Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(47)

“It’s not that it wasn’t great,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “I just wanted something else.”

She chews in thought, nodding her head like she understands. Her brown hair is parted in the middle, still wet from her earlier shower. Viva ends earlier than Amour, but she had tutoring right after. Like home school, she said.

I can’t imagine never attending an actual school, one with hallways and bells that chime every hour. But from what she’s told me, tutoring in between practices and shows is the norm. All her brothers did it, including Nikolai.

“Do you know any costume shops around here?” I ask. “Or I guess lingerie ones? I have to buy some corsets and things for my act at Phantom. I need them relatively cheap though.”

Her gray eyes brighten, and she drops her feet from the coffee table, leaning closer. “I know the best place,” she says excitedly. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

“No.” That wasn’t me. It was the six-foot-five Russian-American man entering the room.

Katya pouts. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

I turn my head to Nikolai and choke on a vegetable. He stands by the kitchen bar, a towel slung low on his waist. So close to naked: sculpted biceps, shoulders and abs that draw attention. I accidentally glance at his crotch, hidden behind the fabric. His nearly-naked-self is not distracting to anyone but me. I quickly sip my water, knowing he caught my initial reaction.

“Thora is training with me tomorrow,” Nikolai says. Unless I have a heart attack before then.

Katya lets out a frustrated breath and sets her plate down. “I finally have a friend who isn’t related to me and you have to steal her?”

My spirits rise. Katya likes me enough to call me a friend? Secondly, I’ve made another one since being in Vegas. I think I’m headed in a good direction.

Nikolai rests his arm on the bar counter. “She’s not here to be your friend, Katya. She’s here to train.” He pauses. “And she was my friend first.”

I try to hide a smile. “I can be everyone’s friend,” I mention softly.

Nikolai wears a stern expression, facing me. “Do you want to train or not?”

“I do, you know I do.” I talk to Katya before she explodes on her brother. She’s about there, sitting on her knees and gripping the couch, like she could jump to her feet and charge. “We can go another day. I still need you to show me the store.”

“What store?” Nikolai interjects, slipping into the kitchen that’s in view of the living room, no wall or divider separating them.

“Coco Roma,” Katya tells him, plopping down on her butt.

He was midway in opening the fridge, now he shuts it without grabbing anything. Whatever he says next is foreign to me. His gruff Russian fluently leaves his lips.

Katya stares at him blankly, and I’m thankful for her rebellious rule—the one where she’ll only converse with him in English.

He sighs, more agitated, and switches languages. “Were you planning on going to that part of town with just Thora?”

“No,” Katya snaps back. “I would’ve brought Timo.”

Nikolai glares. “Take someone as big as me or bigger or you’re not going.”

I scan the length of him as he crosses his arms. He’s the definition of intimidating—tall, muscular, all brawn and man. And I’m sure there’s plenty more beneath his towel. “There are people bigger than you?” I say—aloud. I cringe. I don’t even pretend to hide it.

I swear his lips tic upwards, humor lighting his stormy eyes.

Katya is the one who answers. “You should see Dimitri. He’s like a tank.”

I watch Nikolai’s features harden, and he returns to the fridge, his back to me.

Katya adds, “But he’s also obnoxious.” She picks up my tattered paperback from the couch cushion. I lent her my favorite paranormal romance after she asked what I was reading. “You have my number, right?” she questions for the third time, as though I deleted it.

I nod. “Yep. Katya Kotova, permanently saved in my contacts.”

She smiles when I mention permanently. She stands and rotates to her brother, but he’s busy pouring a glass of water at the sink. “I’ll weigh my options about who we’ll bring and get back to you.”

“I’m assuming I’m not an option.”

Katya crinkles her nose. “Maybe if you were more fun.”

He sips his water with the most authoritative, stern look in the history of looks. He’s not even trying to convince her otherwise, and I think he prefers it this way. I remember Hex, his flirty, roaming hands, and The Red Death, his dazzling, high-octane bet.

He can be fun, but he switches that off in front of his siblings. Katya rolls her eyes and waves him off as she departs to her bedroom in the upstairs loft.

Nikolai sets down the water and walks to a high cupboard, retrieving a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Nervous flutters invade my stomach. I wonder if I should reject the wine. Then I remember my long night that contains catcalls and Roger’s complaints about my wardrobe. A glass of wine sounds relaxing, and it’s not like we’re back at Hex, slamming down shots.

I won’t have a painful hangover in the morning, unable to adequately train.

Even so, I find myself hesitating. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” I say as he goes to pour the second glass. He pauses with the bottle above it, ready to stop. His actions—that he’d be willing to listen to my wishes—ease every part of me. “Maybe I should though?”