I sighed, affecting annoyance that was clearly feigned, given the stupid, beaming smile I couldn’t wipe off my face. “I would much rather have done this the proper way … with me putting a ring on your finger …”

“Nothing about us has ever been proper, SJ. But it is perfect. I want to be engaged to you … officially and improperly.”

“I bloody love you,” I whispered, taking her mouth again for a quick, searing kiss. “And while I’ll allow this to be our official engagement, I still want to put a ring on your finger.”

“You really don’t⁠—”

“I really do,” I insisted. “I will procure you the fanciest ring your heart could ever desire, Jemma,” I vowed. “Anything you want or need … I just want you to be happy.”

She hiccupped. “I am happy, SJ. So happy! But … I think my lunch break is probably almost over, and I actually do need to eat something more than that treat you fed me earlier.”

I chuckled, taking her hand. “Shall I conjure up some gluten-free donuts for you?”

She beamed at me, unlocking the door and tugging it open. I glanced out past her, freezing at what was waiting for us.

“Uh … Mouse …” I warned, but she’d seen, too.

“Holy Hell,” she mumbled, gripping my hand tighter. “Do you think they …?”

“I’m positive.” One look at her brother’s face told me he knew exactly what we’d been doing in there. He looked equal parts disturbed and bewildered. Beside him, Ezra and Humphrey were failing miserably at concealing their laughter.

It would have been funny, except I suddenly realised that my breeches were still not tied up. I stepped behind Jemma, tugging on the laces with my free hand.

“SJ just asked me to marry him!” Jemma shouted as if her volume could drown out what they were all thinking.

And perhaps it worked, because in almost perfect unison, three jaws dropped.

“He what?” Joe demanded.

“Yep! You’re looking at the future Mrs …” She trailed off, tucking her lip between her teeth and turning to me. “Uh, SJ? We absolutely cannot be Mr and Mrs Lucifer …” she whispered.

I grinned and kissed her on the forehead. Chest swelling with sudden pride, I straightened. A small crowd of people were gathering, looking expectantly at us. I scanned them, my eyes snagging on a quintet of costumed women, their hair and outfits tugging at my memory. Two of them in particular looked astoundingly familiar—albeit sans their nipple mouths.

The red spicy girl and the dark spicy girl smirked at me, the red one winking and grinning. The dark one gave a single nod as if to say, ‘You got it right, old chap.’

So I opened my mouth and announced to the agog crowd, “You’re looking at the future Mr SJ Bliss.”

* * *