Epilogue
“ Oh my God, finally!”
Luka sighed as he dropped his cello case in the foyer, then moved further in so Kit could enter behind him. He tossed his keys on the small hall table as Kit, huffing a bit, lugged his double bass inside, then shut the door behind himself.
“I feel like I should have carried you over the threshold or something,” Kit grumbled, straightening and rubbing at his lower back. “Isn’t that tradition?”
“What, when we’ve been married for two months already?” Luka grinned, moving to wrap his arms around Kit before kissing him soundly. “I think you did enough just hauling your bass up the stairs — and I prescribe a hot shower and a massage to make sure you didn’t hurt anything.”
“Dr. Petrov has spoken.” Kit chuckled and pulled Luka closer, nuzzling his cheek.
“That’s officially Dr. Davies,” Luka retorted. He gave Kit a sharp smack on his denim-clad ass. “And don’t forget it.”
Grinning, Kit pulled him closer and claimed his mouth hungrily. Luka was more than happy to take Kit’s name when they were married in Seattle, up on the observation deck of the iconic Space Needle. The ceremony had been small, attended only by the members of the F-Holes and Sultana, plus Kit’s parents, sister, nieces and nephews. Luka had reconnected with Blake and Josh during the Canadian leg of the F-Holes tour, and he’d been surprised that the two of them seemed not to hold any grudges against him.
They had also gotten along well with the rest of the F-Holes, so much so that Jett had agreed to play on Sultana’s upcoming album. It had solved the question of the lineups for both bands, and Luka was just pleased that everything had worked out without any bad blood; in fact, there was even talk of the F-Holes touring with Sultana in the future, which could benefit both bands.
But the tour was finally over, and Luka was glad to be back in LA. He and Kit were going to take an extended honeymoon before the F-Holes had to get back into the studio themselves, but they had both agreed that a few weeks at their home base to rest was essential.
Home base, at least for the moment, was Luka’s condo in the suburbs outside the city. The residential neighborhood was quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of downtown, and Luka had lucked out and gotten it for a fantastic price from another musician going through a bad breakup.
After several long moments of making out, Luka pulled back. “Come on, we don’t have to fuck up against the wall anymore,” he said, grinning at Kit and taking his hand. He pulled Kit into the main living area, giving him a quick tour. He was glad he’d arranged for a housekeeper to keep the place dusted and aired out while he was on tour, and she’d even stocked up the refrigerator for them, so they wouldn’t have to leave the condo for any reason for at least a few days. Which Luka had plans for, ones he started by smiling evilly as he urged Kit toward his bedroom.
They’d not even reached the door, however, when the doorbell rang. Luka frowned, then sighed. There was really only one thing it could be, since he didn’t really know his neighbors, and the condo complex was gated and had a strict no solicitation policy.
“Wouldn’t you know it, I bet that’s the rest of our luggage,” he grumbled. He’d thought their suitcases would be at least a day behind them, since they’d left them in the band bus and arranged for them to be delivered later.
Kit snorted. “Just when we don’t want things to be done efficiently.” He started back toward the front, glancing back at Luka and giving him a wink. “Come on, the sooner we get this over, the sooner we can get on with christening my new home.”
Luka followed, wondering if he had any cash in his wallet to tip the delivery guy. Kit beat him to the door, opening it, and Luka saw his shoulders suddenly stiffen.
“Where is he?” a familiar voice snapped. “I demand you let me in, Kit Davies.”
His mother ? What in the actual fuck was she doing here?
“I don’t think he wants to see you,” Kit replied, keeping the door only partially open, no doubt to forestall Arda from barging in. She was a small woman, but very determined, and Luka was glad that Kit had been the one to answer the door, because she would have undoubtedly steamrolled right over Luka.
“You can’t tell me I can’t see my son!” she snapped.
“I certainly can tell you that you can’t see my husband,” Kit replied. His voice was amazingly calm, which helped to steady Luka’s inner turmoil. He didn’t need protection from his mother — or his egg donor, as he’d come to think of her — but he was glad of a few moments to take a few calming breaths and remind himself that she didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing she could say to hurt him.
Arda made a disparaging noise. “I read about that bullcrap in the papers. Men marrying other men is unnatural, and I don’t buy it for a moment. My Luka needs to stop this nonsense and do what he’s supposed to do.”
“Actually, he’s my Luka now,” Kit said, and Luka almost chuckled at the smug, proprietary tone of his voice. “You have no power over him anymore.”
There was an almost inarticulate shriek, and Luka stepped forward. He knew Arda, and he knew she wasn’t going to be deterred by anything until he told her to go away himself. Stubborn, selfish, and narcissistic, she and his father had been a match made in hell.
He stepped closer, putting a hand on Kit’s back, then looking at her over Kit’s shoulder.
“Kit’s right. You don’t have a thing to hold over me any longer, Arda,” he said. “I’m free of you.”
Her hazel eyes — the one feature Luka had gotten from her — suddenly filled with tears, which Luka didn’t trust for a moment. “Oh, Luka, my sweet boy, I’ve missed you so. I came all the way out here to talk to you. Won’t you let me in and tell this person to give us some time alone?”
“Nope.” Luka shrugged. Seeing her again after so many years, he was surprised he didn’t feel rage or even disgust. What he felt was pity. “You should go. You’re trespassing.”
“What?” Her eyes grew comically wide and round, and it was obvious she had expected her tears to move him, as they always had in childhood. “You’d toss out your own mother? But I wanted to discuss the Strad! I’m not going to live too many more years, you know, and I want to make sure you have the family cello. It’s so valuable, Luka, they appraised it at over two million dollars, and by rights, it should go to a Petrov and someday to your children.” She glared pointedly at Kit. “You need to have children to carry on the Petrov Family Legacy.” The way she said it made the capitals obvious.
Luka suddenly laughed, which startled her. “I’m not a Petrov any longer, Arda. I took Kit’s name. There will never be any ‘Petrov family legacy’, because even if we adopt or decide to otherwise have kids someday, they’ll have the Davies name.”
The look of shock on her face couldn’t have been more epic, and it was enough that Luka felt just a little bad for her. But only a little. She was apparently struck speechless, only able to gape at him. He simply looked back at her, waiting to see what her next argument would be.
Strangely enough, telling her about his name change seemed to drain a lot of the fight out of her. After several long moments, she drew in a breath, still seeming bewildered. “But what do I do with the Strad? There’s no one left on your father’s side. It’s just sitting there!”
No doubt she really hadn’t considered what to do with it when it was no longer useful as a carrot she could dangle in front of him. But for the first time, Luka realized he didn’t care. He squeezed Kit’s shoulder, and Kit turned to look at him, giving him a smile full of love and acceptance. He knew that no matter what he said, Kit would support him, and Kit meant more to him than anything. He didn’t need the Strad in order to feel vindicated; as long as he had Kit, that was all he would ever need.
“I guess you’ll have to figure that out,” he said quietly. “Donate it to an orchestra or a museum, sell it, or chop it up for firewood. Whatever makes you happy. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
“I trust you have a way to get home,” Kit added. “Bye, Mrs. Petrov.”
With that, Kit shut the door right in her surprised face. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said as he turned around. He gave Luka a searching look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Luka smiled, wrapping his arms around Kit. “And you know what? I’m free. Finally, after all this time, I’m free.”
“You really don’t care about the Strad?”
Luka shook his head. “No. If anything, having it wouldn’t be the validation I was looking for, only a reminder that I was never seen as anything other than a way to perpetuate their DNA. But I’m more than that. I’m me, and I’m yours.”
“Damn right you are,” Kit affirmed, tightening his arms. The doorbell sounded again, but he ignored it. “Now, where were we?”
“On our way to christening our bed,” Luka replied. “No more interruptions.”
“Right, then let’s get to it.” Kit grinned. “I love you, Luka Davies.”
Luka smiled. “And I love you. If music be the food of love, then let’s play on.”