Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(12)

She hands me a large sticker with the number three, and I press it to the collar of my black leotard.

Without speaking, Helen guides me to the main floor of the spacious gym, filled with different aerial apparatuses: teeterboards, bars, the Russian swing, red silk dangling from the eighty-foot ceiling and more. I’m out of my element, slightly overwhelmed, but one of the apparatuses is familiar to me. Aerial silk. I’ve practiced with it since I was fourteen.

“Here we are.” Helen motions to six other young girls. They stretch on blue mats. “Wait right here and we’ll give you further instructions in a few minutes.”

I watch her depart briskly, aimed at the long table by the concrete wall. A few other AE directors already sit there, passing papers and tablets, as if reviewing our profiles before we begin.

I redirect my attention on the other hopefuls and notice that they all share a similar body type. Broad shoulders, short, no hips, no boobs. Perfect proportions for elite gymnasts. I spot a girl with white-blonde hair, a splattering of freckles along her cheeks.

She stretches her quads, earbuds in, her eyes narrowed with determination. She catches me staring and glowers. Intimidating is a weak word.

I feel new. Lesser, somehow.

“Elena seems to like you,” a brunette tells me with a laugh. She sits beside me, her hair fastened in a tight bun like she’s preparing for a ballet recital.

“Do you know her?” I ask.

“Elena Galkina? Yeah, sure.” She nods. “Mostly from reputation. She made the Olympic team for Russia when she was sixteen, but she had to drop out due to an injury. Looks like she’s fine now.”

I steal another quick glance at her. Maybe she’s only eighteen. I thought about auditioning for the circus as a teenager, but I chickened out. My father constantly hounded me about “going to college” and “getting a degree” that it seemed silly to do anything else.

I try not to regret my decision of sidelining my goals. I don’t think I was emotionally prepared or ready to venture to Vegas alone right after high school anyway.

It really would have swallowed me whole.

I introduce myself to the brunette, and she says her name, Kaitlin Black, before Helen returns to the mats.

“Alright ladies, the audition process will be completed in two cuts. One each day.” She glances at her clipboard. “First, I’d like to give a little background on the role.”

My chest tightens, remembering Shay’s concerns. Is there partial nudity? What if they ask you to strip on stage?

Helen’s gaze redirects to the seven of us. “Amour is about six different types of love: obsessive, destructive, friendship, gentle, teasing, and passionate. Most of the acts are in pairs, but we have a few group acts as well.” She taps her pen to the clipboard. “It’s Aerial Etheral’s most sensual and sultry show, and we’ve employed artists from eighteen to thirty-five.”

Kids are in Viva and Seraphine, so it’s rare to have an “above eighteen” stipulation. I know this at least.

“One of our artists sustained an injury, and you’re all here to replace her. Well, one of you,” Helen says. “You’ll be auditioning for the passionate pairing. It’s considered the female lead since the role includes two additional group acts. We need someone who can pick up multiple disciplines quickly and someone who has spark on stage. None of our substitutes did, so we’re hoping that one of you will.”

Elena pulls back her shoulders and raises her chin. And I thought I had pretty good self-confidence. I think she’s in a league of her own.

Helen continues, “We’ve had to skip the aerial silk act due to Tatyana’s injury, and it’s sadly affected the quality of Amour. We want to find a replacement as soon as possible so we can put it back in the show.” She checks her watch. “When I call your number, you’ll be asked to come forward and dance. You’ve been chosen this far for your technique, but now it’s about your stage presence.”

I can’t dance.

I shake the thought out of my head the minute it sprouts. I want to blame Shay for planting the seed, but it’s not his fault entirely.

As Helen returns to the table, the gym door bursts open with raucous noise. “Perfect timing, Nik,” Helen calls. “We were just about to start.”

I turn to see who stole her attention. And I immediately recognize his face. Nik.

As in Nikolai Kotova.

My nose flares and my heart plummets ten-thousand feet below. I never even entertained the idea that Nikolai would be in Amour, let alone attached to this role. I couldn’t…I couldn’t have known. There are three shows in The Masquerade. That’s one-hundred-and-fifty artists.

One out of one-fifty.

That’s how unlucky I am.

The supremely tall Russian acrobat saunters forward with a yellow Gatorade in hand, a bagel in the other, his dark brown hair hangs over a red bandana like he just stepped out of a nineties movie.

Dressed in black gym shorts, shirtless, I accidentally hone in on his washboard abs. I force my gaze to his running shoes, to his unshaven face and his lips. He has that powerful stride, sexy and smooth like he knows each muscle intimately.

I hate that he has a great entrance to the gym. I just hope my future isn’t bleaker by his arrival.

Nikolai gives Helen a charming smile, not even acknowledging the seven of us on blue mats yet. “I’m just happy we’re finding a replacement.” He stops by the table, pressing the rim of his Gatorade bottle to his lips.