Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(38)

He smiles. “Circus is family.”

The sentiment washes over me, a second wave of chills. Not even a second later, the bartender pushes more vodka shots towards us. Timo knows him, so he’s been supplying us free drinks all night. I pick up a shot since my sunrise is almost empty.

“To finding your sister,” I tell Nikolai.

He raises his shot. “No,” he says, “to your first week in Vegas.”

My heart clenches. He remembered why I stopped by The Red Death to see Camila. I sway a bit, and the overflowing shot spills on my fingers. Fantastic. I try to peel the soggy napkin from the bar.

Then Nikolai smoothly takes my hand. And he sucks the vodka off my fingers.

I freeze as his eyes flit up to mine, while his lips warm my skin. Sex pops back in my brain. Especially as his tongue works with skill.

When he finishes, he even sips a little from the rim of my glass, so I won’t spill more on myself.

This happens in maybe less than fifteen seconds. It felt like eternity. He clinks his glass back to mine. I haven’t unfrozen yet. He wants to have sex. No, he doesn’t. He downs the shot, and his eyes flit to my boobs. Yes he does.

“What are your plans?” he asks, out of the blue. Or maybe it’s been on his mind instead of sex. I can’t tell anymore.

“To practice every day before work at Phantom, audition for any openings that come up,” I say with a satisfied nod. I like this plan. It seems solid.

He tenses more. If the alcohol is doing anything, it’s making him even more touchy-feely than he already is. His large hand stays firm on my legs. But he’s still rigid, commanding. All masculine and man. What anyone would expect of a lead male in a show about love.

He checks on his brother with a quick glance before focusing one-hundred percent on me. “It’s unlikely that Amour will ever have another opening. What happened with my old partner…it’s rare.” He hasn’t ever mentioned Tatyana before now. I can tell it’s a sore subject, so I won’t surface it any more than he has.

“There are other shows besides Amour,” I say. “There’s Infini and Viva. Seraphine is traveling, but they’ll be in Los Angeles around May. Plus there are other troupes if Aerial Ethereal isn’t hiring.”

The charm drains from his features, leaving gunmetal eyes with no shine. “High Flyers Company isn’t safe, Thora. They hire riggers as contract employees, pay them close to nothing, and give them days to learn how to harness artists before beginning shows.”

“I think I’ll be alright in my discipline.” Riggers sometimes have an artist’s life in their hands since they fasten harnesses and work the wires.

“Aerial silk,” he guesses my discipline right. “But if you’re in group acts with intricate choreography and a new apparatus that needs a harness, you’ll be asked to wear one. You’re risking your life with High Flyers, so please be smart and don’t even entertain them.”

“Emblem & Fitz Circus,” I say, one that’s based in London. High Flyers is AE’s direct competition, since Emblem is known for their carnival shows. Elephants. A ring leader.

“That can’t be the circus you’ve fallen in love with if you’re here,” he says. “It’s apples and oranges.”

“So what do you suggest I do?” I ask, about to retract my legs from his lap, but he holds tighter.

“I’ll train you.”

My lips part. “What?”

“I want to train you.”

“You’re drunk,” I breathe, half hoping he’s not.

“I’m nearly sober.” He adds, “Every January, AE has auditions to find new talent, regardless if a show is new or not. Most contracts are renewed and cancelled every new year, so you have a better shot to fill a role then.”

January.

That’s seven months away from now. He’s willing to train me for seven months. “You don’t have time,” I say. “You have a new partner—”

“If I don’t train you,” he says each word like it’s uniquely important, “you will fail, Thora. You’re not good enough. I can’t put it more plainly than that. I’m sorry.”

I want to be the better person and not accept it—knowing how much he has on his plate. But this is a dream offer. He has so much experience, the kind that I need to survive in this industry. “Why help me?” I ask softly. I expect him to say, I don’t have an answer.

“I admire your courage. I know what you’ve given up to be here. I know the kind of artist it takes to land a role. I know that you won’t receive one on your own. And I imagine you, myshka, two years from now, working at Phantom with the same aspirations, the same dreams, in the same place where you are now. It’s wasted courage. And wasted love. You shouldn’t have to waste those things.”

I’m speechless.

And overwhelmed. When someone reaches out and gives you a hand—for no other reason than to see your success—it’s powerful. And rare.

He wipes beneath my eye with his thumb. “I’d rather feed your hunger than watch you starve, and you’re foolish if you say no.”

I shake my head, another tear slipping. “I wasn’t going to.”

He cups my jaw, tilting my head up so I stare right into him. “Good.”