Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(136)

She smiles a shaky, tearful smile. “You’re smart, Luka.” Then she wipes at the corners of her eyes; no tears have fallen, but I feel her swelling emotion. She stares off for a second, thinking.

“What is it?”

“It’s weird talking about years into the future when in ten minutes, Infini could be cancelled and I might be out of the circus.”

“Baylee the Realist is on the rise,” I tease.

(Don’t doubt my love for the realism inside of her.) I love every part of Bay.

She gives me a look. “It’s true.”

“Sort of, partially. Maybe not at all.” I smile.

“Luka the Dreamer is on the rise,” she says pointedly, starting to smile off of my smile—but we’re both distracted as Nikolai’s lengthy stride aims for us.

He looks antsy.

“Yeah?” I ask him.

“Erik said you know Katya’s porter.”

I easily spot Kat from across the ballroom. She reads a paranormal paperback with Thora, both on velveteen stools.

I look back at Nik. “The porter that dropped her?”

“That one.” His gaze darkens. (Yeah, he’s not my favorite dude either.)

“I talked to him once in passing.”

I remember I said try to stay focused.

Katya asked for a show transfer about a month ago because she doesn’t trust that porter. Since she’s already in AE’s artist database, HR will direct her to a show that has an open slot. Then she would have to audition for the director, etc.

Problem is, she’s a minor and Nik is her guardian, leaving her with only two real possibilities.

1.) our parents could agree to look after her, and she’d go on tour with Noctis. (I’m praying that’s not happening.)

2.) she’d be transferred to Infini, which is…unstable at the moment.

She can’t join Amour; it’s too risqué, no minors allowed. It’s more plausible she’ll stay in Viva.

Nikolai clutches his phone in a tight fist. “Auditions are open for Somnio. I thought you could try to convince him to attend.”

I nod, understanding. If he leaves on his own accord, then Kat will have a new partner. “I’ll see what I can do.” I barely hear him say thank you, my attention on Bay who stares at the carpet, deep in thought. A cookie is frozen between her fingers.

If Infini is cancelled, it’s possible I could be shifted back to Viva and return to my old job as Kat’s porter. And I don’t know where that’d leave Bay.



*



I’m outside the Masquerade’s ballroom. Sitting in the semi-quiet lounge area, I hunch forward on the edge of a leather chair. Before I forget, I take a moment to jot everything I ate in a tiny spiral notebook.

“Hey, man.”

I look up at Brenden and nod in greeting, but it’s not like we’ve talked without Bay present. We haven’t since that long, awkward time ago we made sandwiches.

Brenden motions to the adjacent leather chair. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah.” A pianist must be playing somewhere on this hotel level, music echoing towards us.

His eyes ping from my notebook to a paper plate in his own hands. “I don’t know if you’re allowed, but Bay said to give this to you. She’s in a long conversation with our aunt about PoPhilly.” He stretches forward and hands me the plate. “She said to tell you it’s not an ‘air patty’—and the meat quality is a solid A.”

My lips stretch. “It’s from a restaurant in New York?” Bay had been trying to convince Lucy to freeze a box of beef patties and bring them on the plane.

“Yep.”

My lips fall as I remember the first part of what he said. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to eat it?”

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, being considerate of my feelings.

And I think of Bay. How important Brenden is in her life, and while I don’t like getting deep with a lot of people, I think I should make a better effort with him.

“You can ask, dude,” I say. “It’s okay.”

He slides forward to the edge of his seat like me. We’re closer, and he lowers his voice so no one can overhear. “Do you have to change your diet? If you’re working on controlling it, do you need to eat healthier?”

That’s why he’s unsure if I should eat the beef patty. “No, everyone is different, but for me, my issue is more about moderation and timing…like if I overeat or if I eat too close to practices.”

I stare at my notebook, not able to talk in detail, but I know my issue well.

I convince myself that I’m in control by doing something Corporate would disallow—eating before practice—but then I have to purge at that point. And I become a prisoner to a different monster.

I love candy, hamburgers, all junk food, and I always randomly order off of menus, and in my healthiest months, I still eat the same kind of food—just at healthier times and portions.

When I’m really stressed, I will start believing that puking will make me feel better and more in control. That’s what happened this year.

Brenden slowly nods. “And the notebook helps?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m not always at a place where I need it.”

I haven’t thrown up in three weeks, which is good. Really good, and I’d say that my compulsion to steal is down to a 4.5 rating. (Decent for me.)