Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(94)

My smile slowly fades, wondering why that sounds like a goodbye. “What do you mean, whatever happens?”

He pulls back, his thumb stroking my cheek. And he’s quiet for a moment, collecting the right words. “Come January,” he says, “after auditions, you could land a contract in a traveling show.”

My stomach sinks. “What?” I thought I had a good shot at Infini or Viva, Vegas shows. The traveling ones are all full.

“Last night, Helen told me that Aerial Ethereal is reviving Somnio. They’ll need performers, so you have a much better chance…” he trails off, maybe at my contorted expression, but his seems to reflect mine. “Myshka…” His muscles constrict and his Adam’s apple bobs.

Chills snake up my skin, at the thought of leaving him. For the circus. That’s the right thing. Months ago, I would’ve been elated by this news. My reaction now—it frightens me.

He tucks my comforter around my shoulders and presses me closer, to warm me. Lips to my ear, he whispers, “You can’t choose me over the circus.”

I know.

My heart clenches, a fist squeezing the life out of it. I never thought it’d be this hard to choose between the two. “I don’t want to think about it.” It hasn’t happened yet. I don’t have to decide now. This is just all hypothetical. Right?

He holds me, as though remembering this moment. Like there’s a countdown to a time where this all ends.





Act Thirty-Eight



I’ve never seen so many Kotovas in the gym before. They pile around the teeterboard/metal cube contraption, some of the guys messing around like they’re at recess, shoving each other’s arms, laughing and cracking jokes. But this is their work.

I remember Nikolai mentioning that they’ve all wanted to increase the difficulty of the teeterboard act, but the creative director has been telling them to stick to the regular choreography.

Apparently they’re ignoring that suggestion.

I stretch my legs on the blue mats near the aerial silk, waiting for Nikolai to finish up. Usually I’m here at odd hours, when people are sparsely strewn on different structures, but Nikolai texted me to train now.

With a pop song blasting, sounding like Bruno Mars, Timo hops on one end of the teeterboard, the apparatus resembling a seesaw. Dimitri, much larger, jumps on the other side, catapulting Timo in the air. Instead of flailing about, he gracefully lands on a metal rung.

Timo sings to the song, clapping his hands to the beat and moving his body like he’s in an episode of Dancing with the Stars. As the professional. Not the uncoordinated celebrity.

It’s impossible to stop staring.

I glance around, wondering if anyone else is entranced—and surprisingly, this is not all in my head. The girls on trapeze, a couple on a trampoline, and the cluster of guys by the Russian swing pause for longer than a second.

All eyes on him.

He’s dancing. For fun. Only he’s spinning, shifting his hips, and tilting his head back while walking the bar like a tightrope.

I feel a smile grow on my face.

Timo’s movements are effortless, and I see a bit of Nikolai in him. Even though he’s more energetic, spirited, he compels everyone’s attention the same way as his older brother.

His dangling cross earring whips back and forth with his head. His sweaty dark hair hangs in his eyes, the sides shorter though. He jumps onto another rung, and my heart nosedives. But he easily makes the gap, and claps his hands over his head before doing a backflip and spinning on the tips of his toes.

I’m surprised there’s not a crotch-grab in his freestyle routine.

“Ready?”

I flinch at Nikolai’s sudden appearance, too hypnotized by Timo. Nik towers above me, his hands on his waist as he breathes heavily from finishing his own workout. I scan the length of him, flashbacks of yesterday morning and afternoon playing on rewind and repeat. We had sex in my apartment. Again. And again. Apparently Nikolai’s speed is not only fast but frequent.

Even the memories heat me another time around.

“Yeah.” I rise to my feet, my pulse racing. I expect there to be weirdness between us, for him to silently acknowledge that we’ve had sex. Or maybe it’s just all me.

Thinking about it. Obsessing over it. Focus, Thora James. Right. I’m here for training. I exhale. I inhale. Breathing normally.

Nikolai remains completely strict, the same as usual. He acts like the hardass coach, who in no way would sleep with his trainee. Because that would be unprofessional.

“Give me your hands.” He studies my reaction and gives me a strange look.

“What?” I flip them over, not able to read his expression.

“You’re glowing.” He sprays resin on my palms.

I gape, my mouth slightly falling. “No, I’m not. I’m just…happy.” I need to work on my excuses and my words. Always my words.

His lips barely tic upwards. All business. “You need to execute the modified straddle slide smoothly.”

Smoothly?

I haven’t been able to execute it higher than ten feet from the mat. Smoothly isn’t on the menu if I can’t even perform it at all.

Nikolai wants me to climb fifty feet and fall head-first to the ground, with my legs extended in a split. If wrapped correctly, the silk is supposed to catch me right before my face smashes into the mat. But if I screw up the intricate wrap, I could break more than just my nose.