Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(60)

“She’s not,” he forces like he’s promising me. “You can trust me.”

I nod. It’s not as blind as the first time we met. I trust him a lot more now—because he’s been here for me. And I believe that he wouldn’t hurt me. Not intentionally, at least.

“Okay,” I breathe, placing my hand on his, the one that warms my cheek.

He kisses me, powerfully, sensually, and his other hand finds my zipper by my shoulder blades. He slowly unzips my tight black dress, stopping at the small of my back. His lips drift to my neck, sucking on the most sensitive spots. His body thrums against mine.

“Nik…” I shudder and remember something—something more important now than it was before. “I’m moving out tonight.”

His hands fall underneath my ass, supporting me around his waist. And he looks at me with a frown. “You decided this now.” He states it.

“No…” I shake my head. “No, I meant to tell you tonight…I signed a lease for a studio apartment. And maybe it’s…better that we don’t live together, I mean. It’ll make things slower.” I hesitate to add the rest. I want slow. I’m not used to fast. But he already knows I’ve only had sex twice. That’s the exact number of times. It’s not even just two different people.

Before he responds, the storeroom door swings open. Camila startles back the minute she sees us: my legs around his waist, my dress partially unzipped. His hands on me.

I cover my face with my palm, my fingers splayed so I can most definitely still see her reaction morph from surprised to something happier.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” She’s smiling. “Continue on.” She even flashes me a wider, excited grin. When she shuts the door, I actually go to zip up my own dress.

Nikolai sets me on my feet. “Come here.” He tugs me closer and his fingers brush my bare skin as he zips me up. Just as slow as he unzipped me. His eyes dance around my features. “I’ll help you move in to your place tonight.”

“Actually, I think I should do that on my own.” I worry he’ll see the shoddy apartment and convince me to stay with him.

He hesitates, his gaze darkening. I think he must read my intentions. “It’s in a bad area.”

“No,” I refute. “It’s a good area.” Sort of. It’s not the worst area, so I’m not lying exactly.

“If it was, you’d let me see it.” He combs some of the flyaway hairs out of my face. “Okay.” It takes me aback but he adds, “I trust you. And I can understand wanting your own space.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Are…you also okay with slow?”

His lips rise like it’s funny.

“It’s not—”

“It’s cute,” he says again, this time laughing. “Slow is cute, and I’d go slow for you.” He kisses my temple. “Ready?” He nods to the door.

I never thought there would be more paths to choose. I came here thinking I’d already picked my course. The dark, mysterious one—filled with potholes and faraway dreams.

I’ve found that life is a series of crossroads, dead-ends and U-turns. There is no real destination. There is no goal to end all goals. As long as we’re living, we’ll always keep driving.

I’m more satisfied with this than I would’ve been before Vegas.

So as I head out the door, into The Red Death, I know I’ve switched lanes. I’m headed in the same direction, but my route is slightly different.

The landscape has changed.





Act Twenty-One



My studio apartment has a single bedroom-kitchen-living area and a confined bathroom. One where I can sit on the toilet, use the sink or reach in the shower at the same time. The kitchen is also miniscule with portable counters, a hotplate, a microwave and a mini-fridge. Actually, miniscule is probably a forgiving word to describe the place.

But I don’t care much.

I lie on my mattress, an old one that Camila helped me pick out at a thrift store. Gross, yes, but I put new and clean sheets on top of it. No springboards. It rests on the scratched hardwood floors as is. I stare up at the ceiling tiles, yellowed and maybe moldy.

My lips tug up.

I can’t help it.

I’m here.

In Vegas.

I’ve made enough to have my own apartment.

Independence has never felt so satisfying. I’m grateful for every second of it. And I don’t ever want to forget this feeling, right now. I did something—I accomplished something. I won’t let anyone’s realism take that from me.

This is the first strong foothold of my new life. The beginning of my dream and career.

I wipe the wetness beneath my eyes. “Well done, Thora James,” I whisper.

My phone buzzes on the floorboards, and I roll onto my stomach and grab my cell. I notice the name on the screen before I press the speaker button. SHAY.

“Hey,” I say, my face all smiles.

I can hear the sound of weights hitting benches and muffled chatter in the background. It’s safe to assume he’s at the gym. “Hey,” he replies. “So from your text earlier, I take it you’re not coming back.” His dejection sinks my stomach, my smile vanishing.

This morning I texted him a picture of my new view: the side of another stucco apartment complex. I thought it’d be funny. Especially since I told him I was apartment hunting last week. But maybe I should’ve known he’d be sullen. Friday he sent me a link to off-campus apartments in Columbus, Ohio.