DESSERT, the sequel, was so much better.

The first thing Muse said to Adrien, upon arriving at their destination, was: "I think we need practice."

"Practice?"

"In less than a month, we're selling this lie to everyone. I mean, you're like New York's youngest, hottest billionaire. People will follow the story. So we need practice."

Adrien pushed open the doors to the little dessert shop. Blue booths, glowing fish tanks, and waitresses in roller skates. She'd loved this place since Ezra had first shown it to her one night, years ago, stumbling home in the dark after a long night out. It was open 24/7, which she thought only added to the magic of it.

"Okay," Adrien agreed. "Practice."

The hostess that greeted them was in her mid-thirties, with bold lipstick and bottle-blonde hair. "Table for two?"

Muse placed one hand on her stomach and rubbed in a circular motion. "Table for three soon."

The hostess―whose name tag read Gertrude―balked at that. And then her customer-service smile returned in full force.

"Of course. Follow me."

As they hurried to catch up to the hostess, Adrien shot Muse a look. Muse grinned.

Once they were seated down, Gertrude passed menus across the table. Her face, lit in the bioluminescent glow of the fish tanks, seemed more menacing than sincere. "Congratulations on the baby, by the way."

"Oh, thanks," Muse said, relaxing into the booth. "We've been trying really hard."

Gertrude's eyes slid to Adrien. And narrowed. As if she was piecing it together that we meant they were a couple.

Under the table, Muse kicked Adrien, and Adrien figured this was her cue to add to the story. She swallowed.

"Yeah, IVF didn't stick," she said. "But bone marrow's worked like a charm."

"I can't say I'm upset." Muse reached across the table for Adrien's hands, and squeezed them. "If my babies end up looking like her, I'll die happy. A lesbian's gotta do what a lesbian's gotta do."

"Wow, babe, you should make that a catchphrase."

"I'll print it on a mug and give it to you for your birthday," Muse purred.

Gertrude's eyebrows climbed higher, nearing her hairline.

A sudden idea lit in Adrien's mind. "Speaking of birthdays, you know, we're thinking of moving to Switzerland next year."

"Switzerland?" Muse echoed.

Adrien smirked. It was her turn to take her fiancee aback. "Yes, Switzerland." She gave Gertrude a conspiratorial look and nodded in Muse's direction. "The American school system really failed this one. She thought we'd be able to make babies just by"―she lowered her voice into a whisper―"rawdogging it."

Gertrude's lips, painted in deep, dark red, thinned into a disbelieving slash. "Raw . . . what now?"

"Having lots of wild, unprotected sex. Can you believe it? That's why we're moving countries. Our children definitely won't be that uneducated going forward. Like, we're literally lesbians."

"Hey!" Muse said. "That was just a silly mistake. Did you know she thought we'd both get pregnant?"

Adrien opened her mouth. Her and Muse's hands were still intertwined from across the table, each of them squeezing harder with every sentence. At this point, they were in a death-grip.

"That's not true, I―"

A bell rang somewhere in the distance.

Gertrude cleared her throat. "I should get going, but I'll be back for your . . . orders?"

The second Gertrude had skated back into the kitchen, Muse and Adrien simultaneously relaxed their grip. Neither of them let go, though. Their hands remained set across the table, interlaced.

"Rawdogging it?" Muse hissed.

"A double pregnancy?" Adrien hissed back.

A beat passed, and then both of them were laughing.

"I think that was good practice."

"Oh, it's perfect. We have bastard children already."

Muse smiled. Bioluminescent light rippled across her face. She looked so beautiful Adrien wanted to lean across the table, grab her face in both hands, and kiss her. Just kiss her, senselessly.

Thankfully, this line of thinking was interrupted by Muse's question: "What's our official story going to be?"

"What, the sharks in the waterpark and the Mafia assassinating your dad aren't going to cut it?"

"No, probably not. I say we tell people we met on Tinder."

Adrien groaned. "No way. How about in a coffee shop line?"

"You've been watching way too much Hallmark Channel lately. How would that even go? I'd probably diss your oat milk latte or something, and we'd break out into a brawl at eight in the morning."

"You've been watching way too much WWE. Who breaks out into a brawl at eight in the morning over oat milk?"

"Clearly you've never dissed a lesbian's choice of milk in your life. Life tip: don't."

"There go my plans for tomorrow morning."

"Oh, so does that mean you're free now?" Muse said with a sly wink.

Gertrude returned, looking expectantly between them. Neither of them had checked their menus. They both realized it at the same time, and let go of each other.

Muse quickly scanned the desserts. "My turn to pick for you, since you picked for me at dinner?"

Ever since she was little, Julien had never let Adrien order for herself in restaurants. She hated it. But coming from Muse, Adrien found she didn't mind. Not even a little. She nodded in acquiescence, and the glow that lit Muse's face made Adrien wish she could say yes a thousand times over.

"We'll share the banana split sundae, please," Muse told Gertrude, closing her menu.

Gertrude nodded, took both menus, and skated away.

"Maybe IKEA," said Muse suddenly.

"IKEA?"

"Maybe that's where we met. And then you offered to build my furniture."

"That sounds like a sex joke."

"You just have a dirty mind."

Adrien rolled her eyes. "Okay, our official story is that we met at IKEA. And I offered to build your furniture."

"I know I have the diamond ring, but did I propose to you, or did you propose to me?"

Adrien hadn't thought that far ahead. "I already proposed to you. I just ended up with a Shirley Temple to the face instead of an answer."

"Hey, you completely sprung that on me!"

"We were making up a fake relationship!"

"I didn't think our fake relationship was ready for marriage!"

The dessert shop wasn't busy, but they had the attention of most of the staff. Adrien lowered her voice and said, "Besides proposals, we're also going to have to have a photoshoot. But not a fun one. A really awkward Christian one that screams, We're waiting until marriage for sex."

"Let me guess, those are the pictures your dad wants to sell to magazines?"

"It goes with the whole family woman idea, unfortunately."

"And when do we start attending church together?"

"Probably"―Adrien checked her watch―"this Sunday."

"That's literally tomorrow."

"Are you free by any chance?"

Muse rolled her eyes. "I was planning on sleeping in, but . . ."

"You can sleepover at my place tonight," Adrien said. Instantly regretting it the moment the words left her lips. But she didn't take it back―instead, she kept making it worse: "I have an extra toothbrush, and I'll give you clothes to sleep in. It'll be fun."

"A sleepover," Muse repeated.

Adrien wanted her to say no.

Adrien wanted her to say yes.

But before either of them could add anything else, Gertrude was back again. This time, with a banana split sundae and two spoons.

"Enjoy, lovelies," she said, and disappeared.

"I can't," said Muse.

"This is a terrible time to mention you're lactose intolerant."

"No, not the sundae. The sleepover."

"Oh." Adrien didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed.

"But . . . I'll meet you at church?"

Adrien waited for Muse to have the first bite of ice cream before starting. She said, "Yeah, no, that's a good idea."

The first taste of the vanilla ice cream was heaven. They grinned at each other. Adrien thought of a million things she could say, a million things she wanted to say. Each and every last word died on her lips, unspoken, as she stared into Muse's honey-gold eyes.

"Should I practice my Hail Mary tonight?" Muse asked.

Adrien glanced down at Muse's lips. They looked so sweet. "Oh, definitely. I expect you to be a devout Christian woman by morning."

"For you?" Muse licked the corner of her lips. "Anything."

Adrien's heart had begun racing. Her blood flowed hot beneath her skin.

Muse was looking at her, and she was looking at Muse, and logically, there was nothing stopping them from leaning across the table and kissing.

But logic was a funny thing.

And Adrien couldn't help thinking this was ridiculous. She never pined over women. She didn't think about what their eyes looked like, blue-lit and glowing, in the dim bioluminescence of a dessert shop. She didn't think about what it would take to make them blush, so their cheeks would turn this pretty, soft, rosy colour. Only certain people did that. Lovesick people did that.

And Adrien was―absolutely, one hundred percent, one thousand percent―not lovesick.

So why, exactly, couldn't she tear her eyes away from Muse?

"If the offer still stands, I think maybe I'll sleepover tonight after all," Muse said.