Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(115)

And I notice more redness in his eyes, from stifling tears.

“You inspired her. Not because you were with me, but because you tried. You never gave up on the things you wanted. So she tried harder, she became better, and she accomplished her goal.”

“She made Noctis?” I’m happy. And proud. I’m proud of Katya.

He nods. “She made it.”

“I’m glad,” I whisper. “I’m happy.”

He’s too perceptive to take faith in my words. “You’re in pain,” he states.

“I’m trying not to be.” I exhale, but my chest is still tight. You can still be in the circus. It’s not over. I’m searching for my lost optimism.

“I know this still feels like failure to you, but there are two things you need to always remember.”

I listen intently, letting him rope me into his gunmetal eyes. He lifts my chin, our lips close, aligned as much as we can be.

“Regardless of what anyone else thinks, you earned this spot. You trained seven months for it. If you couldn’t land those tricks, they’d never even consider you.”

I nod, letting this sink in. He’s certain that it’ll only take a run to the office to land the role. And maybe a small demonstration. If I know the routine—if Aerial Ethereal doesn’t have to spend money to train someone else—I can see how it’d be easier to hire me.

“What’s the second thing?” I ask.

“Every day you’re on stage, prove them wrong.”

I nod again, tears rolling. Prove them wrong.

“That you deserved to be here from the start. That they made a mistake, that you and only you, Thora James, my little mouse…my demon—were meant for this role.”

He begins to fill me with things that I’ve lost.

Thank you, I want to say.

And he kisses my cheek, his lips scorching my flesh. “Your choice,” he whispers.

My choice.

He wanted me to have this role. Maybe even before we started dating. Maybe when he propositioned training me. I wonder if we weren’t in a relationship—if I would’ve had an easier time saying yes to this offer. I know I’d feel less judgment, but I don’t regret that first date. Or all our times at The Red Death.

Love isn’t a mistake.

Neither is courage.

And I want to be courageous enough to not care about what other people think. My choice.

In my heart of hearts, I know what it took to reach this place. I know how hard I worked. That’s all that should matter. My heart, my love, my passion.

My choice.

What are you going to do, Thora James?





Act Forty-Seven



I’m in the circus.

I wonder when it’ll stop feeling surreal. Maybe when I perform on stage in Amour for the first time next week—then it’ll hit me. Right now, it’s the third day of practice with Nikolai at The Masquerade’s gym, and the directors greenlit the aerial silk act yesterday, when we went through the whole routine.

He had taught me all the tricks, with him as my partner, so it took one training session to put it all together, seamlessly.

“Don’t trip when you walk over to me,” he warns.

I gape. “I’m not going to trip.” We’re practicing in wardrobe for the first time, his red slacks on while he breathes heavily, hands on his waist and silk rigged above him. His bandana is tied around his forehead like usual, pieces of damp hair hanging along the fabric—not part of his costume. So technically he’s cheating.

I pointed this out and he gave me a look like and what are you going to do about it?

It was a look that deserved a great response, but I was too tongue-tied and open-mouthed to say anything. I shrugged and walked away, feeling his grin on my back.

Now I’m about twenty feet from him, more in the middle of the gym, wearing a white draping costume. With so many thin, wispy pieces of fabric that it skims my legs and the floor. It’s a hazard, I realize too. But it’s not supposed to stay on my body for long.

His lips curve upward. “Then come to me,” he says, huskily.

My heart bursts.

Just standing here.

Just seeing him.

Knowing that this is going to turn into a bigger reality next week. I almost can’t accept it fully. I hesitate to bask in the joy and accomplishment. After so much disappointment, I guess I expect more to hit me soon, another stipulation, another setback.

I’m not the fool-hearted, idealistic girl anymore. I’ve been shaken enough to be wary. And it’s a mark that’ll stay with me. For better or for worse.

I inhale a deep, motivational breath.

And I sprint towards him, as fast as my feet will go. In a split-second, the fabric tangles with my foot. You’re going down. I realize that too.

I thud to the mat like a sack of flour, catching myself on my elbows. I mean, it’s not the most terrible place to land. My face would’ve been worse.

I hear clapping. Not from Nikolai. Turning my head, the Kotovas on the metal cube apparatus give me applause and whistles for my fall.

“Looking good, Thora James!” Timo calls, sitting on the highest rung like he’s just chilling.

A smile stretches my face, and I pick myself up and kneel. Nikolai walks over with lightness sweeping his strong, masculine features.