiel set down the onesie he’d been folding and hurried over with a doting grin. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” he cooed. “Daddy’s here.” He pulled the little boy into his arms, weathering the tiny hands grabbing eagerly at his nose and mouth with angelic grace. “Does someone have a yucky diaper?” he asked Charlie, the honey-sweet words garbled by the iron grip the six-month-old had on his bottom lip. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make it all better.”

Linda finally returned to the couch, now bearing two mugs; she saw Chloe watching father and son with a soft smile and added her own. “He learned from watching you, you know,” she told Chloe. “How you are with Trixie.”

The coffee was fantastic. Chloe cupped the mug in both hands and all but shoved her entire face into it. “I’m glad,” she said, after several fortifying gulps. “That he’s doing so well, I mean. I, uh…” Had more than a few doubts, after the shit he put us through two years ago. “I remember him being a little freaked out about the whole ‘mortal and fragile’ thing, before.”

“Oh, he’s still freaked out about it!” Linda said with a laugh. “Have you seen all the baby-proofing he did? I had to talk him out of bubble-wrapping the dang ceiling!”

“The ceiling?”

Linda shot a look over her shoulder, to where Amenadiel had disappeared into another room with Charlie, and silently mimed flapping wings. “He was convinced. Thought maybe they just weren’t showing up on the ultrasounds because… honestly, I can’t even remember. He’s making peace with it, though, I think. Slowly.”

“How is he with the rest of it? The whole… raising a kid thing? I guess lack of sleep isn’t as much of a problem for him.”

“Lack of sleep, no. Human milestones?” Linda laughed. “You should have seen him trying to carry on a conversation with Charlie about a minute after he came out.” She shook her head in exasperated but fond recollection. “I actually had to explain to him that humans aren’t born knowing how to talk.”

Chloe could easily imagine it, and she had to suppress her own snicker. “Sometimes I forget just how different their lives have been compared to ours. They never even had a childhood, did they?”

“Nope. And doesn’t that just explain a lot? I mean… talk about cultural differences.”

“You guys, too, huh?”

“Is Lucifer still having trouble wrapping his head around the whole human wedding thing?” Linda asked, giving her a look that was far too knowing.

Chloe snorted. “I wish.”

Linda regarded her for a beat, then another, then set her coffee down on the table and put on her ‘therapist’ face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Chloe really, really wanted to talk about it.

The problem was, she had no idea how to explain.

“Look, I am looking forward to the wedding,” she said. “Not even a question. I’m looking forward to being married—legally married, I mean. And I’m really looking forward to the honeymoon.”

Linda, thankfully, declined to comment.

“…But, for some reason, every time I think about planning the wedding, it’s like… I don’t know. The whole thing just makes me uncomfortable. For no reason.”

“Just because you haven’t identified the reason doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Linda pointed out. “Why don’t we try to figure it out together?”

“If you’ve got any ideas…” Chloe held her hands out in offering. “Please.”

“Well…” Linda sat back in her seat, taking a deep breath as she thought. “Let’s start by examining how you feel about the current status of your relationship.”

“Okay, well… it’s great, honestly. We get along great, the sex is great, he’s great with Trixie…”

“And as far as Lucifer is concerned, it’s been nearly two years since you made a lifelong commitment to each other.”

That was the elephant in the room, wasn’t it? Her immortal lover, who’d witnessed the entirety of human history, had a hard time seeing the relatively recent trend of legal documents and jewelry as holding the same meaning as a heartfelt promise. He’d made his vow to her, she’d made her vow to him, and from his standpoint, the matter was firmly settled. It’s not that it didn’t make sense to her. Sure, it had taken her a while to catch on, and a while after that to get used to the idea. It was just…

“I guess it would’ve been nice to know what I was agreeing to back on that first morning.”

“Do you think you would have?” Linda asked. “Agreed to it, I mean, if you had known.”

Chloe cringed inside. Now that was a tough question. The truth, as awful as it made her feel, was that she probably would have balked, panicked, blurted out something stupid, and screwed everything up before it had even had a chance to start. Let’s face it—who agreed to a lifelong commitment with someone just moments after their first kiss? Besides Lucifer, of course.

But Chloe-of-two-years-ago also hadn’t known what her life would be like with Lucifer. Coming back from work to find him playing on the floor with Trixie. Getting pampered with home-cooked dinners every evening, mind-blowing orgasms every night, and soft cuddles to wake her up every morning. She’d selfishly avoided ever suggesting he spend a night at his own penthouse, and he’d just as selfishly made himself right at home with her. That first Sunday they’d spent apart had been bad enough; Chloe didn’t want to imagine how hard it would’ve been if Lucifer “What Are Boundaries?” Morningstar hadn’t taken the next “logical” step that a permanently committed monogamous relationship meant that they ought to live together full-time.

“Probably not,” Chloe finally admitted out loud. “But it’s not like I regret it.”

“So if you had a chance to go back…”

“Like, me right now? With all my memories?” Chloe didn’t even have to think about it. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Except the fact that I didn’t figure it out until months later, obviously.”

Linda didn’t respond beyond raising her eyebrows, inviting her to continue talking.

Damn therapists.

“What do you want me to say? I want to be married to Lucifer. I want a wedding. Hell, I’m looking forward to doing it on purpose this time!”

Linda nodded thoughtfully while she sipped her coffee. “If I might make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“From what you’re telling me, it sounds like you don’t feel that it was a decision you made. Maybe closer to something that happened to you, without your informed consent?”

“Yes! That’s it exactly!” Chloe could have cried from the relief of someone being able to put it into words. “And this time…” It finally clicked. She slumped into the couch. “It still feels like that.”

“You do have input this time, though. Color scheme, venue…”

“Yeah. I say the word, and everything gets handed to me on a silver platter, already done. I… I don’t know. I feel like some kind of royalty just… just snapping my fingers and things just happen. It’s weird.”

“Isn’t that technically the case, though? Lucifer is the King of Hell, and as his wife…”

Chloe groaned at the reminder. “I don’t feel like a queen. Why should I get to have famous designers tripping over themselves just because of who I’m married to? Marrying. Whatever.”

“Have you discussed these feelings with Lucifer at all?”

“Sort of? I told him it felt too easy. But nothing’s changed.”

“Mm. And what about your feelings about your, uh, initial exchange of vows, let’s call it. Have you shared those with him?”

A deep, dark pit opened up in the bottom of Chloe’s stomach. “No. No way. He’d be devastated. I can’t—” She shook her head. “No. I’ll figure out some other way to tell him why the wedding planning is bothering me.”

Linda gave her a dubious look, but didn’t comment.

That was good enough for Chloe.

Now she just had to figure out exactly what she did want.

A few days later, Maze was caught on camera holding a bloody knife and standing over the dead body of one of her bounties.

“It wasn’t me,” Maze insisted, utterly offended at the suggestion. “Duh. I wouldn’t kill someone and then get caught.”

And that had been good enough for Chloe.

And the word of the detective with the best solve rate in the entire city had been good enough for the new Lieutenant. No arrest warrants were issued for Mazikeen Smith (no one would have been brave enough to try to execute one, anyway), and it only took a few days to track down the real killer.

In retrospect, framing a bounty hunter for murder might have worked better if the actual murderer, Margo Channing, hadn’t targeted the right-hand demon of the King of Hell and the best detective in the city. Without those connections to vouch for her, Maze might well have been locked away for something she hadn’t actually done.

It took another day after they arrested Margo for the pieces to click in Chloe’s head.

She was lounging on the couch, legs draped over Lucifer’s lap, too exhausted from the day to want to do anything more than relax and watch a little TV before bed. Onscreen, Guy Fieri was salivating over some mix of spices that meant nothing to her, but was making her wonder what Lucifer’s reaction would be if she suggested having their wedding catered by a food truck. It might be worth it just to see the look on his face.

“What about wedding favors, darling?” Lucifer asked, scrolling through something on his tablet, which he’d propped against her knee. His free hand stroked a lazy pattern up and down her thigh. “I’ve found several lists with ideas, but they all seem a little… lacking, in my opinion.”

Chloe stifled yet another groan. She just knew he was about to suggest something insane, like a new sports car for every attendee.

(“—off the chain, dude!” Guy Fieri declared in the background.)

“Can we at least keep it to things that our guests won’t have to declare on their taxes?”

Lucifer frowned, but closed a few browser tabs.

Called it.

“Well, what about music, then? All the blogs say a live band can be a bit limiting for song selection, but I hardly know how we’d identify the best DJ. Is there some sort of award they might win?”

Award-winning DJs. Seriously.

“What if I don’t want the ‘best’?” Chloe blurted.

(“—next up, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint in—”)

Lucifer stared at her. “But—”

“And how do we know they’re the best, anyway? Just because they’re famous?”

(“—our town’s best-kept secret—”)

The whole concept was just so… so ostentatious. Chloe hated it. The rich and well-connected showing off how rich and well-connected they were by booking the most sought-after venues, and caterers, and musicians, most of whom had only gotten famous thanks to who they knew or, sometimes, sheer dumb luck. Sometimes both. What about all the incredibly talented people who—

Hang on, that’s it.

The thrill of revelation crackled warm and giddy through her veins. “I know what I want!”

Lucifer immediately set down his tablet and gave her his full attention. “Name it.”

“I want,” Chloe told him, “to find the best vendors for everything who aren’t famous yet. Like” —she gestured at the television— “this place! They’ve apparently got the best pulled pork he’s ever tasted his whole life, and it’s just some tiny restaurant squeezed between a laundromat and a bowling alley!”

Lucifer looked… Well, “doubtful” would have been a generous description. “You want to have our wedding catered by a tiny restaurant in Delaware?”

“No, I mean, just something like that. Someplace that nobody’s ever heard of, but it’s only because the right person hasn’t discovered them yet.”

A smile grew on his face as the concept sank into his head. “So we discover those more deserving souls and ensure they’re properly rewarded. My brilliant Detective. Consider it done.”

After Chloe’s pronouncement, she ended up with even less direct involvement with the details of wedding planning than before, but she found she didn’t mind so much anymore. It couldn’t take away the warm feeling of accomplishing something wonderful, even vicariously.

Besides, she did still have a day job.

Their case that week had so many twists and turns she couldn’t help but wonder if Pierce had had his fingers in it. The not-so-immortal man was locked up in Pelican Bay, though, restricted to solitary confinement and averaging three new charges every week thanks to Charlotte and the team she’d been assigned by the District Attorney, while a parade of high-priced defense attorneys came and then immediately left after hearing through the grapevine that they’d be nationally blackballed if they agreed to represent Marcus Pierce. It was wildly unethical, and Chloe couldn’t begin to care. Heaven and Hell had both pronounced his guilt; everything else was just running out the clock until he faced his final fate.

And then their major break in the case came from them recognizing one of their suspects from an episode of Bones, of all things, which was ridiculous enough to lay Chloe’s worries to rest. Just a dime-a-dozen domestic dispute with a dash of Hollywood for flavor and a brief tangent into the potentially divine that mostly served as an excuse to invite Azrael over for another dinner while confirming that none of their siblings had taken up vigilantism. All in a day’s work for the Deckerstar Dream Team.

Chloe bit her cheek, swallowed a yelp, and smiled down at the aspiring fashion designer who’d just stabbed her with six out of the last ten pins. It wasn’t the young man’s fault. He’d only recently received his degree, and while the full scholarship he’d earned on talent alone had paid for all of his courses, it hadn’t extended to supporting him through one of the unpaid internships necessary for progressing in the field. He’d been taking drive-thru orders at a fast food restaurant for almost a year before suddenly finding himself with his own fully-stocked studio, a generous discretionary fund, and three full-time assistants. All supplied by Lucifer Morningstar, who was currently in the next room, counting bills out of a thick stack of hundreds, and asking one of said assistants how much she needed in order to fly out to Milan and back for some kind of rare silk. Jeremy, the newly-elevated designer, was shaking like a leaf and trying desperately not to wake himself up.

“A-all right, Ms. Decker, how, uh… how does that feel?”

Chloe carefully bent and twisted, just enough to test the fit and not quite enough to get stabbed again. “It feels good around here,” she said, waving at her midsection. “A little tight around the hips, though. Is there any way to loosen that up? It’s gorgeous, but I want to be able to dance at the reception.” She smiled apologetically at Jeremy—she didn’t want to discourage him—but he was already nodding and scribbling something in his sketchbook.

“Absolutely, Ms. Decker. Whatever you like. I promise, this dress will be perfect.”

Chloe didn’t doubt it for a second. Not only was the young man a brilliant designer, he actually listened when she offered her own input, rather than acting like she’d insulted his entire career just for asking him to alter the neckline so it wouldn’t fall down around her boobs during the bouquet toss.

Chloe might have had a little lingering bitterness from her experience with Vera Wang.

“What do you think of this?” Jeremy asked, showing her his updated sketch for her dress. “I can add darts just below the waistline, see? With the right fabric and stitching, I could make it so you wouldn’t even see them while you’re standing still, but then when you spin around—”

She listened to him explain his idea, her smile growing with every sentence.

She couldn’t wait to wear the finished dress.

Another week, another homicide. Their newest case had brought them to the theater and introduced them to the cutthroat world of professional ballet.

Lucifer was less than impressed with their newly-arrested murderer.

“Well, you certainly managed to bollocks everything up,” he ranted at the man on the backseat, “including any chances you might’ve had with Amber, so congratulations on that. Honestly, Miguel, would it really have been so difficult to simply open your mouth and tell her how you feel?”

Miguel, handcuffed and sullen in the back of Chloe’s cruiser, declined to respond.

Easy enough for Lucifer to say, of course. He’d made no secret about his desire for Chloe, up to and including the moment she’d finally given up the pretense and kissed him, catapulting them straight into Happily Ever After (and the best goddamn sex of Chloe’s life). Hiding his desires made as little sense to him as homicide.

Meanwhile, Chloe was mostly just annoyed with herself. Even with the absurd level of mental gymnastics the man had performed to get from motive to murder, it had been nowhere close to the most convoluted case they’d ever had. But it had still taken her—them—nearly a week to solve, because ninety percent of Chloe’s brain was currently caught in a cortisol-fueled Hell Loop of florists and photographers.

The photographer situation was… fine. Same routine as they’d used for the graphic designer they’d hired for the invitations and the fashion designer they’d hired for the dresses: find the most talented person who wasn’t famous yet, then hire them and shower them with money and resources. Except Lucifer had reasoned that a single photographer couldn’t be everywhere at once, so obviously they would need several. Chloe had no idea how to pick one photographer, let alone a whole team. It might be one of the few tasks she’d just leave to the professionals.

Flowers, however, simply couldn’t be grown in two weeks. Not even daisies. And no wad of hundreds, no matter how thick, could change that. Realistically, they had no choice but to hire an established florist. Chloe had reconciled herself to this fact. Lucifer had not.

“Let’s just hire whoever can put together the order in time,” she’d pleaded with him. “At this point, it’s either that or we won’t have flowers for the wedding at all.”

For a few days, there, she’d started to worry they were going to get stuck with the latter scenario. Maybe silk flowers…?

“I’ve got it!” Lucifer suddenly blurted, startling both Chloe and Miguel. “We can find a deserving florist now, then have a second wedding reception once the daisies have had time to grow. It’s win-win!”

Twice.

He wanted to do this twice.

Chloe did her best not to scream.

Chloe wasn’t sure how she’d ended up agreeing to a bachelorette party.

It might have been Ella’s fault, but Chloe couldn’t be certain. Normally she wouldn’t suspect Linda, but Linda had been downright giddy over the prospect of letting loose, finally, now that Charlie was starting to eat solids. Chloe couldn’t even rule out Charlotte as the culprit behind their two-day excursion, as enthusiastic as the woman had been for a no-kids, ladies-only weekend.

Regardless of which of her bridesmaids was to blame, Chloe was now chugging a mimosa in the back of their party bus, en route to San Diego, and trying to remember if there had ever been a time when she would have enjoyed watching a male stripper gyrate his hips a few feet from her face. She’d much rather be watching Lucifer’s hips. Wait, scratch that—she’d rather be riding Lucifer’s hips. In their bed. Alone.

She pulled out her phone to tell him as much, only to see that he’d already sent her a text.

The last two texts brought with them a flurry of butterflies running rampant behind her ribs. Some women might prefer a debauched weekend in Vegas for their bachelorette parties, full of strippers, alcohol, and gambling. But Chloe couldn’t think of anything nicer than getting spoiled rotten and relaxing for a couple days. And Lucifer knew it, because he knew her.

That said, the fantasy that had taken root in her head a few minutes before had been gaining traction and detail while she’d been texting him. In her opinion, there might in fact be one thing that could make the weekend better. Especially since Trixie was currently with Chloe’s mother, and they could have the property of their choice all to themselves.

Chloe really hoped she’d be getting a private room at the hotel. She had every intention of discovering just how many risqué photos it would take to entice her fiancé to abandon his bachelor party in favor of spending the night in her hotel room.

Lucifer must have been in a particularly silly mood. Well, if he needed to have his ego pumped up, she’d be more than happy to do the pumping.

He won’t stop me? As if Lucifer himself weren’t usually the one to make the same exact suggestion every single time Trixie spent the weekend with her dad and Charlotte. What on Earth part of “a whole weekend of sex” would be something he’d be reluctant to…

…Oh, that ridiculous, silly Devil of hers.

“Decker, would you stop texting your fiancé? This is supposed to be a girls’ trip!”

She sighed, but Ella was right. Stripper on a party bus aside, the weekend was supposed to be about bonding with her friends (Minus Maze, who’d firmly declined once she’d been informed of the itinerary.) Apparently the concurrent bachelor party was a weekend on a yacht with the intention of taking full advantage of the fact that they’d be anchored in international waters. Chloe had made it a point to avoid noticing any of the items that Lucifer had packed in his overnight bag. And she still wasn’t sure how they’d gotten Dan on board with it. Especially once it had sunk in for him that he would be the only human, in the middle of the Pacific, in the company of an angel, a demon, and the former King of Hell.

Three bags at check-in, each. Multiplied by four people. If she’d done the math, Chloe would have realized sooner that she would be greeted at the front desk by no less than twelve tote bags packed full of luxury spa supplies. Twelve large tote bags. She nodded gratefully when the concierge offered to call multiple porters to help them get everything up to their hotel suite. And when the first one materialized at her side roughly two seconds after this offer had been made, she was eager enough to get everything dealt with that she didn’t take a proper look at him until he already had one of her bags on his arm.

Hotel porters didn’t usually wear jeans.

She tightened her grip on the second bag. “Who the hell are you?”

He dipped his chin, smirking faintly—an expression that somehow split the difference between dismissive and deferential. “You can call me Billy. Lor— uh, Lucifer sent me to do stuff for you this weekend, since he can’t be here.”

An interesting slip of the tongue, Chloe noted to herself. She studied him for a moment. He looked… youthful, if not young, and handsome in a way that would probably get him both into and out of all sorts of trouble. He certainly seemed like exactly the sort of person Lucifer would associate with.

Not one to miss an opportunity to make a new friend, Ella stepped around her to stick out her hand. “Hi, Billy! I’m Ella, and this is Linda and Charlotte,” she told him, pointing out each in turn.

“Ella!”

“What? I can’t make friends with your… What are you, anyway? Like, her personal assistant?”

“Let’s start with proof that Lucifer actually hired him.” Chloe returned her attention to Billy. “I assume you’ve got ID or something?”

“Yes. And a letter from Lucifer,” he said, pulling both from his back pocket.

No wallet, Chloe noticed.

The letter, which had been folded several times, read—

Chloe, 

Since I’ll be separated from you for multiple days, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for a surrogate of sorts while you and the ladies are in San Diego. Yes, he’s there mainly to protect you, and yes I know you are quite capable of looking after yourself, but I already detest being away from you for so long and I would worry the whole time, otherwise. And if that hasn’t convinced you, I give you my word I’ll make it worth your while if you humor me on this. 

Make sure he shows you his ID, with his picture and the name Billy Smith on it. Assuming it is him and not some opportunistic miscreant who’s killed him and taken his place (extremely unlikely), he’s excellent in combat and I trust him with both my life and yours.

Enjoy your bachelorette weekend and HAVE FUN. 

All my love, 

Lucifer

It was his handwriting, and his signature at the bottom. Billy was holding out an ID card, which matched what Lucifer had said in his letter. When they got back to Los Angeles, Chloe was absolutely going to have words with her ridiculous fiancé about his overprotective tendencies, but she was at least assured that Billy could be trusted.

It was odd, though, for Lucifer to put that much trust in anyone. Outside of her or Maze, anyway. From his letter, it sounded like he’d known this Billy for years, but Chloe had never even heard of him before.

And yet… there was something familiar about him. Chloe watched “Billy” as he went ahead of her with her luggage; he walked with a casual confidence, like a predator strolling through his territory. Dark eyes, vigilant and perceptive, that glanced suspiciously at every single person who crossed their path.

It reminded her of Maze.

Who had taken the generic human surname of “Smith” after Lucifer had brought her up from Hell.

Her suspicions spiked when an elderly woman squeezed into the elevator carriage with them at the last second and Billy growled at her under his breath. Ella and Linda—the two closest to him—glanced over in confusion.

“Relax,” she whispered to him with more than a little amusement. “She’s not a threat.”

He frowned uncertainly, but relaxed as instructed.

By the time they got to their suite, she was almost one hundred percent certain. “Here we are,” she said. “Thrakatuluk ishi, ghâshgûl.”

“Carn, Krim—” Billy snapped his mouth shut, freezing in place when he realized her instruction to take everything inside hadn’t been in English. “Uh, I mean… What was that?”

Chloe unlocked the suite; lips pressed firmly together in a tight smile, she jerked her head towards the open door. “What’s your real name, Billy?”

“It’s uh… it’s Belios.”

This time, she believed him. “Come on in, Belios. We should talk.”

Belios had run into Lucifer during the few Hell-weeks that he’d spent waiting for Azrael to come fetch him back to his body. Belios had been extremely concerned about the fact that his King had been killed while on the Earthly plane. Belios had spent several days getting caught up on Lucifer’s activities on Earth, spreading the exciting news that Hell now had a Queen, and convincing Lucifer that two monarchs clearly required two bodyguards. When they’d made their plans for their bachelor and bachelorette parties and it had become clear that they’d be spending an entire weekend almost fifty miles apart, Lucifer had popped back down to Hell to retrieve him.

And now the Queen of Hell had her very own right-hand demon: Belios of the Lilim, younger brother to Mazikeen.

Well… at least Lucifer hadn’t hidden it from her this time.

“I’m not saying you have to take him back,” Chloe said. “He seems well-behaved… Well, all right, there was that incident with the spa attendant, but we got that sorted out. It’s just that this is the sort of thing we’re supposed to discuss first, Lucifer. It’s a lot of responsibility! Especially with the wedding less than a week away! Someone’s going to have to look after him. And where’s he going to stay?”

“Well, there’s always Ma—”

“No,” Maze interrupted him. “No freaking way. He can sleep in the alley behind Lux or something.”

“Fuck you, too, Mazikeen,” Belios cheerfully retorted.

Maze pulled out her demon blade.

Belios replied with a dagger that had more barbed and serrated teeth than a nightmare monster.

“Now, now,” Lucifer admonished them. “I know you’re happy to see each other, but please hold off on sparring until we’re done with Belios’s suit fitting.”

Chloe closed her eyes, counted to ten, and pulled enough bills out of her wallet to hopefully buy the badly-harried tailor’s continued good will.

Babysitting the demon all weekend while he’d been babysitting her had given Chloe a brand-new appreciation for Maze, who’d had five whole years of domestication before they’d met. In retrospect, Chloe was shocked Maze hadn’t been arrested at least once in all that time.

“Anyway,” Lucifer continued, “I’m sure he won’t be any trouble at all. Right, Belios?”

Belios was getting his inseam measured. Belios was getting very distracted by this. “Yuh-huh.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrow at him.

“…Uh, I mean right, my lord.”

“Do you dress to the right or the left, Mr. Smith?” the tailor asked.

“Um… both?”

Maze snickered. “He’s asking where you like to put your dick, dumbass.”

“Oh!” Belios’s baffled expression melted away. Immediately proving Lucifer wrong, it quickly shifted into a leer instead. “Wherever you like, handsome.”

Chloe closed her eyes again.

Maybe she’d have a normal life when she opened them again.

The day arrived.

They had their flowers, their photographer, and their officiant. Music, food, and both a band and a DJ waiting for them at the Malibu property, because the only thing they’d agreed on about the music had been that they didn’t have any idea how to choose. Chloe had been dressed and primped to within an inch of her life, and a dozen talented people were finally getting the recognition and success they deserved.

Most importantly, their friends and family were waiting just a short distance away on the beach where Lucifer had first arrived in Los Angeles.

“Ten minutes,” Ella reported, ducking into the breezy tent where Chloe had been getting ready. “Looks like everyone’s here. Your mom volunteered to watch Charlie. Sorry.”

“Sorry? What—” Chloe carefully peeked out of her tent. Twenty feet down the beach, Penelope sat in the front row with the baby in her lap, and was using him to wave at Lucifer. This far away, Chloe couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could see Lucifer reach behind Father Frank’s podium for a bottle of Macallan that was already half-empty.

Over the last couple of years, Chloe had occasionally considered telling her mother the truth about Lucifer. Even if only to explain why “a few more adorable grandbabies” would never, ever be happening. She never had, though. It wasn’t that she thought Penelope would take it badly. It was just that, between the fact of Charlie’s existence and Penelope’s own unflappable stubbornness, Chloe could already hear the high-pitched squeal of “oh my god, they would be actual little angels!” in her head.

And speaking of angels…

“That woman with the curly hair and the blue dress,” Chloe whispered to Ella. “Is that one of—”

“It’s Gabriel!” Ella whispered excitedly. “Rae-Rae said she would probably come—she cannot resist an opportunity to get some hot goss—but I didn’t really think there would be an actual angel at your wedding!”

“Besides Lucifer’s best man?”

“Oh, right. Is it weird that I keep forgetting he’s an angel, too? And Rae-Rae’s here, of course.”

Chloe snuck another peek at the guests. “She is?”

“Mm. Empty seat next to Gabriel. She’s… not big on crowds.”

Chloe could understand that. Not that she’d really call the assembled guests a ‘crowd’. Two dozen people had gathered to watch her and Lucifer exchange vows, not counting the wedding party. Penelope, of course, with little Charlie on her lap. A handful of Lucifer’s employees, and a handful of fellow detectives and other colleagues from the precinct. Candy, of course, and a plus-one Chloe hoped wasn’t named Anthony. Gabriel, with a phone in her hand—turned on its side and aimed at Lucifer—and the empty-looking seat next to her where Heaven’s shiest angel was sitting. Belios, who’d been filling the role of sole usher, stood to attention outside Chloe’s tent while his sister made obscene gestures at him from her place next to Lucifer.

Lucifer, who was fidgeting relentlessly, chin down and determined not to glance at the tent where Chloe was crawling out of her skin with impatience. Maze and Dan stood at his side. There was just one missing face.

“Wait,” she said to Ella, even as a sudden breeze made the cloth walls of her tent billow outwards. “Where’s—”

“Chloe,” Amenadiel said from behind her. “I apologize for the interruption. I, uh…” He held out a piece of paper, thick and cream-colored and folded into thirds. “A wedding present. I understand it’s traditional to give these after the ceremony, but I thought you would want to read it now.”

Puzzled, she accepted the paper from him and unfolded it to find a letter, written in handwriting she hadn’t seen in decades.

The very first word made her heart clench painfully in her chest.

Monkey,

It’s hard to believe it’s been so long—seems like just yesterday I went to your movie premiere. But Amenadiel tells me you’ve decided to follow in my footsteps instead of your mom’s, and that you even caught the man who took me away from you. I can’t say I ever imagined you’d end up marrying who you’re marrying, but I know you’re a smart girl woman with a good heart, and if he's good enough for you then he’s good enough for me.

I wish I could be there with you today. Gabriel says she thinks she can get a video back up to me, though. I hope she’s right. 

I’m so proud of you, Monkey, and I love you so much. Give your Mom a kiss for me, and tell the DJ to play Sweet Caroline at some point. And make sure it’s a good long time before I see you again. 

Love you, 

Dad

The last few lines took her several tries to read, the words blurring into illegibility through the tears that flooded her eyes.

“Th-thank you,” she managed to stutter out. “I can’t even… Thank you. This is…”

“I’m afraid human souls can’t leave the Silver City, but I thought—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by the arms flung around his chest. “This is more than I could have ever asked for,” Chloe assured him.

“And… I’m sorry.”

She let go of him, wiping away a streak of ruined mascara, to see that Amenadiel was holding back one or two tears of his own.

“I treated you and my brother terribly,” he admitted with a small, apologetic smile. “Even when I claimed to be trying to improve, I was still only thinking about myself. I am very glad that the two of you have found your way to this moment, despite my efforts in the beginning.”

Chloe nodded. It was all she could trust herself to do.

“Anyway, I’ll, uh… I’ll let you finish getting ready,” he said, then disappeared in a flutter of gray.

Chloe couldn’t stop staring at the letter. An actual, tangible letter written by her dead father, who was at the very moment living his afterlife in Heaven. Still thinking about her. Still existing. Even though she’d had just over two years to get used to the idea, this proof that she could hold in her hands was… God, she could barely breathe.

“You okay, Decker?”

Ella was sitting next to her, rubbing her back. Chloe gulped in enough air to make an affirmative noise.

“You want to talk about it?”

Chloe sniffled. “L-later,” she croaked.

“You want me to get Klaus back in here to fix your face?”

Shit, she must be a complete mess. She nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

It took a little longer than ten minutes, but Chloe was finally walking down the aisle.

She couldn’t hear the quartet, nor see the seated guests. Lucifer was waiting for her just a short walk down the beach, and he was… he was everything. Her everything. Now, forever, and through whatever came after eternity. As focused as she was on her soon-to-be-legal husband, it was a miracle she didn’t trip on the woven-reed runner that spanned the walk from her tent to the small shaded platform where he stood, or the flower petals that Trixie had dropped along the way.

Formality or not, standing next to him in front of the priest made it real for her in a way that a private but heartfelt promise never could. Maybe it was human and small-minded of her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was Lucifer looking at her with the softest smile on his face, unable to stop himself from taking her hand in his even though they hadn’t gotten to that part yet.

“Welcome, everyone,” Father Frank said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I assume you all know why we’re here today, so I won’t bore you all with the usual script.

“Fact of the matter is, I’m just here so there’s someone to sign the legal documents. Because the couple standing in front of me today has already dedicated themselves to each other in every way that matters, through good times and bad times and everything in between. Chloe, Lucifer—the two of you have faced hardships and opposition most folk could never dream of, and you’ve come out the other side even stronger for it. So I won’t go on about patience and kindness, especially since I know you wouldn’t appreciate the usual scripture readings. You probably know the originals better than me anyhow.”

This got some chuckles from about half of the guests.

“All I’ll say is,” he continued, “I am honored that I get to be part of this for the two of you. Just like I was happy to be there to smack some sense into your head when you” —he looked directly at Lucifer as he said this— “were having a heck of a time figuring out what the rest of us already knew.” More chuckles. “You don’t need my blessings, but you have them anyway. Just as you have the support and love from everyone who has gathered here today to watch you publicly affirm your commitment to each other.

“The two of you have a love that would make anyone envious. A love I have no doubt will last forever. Seeing as how I know you’re both eager to get started on that ‘forever’ sooner rather than later, I’ll get right on to the good part—

“Chloe, will you have Lucifer to be your husband, to live together in marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall exist?”

“I will,” Chloe answered, not looking away from her husband.

“And Lucifer, will you have Chloe to be your wife, to live together in marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall exist?”

“I will.”

Father Frank then looked at Amenadiel, prompting him with a slight nod; Amenadiel handed over a matching pair of rings. “Here and now,” Father Frank told them, “these rings are a visible sign of your unending commitment to each other. As a circle has no end, so does your love for each other have no end.” He handed the first to Lucifer. “Go ahead, my friend. You know what to do.”

Lucifer slid the ring onto Chloe’s finger. “I know every word, in every language, and none of them are enough,” he told her. “But… I’m yours. Always.”

Only three words, short and sweet, but they made fresh tears pour down Chloe’s face. It was the vow he’d made to her at the very beginning; the only vow that mattered.

“I’m yours, always,” she managed to choke out when it was her turn.

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of California,” Father Frank said, “and only by the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may—” He cut himself off, because Lucifer had already wrapped both arms around Chloe and was kissing her for all he was worth. He shook his head, laughing. “Well, carry on, then.”

One benefit to having a relatively small guest list was that it made it a lot easier to get everyone from a ceremony at the beach to a reception in Malibu. A small fleet of limousines carried everyone to the house, and the celebration was in full swing by the time the wedding party escaped both the purgatory of group photos and the fifth circle of hell known as L.A. traffic.

They tried to sneak in, preferring to join the party rather than force it to pause, but Penelope cornered them within moments of their arrival.

“There you are, honey!” she exclaimed, arms scooping her daughter into a crushing hug while Lucifer made his escape, mumbling something about drinks. “What took you so long? People are already halfway through the hors d’oeuvres! You’d better hurry up, or you won’t get anything to eat.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Chloe said, although she wasn’t quite sure why she was apologizing. “Cecilia asked if she could get some extra photos, since she’s trying to build up her portfolio, and—”

“What, for a whole hour?”

“Well, no.” Chloe frowned at her mother. “Half of that was the drive.”

“Why didn’t Lucifer just fly you? I would’ve thought that would be much quicker.”

Chloe’s brain screeched, jumped a gear, and skidded to a halt. “He… uh… Wh—” She coughed uselessly and attempted a show of ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you bother using a car to get around at all—traffic in this city is always so awful. Although I admit, that cute little Corvette of his is very nice. But if I had wings I don’t think I’d even bother with a driver’s license.”

“It, um.” Chloe was asleep. Or drunk. Could she be drunk? They hadn’t made it to the bar yet. “Would’ve wrecked my hair.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think of that! Probably for the best, then.” Penelope touched a few of the crystals that had been embedded in Chloe’s updo when Chloe didn’t dodge out of the way quickly enough. “Whoever did your hair is an absolute artist.”

“Thanks.” Chloe swallowed and did one last internal survey to make sure she hadn’t mistaken anything of Lucifer’s for her morning vitamins. “Uh, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How long have you… you know, known?”

“What, about Lucifer?” Penelope snorted softly. “Well, it’s not like he makes a secret of it, does he?”

Chloe started to wonder if all of their guests knew they’d just attended the Devil’s wedding.

“Anyway,” Penelope said, “I finally recognized Amenadiel from… what was it, thirty-eight years ago now? And he came clean as soon as I asked. Imagine me, getting my own personal miracle!” She preened, a tiny smug smile on her face. “I guess God’s a fan.”

Chloe had some doubts.

She didn’t say any of them out loud.

“Okay, well… I’d better go find Lucifer,” she said. “I think he went, uh… We’ll chat later, though!”

An hour later, Chloe had danced to four songs (three with her husband), drunk three glasses of champagne, and eaten a grand total of one fried shrimp. She was exuberant, more than a little tipsy, and starving. Forget the cake cutting, forget the bouquet toss, and definitely forget the garter toss that she’d already informed Lucifer would absolutely not be happening, because Chloe wanted some freaking food.

On that point, at least, she was congratulating herself on her excellent planning and foresight—hosting the wedding reception at their own property had been a genius idea, because it meant that she knew exactly where the pantry was. And the fridge. And the oven.

Actually, an oven might not be the best idea. Those things took too long.

She was rifling through the contents of their freezer, searching for the inevitable half-empty bag of chicken nuggets, when a hand on her ass made her jump up with a squeak. But it was only Lucifer, grinning at her with one eyebrow raised, and she relaxed again.

“And what are you doing, darling?”

Chloe let herself slump against his chest, safe and steady in his arms. “I’m hungry,” she complained. “And people keep talking to me out there.”

“Unacceptable,” he agreed. “We should fix that immediately.” He steered her towards the table and settled her into a chair. “Wait here, my love. I’ll heat something up for you.”

She smiled up at him. What a wonderful husband he was. She was going to keep him forever and ever. Maybe even longer than that.

Two minutes later, the microwave beeped, and he set down a plastic tray full of noodles and peanut sauce in front of her. “As requested, darling.”

Thai food? Frozen-meal-style Thai food? Since when did they keep that sort of thing in the freezer? She scrunched her eyebrows at the noodles, then at Lucifer. “When did…?”

“Last year,” he said, looking excessively pleased with himself. “You said you wanted something microwaveable for our next anniversary.”

Her soppy smile threatened to start leaking. “I did, didn’t I?”

She smiled at him while she ate, then she smiled at him some more when he put the plastic tray in the bin, then just smiled in general when he pulled her to her feet and back into his arms where she belonged.

“Shall we rejoin our guests?”

“Mm, not yet.”

“We’ll miss the fireworks,” he reminded her.

An excellent point, actually. Every wedding should end with fireworks. “You know,” she said, “I think I saw some of those upstairs.”

“You saw fireworks upstairs?”

“Yep. In the bedroom.”

“In the—?” Halfway through his question, he cut himself off with a laugh and scooped her into his arms, wedding dress and all. “Let’s go look together.”

Chloe laughed, too. “You read my mind.”

“And, darling?” he said while he carried her upstairs.

“Hm?”

“The dress stays on.”