Chapter Thirty-One
Three months later…
KATERINA
Opening night smells like velvet curtains and nerves, but the good kind.
The kind I thought I’d never feel again.
Three months ago, I was packing suitcases and moving out of a penthouse I didn’t want to leave, preparing to leave the man I loved. Now I’m in the wings of the newly renovated Seattle Performing Arts Theater, as the principal dancers warm up around me.
My home.
The stage manager taps my shoulder.
“Five minutes, Katerina.”
I nod and take one slow breath before peeking past the wing curtain.
And then I freeze.
The front row… the entire front row, is filled.
Not with donors or critics, or even Popovich security.
But with the Hawkeyes family that Luka and Scottie brought me into.
Every single one of them.
Hunter, JP, Olsen, Trey, Hunter, Aleksi, and yes…
even Luka, sitting like he owns the place, arms crossed, smirk already loaded.
The amazing woman who put up with our boys all beside them, dressed in glittering evening outfits, waving like they’re trying not to scream.
Someone is holding popcorn. I can see a few of them snuck in flasks, and they all look so excited to be here to watch me.
But not more excited than I am to see them.
And then there’s Scottie.
My husband.
He sits in the center seat as if it was carved for him, a bouquet of tulips—yellow, my favorite—resting against his knee.
He’s wearing a suit that should be illegal, his shoulders filling it out in a way that makes my pulse flutter.
His hair is neat…ish. Enough to make him look like a man who tried, then gave up, then decided I’d love him anyway.
He’s scanning the stage, looking for me.
And when he finds me, when our eyes lock—He smiles.
A slow, soft, completely devastating smile that reaches every inch of him. The kind of smile a man wears when he shows up on purpose. When he wants the whole world to know who he belongs to. He belongs to me and I belong to him.
My throat goes tight.
Behind him, Hillary fans herself with the program as Arnold leans forward in his seat, already tearing up, probably before the opening number even starts. My chosen family, my real family, filling the theater like it’s their arena.
Arny and Hillary leave in two weeks to start his trial therapy, but they didn’t want to pass up being here, and I know the sacrifices they made to be sitting in those seats.
My grandmother fills her usual luxury box with her bodyguards. She’s made Seattle more than just a stopover. She’s now living part of the year here in Seattle to be close to Luka and me. She wants to be a part of our life, and I’m grateful for that.
We meet once a week with her when Luka is in town, and we drag Scottie to it when we can, though he’s having a hard time getting a flavor for my grandmother's taste in tea. It’s alright, he tries, like he always does, and my grandmother is starting to have a special blend brewed just for him.
A little something fruitier and easier on his sensitive palate.
She rolls her eyes whenever he adds more than one sugar cube and practically scoffs out loud when he adds milk, but ultimately she finds Scottie’s taste in tea highly amusing, though she won’t admit it.
The stage manager whispers, “Places.”
I step back, my heart full enough to burst.
The performance is electric.
Every turn, every extension, every breath feels like dancing not just for the audience, but for him. For the man who fought for me. For the man I chose. For the family that welcomed me like I was theirs long before I knew I wanted them.
And when the curtain falls, and the applause roars through the theater?
I bow to it. I let myself feel all of it. All the fear, the triumph, the love.
But it’s when I straighten, when the curtain rises again for the final bow—Scottie is on his feet.
He’s not clapping… he’s cheering like he’s behind glass on the bench at the Hawkeyes arena yelling, “That’s my wife,” as he tries to brand it permanently into the rafters.
The entire front row laughs, hollers, and joins him.
My cheeks burn. My heart does something dangerous in my chest.
And right there in the spotlight, I mouth: I love you. To all of them, for having been here, accepting me, bringing me into their unconventional family, and loving me from the first moment I stepped off that jet.
He taps his chest twice, points at me, and mouths back: Forever.
After the show backstage, it’s all chatter, flowers, champagne, and congratulations, but everything stills when his arms wrap around my waist from behind. I know immediately that I’m safe, tucked in my husband's arms. The safest place I could ever be.
He buries his face in my neck. “You were perfect.”
I smile, leaning back into him. “You and the Hawkeyes nearly got thrown out.”
“We bought and paid for those seats,” he whispers.
“Therefore, we owned the right to embarrass you. Plus, trying to get us kicked out with Grandma Popovich in the crowd… good luck. No one will cross her… I’m untouchable,” he teases, knowing that, in fact, my grandmother would immediately go to his defense.
She’s become a regular as well at the Hawkeyes arena, not missing a single home game as long as it doesn’t interfere with my schedule.
She is an official season ticket box holder.
The one right next to the owner’s suite, and she stocks the best treats to bribe all the Hawkeyes kids and WAGS to come hang out at her box during the games.
I turn in his arms, cupping his face. “Thank you for coming.”
He kisses my palm. “As long as I am able, I will also be at your shows. I’m so proud of you.”
“Even the matinees?”
“Even the weird modern ones where everyone’s in beige bodysuits.”
“Even tech rehearsals?”
He groans. “Don’t push it, KitKat.”
I laugh, rising onto my toes to kiss him, slowly and softly.
My future tastes like him.
My home feels like his arms.
And our next chapter begins here, in this city, with this family, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the impossible road that got us here.
“Ready to head to the cast party?” he asks, brushing hair from my cheek.
I shake my head, smiling. “No, let’s take our family to Oakley’s. I’ve been meaning to kick your butt on our pool table.”
The pool table where it all started. The pool table that Luka beat him at, and thankfully, sealed our fate together.
I kiss him again.
He grabs my hand like he never plans to let go—and he doesn’t.
Together, we step into the bright hallway, into the noise, into our lives.
The one we fought for.
The one we were both prepared to lose everything to keep.
For better. For worse.
For always.