Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(121)

He says another Russian phrase, his lips curving.

I translate it as: you’re cute.

And then he motions with his head towards the stage. “Follow me.” Before I oil my joints, he clasps my hand and leads me out into the middle.

“Stop right here.” He stands behind me, placing his firm palms on my shoulders.

I stare out at all the rows and rows of empty seats. It’s quiet here, only the mutterings of voices backstage. Katya said it was a full house tonight. Not because of me or the aerial silk act. The two famous faces did it, but it’s nice to know that Amour can sell out.

“What am I looking at?” I ask him.

“Your dream.”

I smile. My dream. I’m living my dream. “You know,” I say softly, staring out at the seats. “I used to wake up and wonder…is this it?” I pause. “Is there more out there? To finally reach the more part of my life…” I laugh into my tears and shake my head. “How do you describe the love of your life?”

“If you could see yourself, you’d realize you just did.”

“I’m not scowling?”

He turns me around and brushes his fingers beneath my eyes. “No. You’re not scowling.”

“That’s…good.”

He laughs and it’s his turn to shake his head, as he stares straight into me. “You once asked me if it was impossible to love two things equally. At the time…it seemed like it to me. I never loved someone as much as I loved this, here, tonight.” He looks up at the ceiling, at the dangling lights, fake snow still fluttering off the rafters, onto us.

“The circus,” I realize. His family.

“But I’ve found the truest form of love,” he tells me. “It’s two loves that can live in harmony.” He looks down at me.

I stare up at him. My heart on an ascent.

“The circus and you,” he whispers, “amour amour.”

Two loves. Two passions. At perfect balance.

I finally feel it too.





Act Fifty



“Are you single?!” the new hostess asks us. Erin, the aspiring model, quit last week. She decided to fly out to New York for job opportunities, Camila said.

Nikolai has his arm around my waist, but in the dark corridor of The Red Death, it’s hard to see anything but the stack of red, blue, and green glow sticks.

“She’s with me,” Nikolai says lowly, collecting the green glow necklaces from the box himself and snapping one behind my neck before he clasps his own. He holds the black curtain open for me, the club in full swing, red strobe lights sweeping the grinding bodies.

I’m just happy the air conditioning works.

“Will they swarm you?!” I ask Nik over the music when we descend into the club. Usually people flock him and start shouting his name, but this is my first time entering by his side since I’m in Amour now (I’ll never be used to that phrase). I’m not sure how much time he has before the mad rush of spectators.

“Not yet,” he tells me. I barely catch his words through the pop music. “We didn’t enter through the back.”

Good. I have time to see Camila before he begins his after-show. I sidle to the bar, Nikolai’s hand on the small of my back.

“Thora!” Camila calls, waving little toothpick flags in celebration. “You were amazing!”

“Hey!” I shout back, squeezing between two stools. “You saw the show?” I thought she had to work. She said that all the girls at The Red Death asked for the night off, wanting to spot Ryke Meadows, the celebrity, so he could sign their boobs. The way Camila reiterated the story—interjecting I am insanely attracted to him, he speaks Spanish, he’s my soul mate—I knew she would’ve joined their mission.

She leans forward in a low whisper. “Okay, don’t tell, but I told John to film like a five-second clip.” She raises her hands with the flags. “I know it’s illegal, but it’s so short and you mostly see John’s finger and him muttering, this is such a fucking bad idea.”

Her impersonation is spot on. “You sound just like him.”

She claps her hands. “Shots!”

I notice that she no longer has a red glow necklace. She wears a blue one like a crown. “What happened?” I ask her, gesturing to the necklace.

“I broke up with Craig,” she says while she pours tequila into six shot glasses. “I can do better.” I’m happy that she’s come to realize it too.

Nikolai leans against the bar, searching the crowds from afar. I bet he’s looking for his little brother.

“So did they give you a suite yet?” Camila asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “They gave me a key yesterday.” I now officially have my own place at The Masquerade, a floor above Nikolai’s. “It’s…” surreal. I wish I had something better to say, but this seems like the most accurate word, for however redundant.

“You better be here for the full year!” Camila shouts over a new song, scrounging for the lime.

“I will be!” I tell her. My contract ends in one year. It’ll only be renewed if the directors like me enough, and even then, The Masquerade can shut down Amour at any time. I try not to think too hard about the logistics. It’s the storm that hasn’t passed yet, and I’m choosing to bask beneath the sun.