Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(116)

For the first time, I’m not the outsider looking in. I’m a part of this grand, magical thing called the circus. Where every person on stage is family.

“What were you saying about not tripping?” he asks, a few feet away.

I open my mouth to reply, but someone in my peripheral catches my attention. Shay adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder. It’s not a gym bag but his luggage. He’s leaving. I quickly stand as he approaches.

“I came to say goodbye.” His eyes cautiously flicker to Nikolai behind me. A lot of us went to Club Zero a couple days ago for happy hour, including Nikolai and Shay, and the uncomfortable tension between them never dissolved. It is what it is, I guess. I can’t make two people like each other.

Nikolai’s hand brushes my hip before he gives us space, returning to the red silk.

“When’s your flight?” I ask.

“At four,” he tells me. “They’re sending all of us to Montreal for training first, and then they’ll start staging the show.”

It sounds like the start of an adventure. I smile, recognizing that I’ve been on one for a long while. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s something new.”

“No more same-old-same-old.”

He laughs and stares up at the ceiling, as though a higher power changed his life path. Maybe fate, luck—or him. His choice. He took the risk. That’s all Shay.

I hug him, standing on my toes to wrap my arms fully around his shoulders.

He hugs me tighter with one arm. And he whispers, “Be happy, okay?”

My heart clenches, and I look up.

“I know you’ll be safe.” He nods, accepting this. “So be happy for me.”

I smile. “I already am.”

He kisses my cheek, and we let each other go. I watch him head out the exit where he came from. I know we’ll see each other again. Sometime. In the faraway future.

This is the bittersweet portion of my life, but I’m happy. For each of us choosing the better life, even if it was a harder road to take.

Nikolai squeezes my shoulders. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know,” I say, spinning around to face him. “Which part were we at?”

“The part where I take your clothes off.” He’s being serious, and he’s also right. My pulse races as his eyes tear through me.

I think he’s already mentally ripped part of my costume off.

A girl shrieks. Our head whips towards the trapeze, the group of artists excitedly jump up and down with a magazine in their hand. I squint at the title from afar. Celebrity Crush, a tabloid.

“Who’s pregnant?!” Timo calls.

The girl gleefully bounces. “They’re coming here!”

“What?” I say aloud.

Every girl speaks at once and I barely uncover the names in their enthusiasm: Ryke Meadows and Daisy Calloway. The reality stars of Princesses of Philly. A famous family. Famous couple. They’re seeing Amour next week.

My nerves shoot up. “Dear God…” I whisper aloud, on accident.

“What happened to them being in Costa Rica?!” Timo shouts, interested in the family like his little sister.

“They’re on route there afterwards,” is the reply from about three girls.

I fixate on the simple fact that famous people will be watching the premiere of the show. Add in my parents and the directors of Amour—the pressure keeps mounting.

Nikolai’s thumb skims my neck. “You can’t distinguish faces in the audience,” he reminds me. “You’ll be fine.”

The Calloways are infamous. This show will be all over the news…in a good way. Amour needs the publicity, but what if the magazines are littered with bad reviews? “This is worse than having the cast of The Vampire Diaries here,” I realize.

“They were here last week,” Nikolai tells me.

I gape. “What?” I missed them? What was I doing? God, what if you were washing your hair. How lame. I look up and Nikolai is close to laughing.

“Joking,” he says. “I don’t even know what The Vampire Diaries is.”

I scowl. “It’s a show, a great show.”

With a more charming smile, he pulls me closer. My arms swoop around his waist, the heat of his skin warming me.

“When you’re on stage, stay in the moment,” he says, more encouraging. “Nothing else matters.”

Loud, coarse Russian infiltrates our conversation, the voice familiar by now. Dimitri stands close with a water bottle in hand, passing our apparatus to reach the teeterboard. He speaks straight to Nikolai, but he’s gesturing to me.

After hanging around the Kotovas nearly every single day, I can pick apart certain words. “What’s not a good idea?” I ask Dimitri.

He glances over his shoulder, as though to make sure no one listens in, and then he nears us. My eyes widen as I crane my neck to look up between them, inadvertently being sandwiched between two of the tallest Russian men here.

“Tell Thora,” Dimitri says.

Nikolai marbleizes. “We promised her that we wouldn’t tell anyone.” For some reason, I know that the “her” is not referring to me.

Dimitri rests a hand on my head and speaks in Russian. Um…

Nikolai smacks his hand away and replies, “It’s not the same.”