Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(107)

I engrain Nikolai’s expression for life, a look measured in deep, familial love. As though the galaxy parted, just for one moment, to show another blindingly beautiful universe. He responds with a Russian sentiment, sounding tender.

Katya whispers, “I can’t even imagine…”

Timo lifts his head. “I can,” he says to Nikolai. “I couldn’t…I needed you. Growing up, I needed you.”

“And you had me,” Nikolai says lowly.

Timo exhales deeply, his eyes traveling over the pies. And then he looks to me and back to Nikolai. “I need you to not worry about me anymore. I want you to live the life that you gave up for us. Can you do that?”

“I didn’t give up my life,” Nikolai explains. “You’re a part of it, Timo. The good and the bad. You’re not keeping me from living, brother.”

Luka squeezes Timo’s shoulder, and Timo nods a few times. He says something in Russian, that I’m certain means I love you, or a form of the endearment.

Nikolai replies with the same words.

Then Timo nudges the barely eaten pumpkin pie towards me. “You be the judge, Thora James.”

This one gesture somehow unwinds the coiled air. Alone in a gym, surrounded by pies and four siblings who maddeningly, unequivocally love each other—it’s a moment I won’t forget.

Even if I have to leave their world, I promise myself that I’ll always remember this. Because when I grow old and gray, I can only hope to have a family as passionate and faithful as theirs.





Act Forty-Three



Living with a guy is strange.

It’s not a sleepover, where you legitimately know you’ll return home after a brief weekend, back to your own shower, your own sink, your own bed. It’s been about a month, and I’ve just barely accepted that I share all of those with another person. A male person. A guy.

The causal nights—where I return from the gym, he returns from Amour—are the most interesting. There are no boozy 3 a.m. make-out sessions on these nights, no flirty drunk tendencies and my sloppy drunk movements.

It’s just…normal.

On the bed, I flip through One Last Kiss, Please for possibility the thirtieth time, the spine falling apart. My head is on Nikolai’s chest while he talks on the phone in Russian. Almost every night Sergei and Peter call, just to stay in touch with Nikolai, even if they can’t see each other in person.

I dog-ear one of my favorite pages, lines already marked with yellow highlighter. And then the book is suddenly swiped from my hands.

“Hey,” I say, watching Nikolai skim the page. His phone is shut off.

He’s reading your book, Thora.

My heart spasms, and I spring to action, straddling him to try and retrieve the paperback. “That’s mine…” I have no other defense besides this one. Lame.

He smiles that charming smile and tucks the book closer to his chest. “You intrigue me, myshka. Let me read.”

I gape. “You’re not a reader.”

He tilts his head. “And how do you know that?” He thinks he’s stumped me.

“Because…” Maybe he has stumped you, Thora.

His smile keeps growing, waiting for me to collect my words.

I scan the room and my evidence clicks. “Because there aren’t any books in this room, besides maybe one…” I squint at the desk. “…Sports Illustrated magazine, which is not a book.” His free time is usually spent in the company of family. Not with a trade paperback. I mean, I downloaded an iPhone game for him once as something to do, and his attention span lasted about thirty seconds. It was a good one too: Tiny Wings. But it ended with the phone thudding to the floor.

And me under Nikolai Kotova.

“You’re breathing heavy.”

I press my lips together. “No…I’m not.”

His gray eyes penetrate me. That’s not helping my cause. Then he returns to the vampire book, actually digesting the words. He stiffens some. “What is this?” he asks, looking genuinely curious as he turns another page.

“Okay, you’ve seen enough,” I say, leaning forward on his body to snatch it. He easily blocks my arm with his.

And he reads aloud, “Her flesh slapped my flesh in the heat of the night, the noises heightening our blood thirst and my…” He pauses and breaks into an even bigger smile.

“It’s not funny,” I say. “It’s a good book.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been reading this every night in bed.” He’s not judging, just surprised, I guess. Maybe he thought I was reading something more innocent. I’m really happy he doesn’t remember that I loaned this one to his little sister. I doubt he would approve.

He flips the page and reads, “Her wetness glistened in the candlelight. ‘You taste so good, baby,’ I groaned, licking the softness of her...” His brows rise at me.

My eyes have popped out of my face.

He rolls me over so that I’m underneath him, the weight of his body adding a hot pressure. I instinctively split my legs open, around him. Is this really happening?

With the paperback still opened in his hand, he reads, “I grip her face as her lips wrap around my member.” He gives me a confused look at the word member.

“Cock,” I say.