Kit arrives back on Sunday night in a whirl of happiness, Tully in tow. He's wearing a long overcoat with his beanie pulled down over his head.

"Are you in disguise?" I ask.

"Kinda, there's so much hype building around the farewell concert and you don't want the press camping on your doorstep. I'd feel terrible if that happened. I have to move out of my mother's. Dino's organising a hotel for us all until we leave."

"Do you have to stay in it the whole time?"

"No, of course not, I'll be able to escape now and then," Tully says with a grin as he produces a bottle of champagne. Paris has clearly been good for them and their excitement radiates off them filling our tiny living room.

"So how did it go?" I ask. "What has you both grinning and purring like the cat who got the cream?"

"Paris was wonderful," Kit gushes, "but the best bit is it was just the two of us."

"We were starting to think we'd never get a moment together." Tully slips his hand through Kit's, interlocking her fingers. The gesture is curiously intimate, like a secret between the two of them. At first I assumed the champagne was to celebrate his return but now I'm sure something more is up. It can't be the American tour, we already know about that.

"We stayed in this tiny little hotel," Kit goes on, "but it was right in the centre and nobody recognised Tully once the whole time we were there."

"It's weird," Tully says, "you get used to being recognised, all the sidelong glances of 'do I know that person or not'?"

"Oh yeah," Spike says, "that feeling when someone looks familiar and you're not sure if it's because you've actually met them before or because you've seen them on TV."

"Exactly," Tully nods, "I always want to say, 'Don't worry, you don't know me,' but I've learned it's easier just to smile and keep moving."

"There was one place you got recognised," Kit says.

"Oh yeah, it was kinda weird." Tully frowns and rubs his chin. "We went out to Père Lachaise to see Jim Morrison's grave."

"Really? What was that like?" Spike has a not-so-closely-guarded-secret Doors obsession.

"Père Lachaise is beautiful," Kit says, "especially this time of year, when the sunshine is golden and all the leaves beginning to turn. It has a wonderful calm and is incredibly peaceful, like it's tucked away from the bustle of Paris, even though the city surrounds it. We went to Oscar Wilde's tomb first."

"Kit didn't like it much," Tully says. "It's covered in lipstick kisses."

"Well, he is a gay icon," Spike puts in. "If I went to Père Lachaise, I'd want to go and kiss Oscar Wilde's tombstone too."

"You'd have to put lipstick on first," Kit says.

"I've no problem with that." Spike's reply makes us all laugh, mainly because he's not joking.

"It wasn't so much the lipstick kisses that bothered me," Kit continues, "more the tombstone wasn't what I expected. There were all these wonderfully dramatic art nouveau statues of lamenting women that would have been perfect for him but instead he has this monumental, modernist piece."

"What about Jim Morrison?" I ask. Kit adores Oscar Wilde but, personally, I'm way more interested in the Doors legend.

"His grave is more modest and much harder to find," Tully replies.

"But there were people at it?" Spike asks.

"Yes, I think there is nearly always someone there," Kit replies. "Père Lachaise is quite empty, definitely not a busy tourist site, but then you turn a corner and a little way ahead, there's a big tree with a few people gathered around it. As you draw closer, you see they are at a grave and that's when you know you've found it. Anyway, we were just standing there looking at it, thinking how young he was, how beautiful, how far away from home. And this guy came up behind us and said something like, 'You're Tully Cabe aren't you? Hey man, you'll carry on the tradition!' And then he was gone before either of us got a chance to reply."

"Or even get a good look at him," Tully says.

"What was he like?" I ask curiously.

"Typical Doors fan," Tully says, "dark clothes, longish hair, hat pulled down, face in shadow."

A shiver runs through me. He sounds just like my drawings of Aonghus, the stranger lingering on the periphery, an outsider watching from the sidelines. In our story, the presence of Aonghus was a warning, a sign the gods weren't happy with human affairs. But I'm being stupid and this is not something to share with Kit. She's already fanciful enough as it is. A random guy at a cemetery in Paris has nothing to do with Aonghus, and was probably just a harmless fan. But that doesn't change the fact that Jim Morrison was young and far away from home when he died, and Tully is about to go to America.

"Let's open the champagne," Tully says and Spike goes into the kitchen in search of glasses. He reappears with a random selection arranged on a tray. Tully pops the cork and champagne spurts everywhere as we laughingly fill the glasses.

"Kit and I are getting married," Tully says as we raise them in a toast.

"What?" I almost drop my glass as Spike splutters into his champagne.

"Yes, can you believe it?" Kit says. "Tully proposed in Paris."

"Romantic," Spike murmurs raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question at me.

I shake my head in reply. I'd no idea either.

"Where's the ring?" It comes out more sharply than I intended and Spike rushes in to soften my words.

"Perhaps they haven't had time to get one yet."

"No, it's here." Kit reaches in and pulls a chain out from under her top. A ring with the smallest diamond I've ever seen dangles from it.

Spike and I stare at it in confusion.

"Why isn't it on your finger?" I ask eventually, when he doesn't.

"Because it's a secret," Kit says. "We're not telling anybody yet. Just you."

"And my mother," Tully says.

"And the band," Kit adds.

"Yes, we think the band have a right to know," Tully says, "but nobody else, it's just something between the two of us."

Okay, that's weird but what can you say? Especially when they look so happy and pleased with themselves.

"Don't worry, we'll keep your secret," Spike says.

But why is it a secret? The question is on the tip of my tongue when I catch the warning in Spike's eye and shut up.

"We actually didn't intend to tell anybody," Tully says. "It was meant to be a private promise, just between the two of us. We've had to spend so much time apart lately and it's hard on us both. Now the American tour is coming up and I wanted Kit to know how much she means to me before I left. She's my inspiration and my muse and I'll always come back to her. We're still both very young and we don't have to do it yet, but I want us to get married, and it was important to me that Kit should know that. At the same time, I didn't want her to feel rushed or hurried into anything. But now we're so happy, we can't keep it to ourselves."

"Aw," Spike says, "so you shared it with us, that's so sweet."

I mean, yeah, I'd kill Kit if she kept something like this from me. Still, there's a lot that's not being said. But this is a moment for celebration, so I fill up the glasses.

"Kit and Tully!" We chorus as we drink and laugh and hug each other.

Author's Note

Thanks so much for checking out this story. If you would like to continue reading, FIRST ALBUM - Kit & Tully Book 3 is available on all your favourite online stores. (Link in Bio)