Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(97)

I find myself touching my lips, feeling the force of his on mine, from memory.

And then he steps back, once and twice, the fog thinning around him. He wraps a single hand in the silk. “Tonight,” he says lowly, “you will know love. Just as I do.” And he rises in the air, the apparatus lifted by riggers, giving the illusion that he’s cast away.

When he vanishes, acrobats suddenly scale rafters, smooth and nimble. Other dancers perform sensual choreography as a transition between the major acts. Everyone is dressed in modern attire: pants, shirts, and…lingerie. Not as risqué as Phantom, more like delicate babydoll tops with spandex shorts.

As the show continues, I replay Nikolai’s intro in my head. Even when he appears on stage again, assisting trapeze, I still hear his deep voice. I still see him staring straight into me. With that soul-bearing gaze.

After many minutes pass, Luka leans into my shoulder. “This is where the aerial silk act goes.” It’s supposed to be the halfway-point, the highlight before intermission.

We’ve already seen trapeze (teasing) and hand-to-hand (gentle). I flip through the program, trying to see what’s left if aerial silk (passion) is out. Next up: Chinese poles (destructive), teeterboard (obsessive), and the conclusion is the Russian swing (friendship).

As we move onto the poles, it feels like the swelter of the story is missing. But maybe that’s just me, knowing this act should’ve been here.

When we reach Timo’s act, I realize that he’s the climax of Amour.

Obsessive love.

The metal cube structure encompasses the entire stage, teeterboard beneath. My nerves escalate again. The danger is all in this act.

I swear.

Artificial snow flutters from the ceiling, “Carol of the Bells” playing, crazed and fast-paced. A girl in a white nightgown sits idly on a bar, swinging her legs.

Then Timo takes a running start from the side stage, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and he uses a hidden trampoline to propel his body through the air.

Everyone gasps.

He lands right on the highest rung of the apparatus. His hair slicked back, in black leather pants. He’s not the sprightly young kid.

He’s dark. Sinister, black paint across his eyes. The girl startles, standing. And he proceeds to chase after her, through the cube, using rungs like monkey bars, accompanied with flips, tucks, somersaults, and things I’ve honestly never seen performed before.

The girl stops a few times, letting him catch up to her, and she’s in a whole other class too. A pit wedges in my ribs. You’re not ready for this, Thora. Not even close. She drapes her back along the rung, fluid like silk. And he cages her with his body. She rolls out of the position, dropping…into the arms of Dimitri.

More people flood the stage.

What happens next is the most intricate choreography I’ve ever witnessed, bodies moving swiftly, in unison through the bars. About five run in a handstand position, on the highest beam, chasing a new group of acrobats. Others concentrate on the teeterboard below, shooting straight up, landing straight back down. My eyes dart to so many places, wanting to see everything at once.

I want to do that, I think as I see a beautiful triple layout.

I can’t do that, is my thought for three-fourths of this act. It’s insane.

What I do notice: the looks every Kotova give each other, the slight head nod. The way they all spot Timo when he soars higher through the metal cube. Timo is clearly the best flyer, with a greater level of difficulty in each rotation.

And it shows.

The audience claps enthusiastically when he lands with ease.

My phone buzzes. I hesitate to answer, but it could be my parents…not that I’m dying to talk to them. I just keep hoping my dad will have a change of heart.

With my hand cupped over the screen, I open the text.

We have a client wanting you, right now. Get your ass here in five minutes or we’ll give the gig to Lana. – Roger

My stomach overturns. Another buzz.

And slut up your costume. – Roger

I worry. About everything. As my bank account depletes, with no job alternatives in view, I wonder if this is my last shot. If I reject this, Roger will never offer me anything else. Nausea barrels, sickness rising in my throat, and I can’t tell if it’s from having to choose between staying here and leaving or what I may be walking into.

Luka nudges my arm and whispers, “You okay?”

“I have to leave,” my gut tells me to say. “Work stuff. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure?” Even in the dark, I spot his deep frown. Luka has no idea that my job description has changed at Phantom. If he did, I have a feeling he’d run after me. It’s a red flag—what I’m about to do. You can’t lose this job, Thora.

“I can’t lose this job,” I whisper to him.

He nods in understanding. I set the popcorn at my feet and stand in a crouch, careful not to block anyone as I slip out.

It’s only dancing. I may be fooling myself. But this one thought is the only way I can proceed without falter.

And take this risk.





Act Forty



Roger ushers me along a dark corridor. Another girl in lingerie shuts a door and walks back up the hall. I cover my chest with my arms, hiding my mesh, push-up bra, the white fabric see-through. Barbells and nipples unfortunately visible. I would’ve never chosen this outfit, but I had nothing else. I was lucky enough that they had an extra costume, Roger told me.