Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(54)

My feet hit the mat, and my knees instantly buckle beneath me. I thud on my ass, and while I stifle the heat of failure, Nikolai towers above my small frame.

“Do you want to be an AE artist?” he asks in a growl.

“You know I do…”

“Then listen to me,” he seethes. “If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I tell you to get the fuck down, you get the fuck down. Without question.”

I nod tensely, my calf cramping so cruelly that I can’t do much else but cringe and wish for it to stop. I imagine my muscles constricting to the point of snapping, band by band. It’s illogical, but it’s the feeling, most definitely. Pulling and snapping.

With a heavy breath, Nikolai sits and splays my leg across his lap. My quads visibly spasm, and he applies pressure to my thigh muscle, massaging the area. He watches my reaction and my muscles like he’s accustomed to cramps of this nature. I’ve had them, maybe once. When I forgot to stretch. But not this extreme.

He digs his fingers a little deeper in my thigh. I wince and instinctively reach behind me, gripping the pole. I rest my spine and head against it.

“Relax,” Nikolai says huskily.

It’s hard. For multiple reasons. My whole body wants to lock by his closeness, my nerves flapping. “I’m trying,” I whisper.

His brows knot as he concentrates on my legs. My hamstrings suddenly tighten, and a literal cry breaches my lips.

His eyes flicker up to me, just once. And I see something different in those grays—something that causes his Adam’s apple to bob. Without much falter, he massages underneath my thigh, and I reach out and hold onto his forearm.

“Wait,” I say, unsure of whether he’s making it worse or better.

“Breathe normally,” he instructs. “It’ll help.”

I blow out like I’m in a Lamaze class.

With my hand still clasped to him, he kneads my muscles. They slowly begin to uncoil, the pain lessening with his rhythmic movements. My next breath is almost a relieved sigh. “Thanks,” I manage to say.

“You need to drink more water,” he tells me. “And how much are you eating?” His eyes find me again, and they carry this real concern. It’s a new look from him.

“I was on a twenty-five-hundred calorie diet in college,” I say softly, watching his hand move back up my thigh. The gymnastics team had a nutritionist that gave us tips about healthy eating.

“You used the past tense.”

“Well…since I’ve been here, I haven’t been able to really eat…as much.” My voice trails off at his glare.

“When you work with me, you’re on a three-thousand calorie diet,” he demands. “No exceptions. And I’ll start you on a few supplements, the ones that the female artists take in AE.” He pauses before he adds, “I’ll get a copy of their nutrition plan for you.”

Three-thousand calories. I try to add up the cost of eating that much a day.

Plus the cost of new costumes.

Plus rent.

And the down payment.

I already feel sick.

But I have to make it work, somehow.

“I’ll help you stretch and then we’ll call it a day. I don’t want you to pull a muscle.” His hands no longer apply pressure, but they remain on my bare skin, on my thigh. His intense gray eyes graze the length of my legs.

My lungs collapse as silence stretches for an extra moment or two. “…sounds good,” I say to break the quiet.

He turns his head some, like he’s lost in thought.

I lick my chapped lips. “I’m sorry, for before. I should’ve listened to you and come down.”

“It’s not all you. I have a lot I’m dealing with, and I’m just trying to be more cautious.”

I wonder if he’s referring to his old partner or his new one. I haven’t asked about his training with Elena because it’s never surfaced until now. Curiosity overpowers me. “How’s Elena?” I put it out there.

His hands run down to my knee, resting there. “She’s decent.” He chooses his words carefully. “A fast enough learner, but she’s young and not as emotive as…” He stops himself, shutting down some, like he’s drawing up the bridge of his fortress.

“Tatyana?” I wonder.

He nods. “It’s not fair to compare anyone to Tatyana. She was a third generation acrobat and one of the best in her discipline.” He shrugs, unbendingly. It’s probably still raw—her injury and dismissal from Amour. “I shouldn’t tell you this. It’s not important to your training.”

“But it’s important to you,” I say under my breath.

He flashes a weak smile. “Which has no business in the gym.”

Right. “You forget,” I point out, “that we’re already unprofessional.”

He smiles, a real one this time. “I never forget, myshka.” He rises and holds out his hand for me. Without hesitation, I take it, and Nikolai helps me to my feet.





Act Twenty



By the end of the week, my body has gone through a brutal beating. The tiniest muscles ache, even the ones in my pinky finger. I can’t support my weight with only my hand yet, not while extending my legs outward in a horizontal, straight line. So we haven’t moved onto aerial silk. I just keep envisioning my final goal: a contract with Aerial Ethereal. Any contract, honestly. I’d even take Magus which is still in the early planning stages.