Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(25)

“Everyone!” Zhen shouts and snaps his fingers, wine in his other hand. “Look here!”

The bar quiets, just as Sergei snaps, “That’s not true.”

Luka’s brows jump. “That’s not true? You just told her it’s not my problem.”

“It’s not.”

“Is that what you said when Mom and Dad asked you to take care of us?” Luka questions. “It’s not my problem. You just shirked everything onto Nikolai without a second thought. I know you did. Look at your face. It says you don’t care about anyone but yourself, which is fine. You don’t care about me, and guess what, I don’t give a fuck about you.”

It hurts.

Every word he says bleeds into the air.

“I was twenty-two,” Sergei retorts.

“I was thirteen,” Luka says with the shake of his head. “Timo was twelve, and you know, Kat, she was ten.” He stretches his arms. “I’m done.” The bar is utterly quiet as Luka heads to the exit, but then he pauses and spins back again.

I can’t read Sergei’s expression. My vision not only blurs, but he keeps his emotions bottled.

Everyone in the bar stares at Luka, not Zhen.

“Don’t you dare fuck with Timo,” Luka says coldly. “Dimitri and whoever might be okay with you here, but I’m not. And that girl, right there”—he points at me but glares at Sergei—“is way too good for a piece of shit like you.”

At this, Luka walks tensely out of the bar.

Leaving me iced-over and stunned. I don’t attempt to follow him, even if I want to—because there are multiple men who’d physically restrain me from reaching Luka’s side.

Zhen raises his wine glass and clears his throat. “Here’s to a new season,” he announces. “May we all work together and set aside our differences. Because…it might be the only way we can save Infini.”





Act Seven

Luka Kotova




The elevator beeps.

I exit onto the lobby floor at 5:30 a.m.—and no one’s out and about except for gamblers that can’t quit and hotel employees. Quiet, mostly, I reach the enormous Dionysus fountain that parades over the entrance’s revolving doors.

My little brother waits on the edge of the fountain. His dark hair is damp from a circuit workout before his actual practice in the performance gym.

I carry two plates of breakfast food over to Timo, and he plucks out his earbuds while I sit beside him.

His face lights up. “You didn’t burn my pancakes. Miracles do happen.”

I pass him the paper plate of egg-white oatmeal pancakes that I did almost burn. It’s not a secret that I suck at cooking and baking, but Timo asked me to whip these up since he wanted to hit the gym early.

Usually we eat breakfast together in our suite, but we don’t share one anymore. Our options are pretty pathetic. Hotel food is way too expensive to eat every single morning. So that’s out.

Timo’s room contains Sergei. Who we can’t stand.

My room contains Brenden. Who I’ve successfully avoided since the secret cast party weeks ago. (I’m keeping it that way.)

And then Nikolai and Katya’s suite also includes a girl I’ve promised I wouldn’t touch. Promised I wouldn’t look at—and I recognize, more than anyone can tell me, that I fractured these promises in one night.

In one impulsive moment.

I did it. I saw Sergei, of all people, speaking to the one girl I’ve never been able to truly forget. And something snapped in me. I just moved. I just walked over there and butted in—and you know what, I don’t regret it.

I looked at Baylee. No one can even understand what that felt like. For my eyes to latch onto hers, for us to really see one another after years of avoidance.

It was like I’d just taken my first breath. Maybe I was dreaming. I don’t even care if I imagined our fingers touching. Because it felt real to me.

Breaking a part of the contract and getting away with it—it fuels me.

In the worst way.

I crave to do it again, but I’m trying to honor her own feelings and wishes. I could tell she was scared, and I don’t want to frighten her or push her.

So I hang back. I cross off her suite as an option, and I try to forget Baylee.

Every fucking day, I try.

As I eat, Timo watches me bite into my breakfast burrito, bacon and sausage spilling out onto my paper plate. In so many ways, we’re different from each other.

He hesitates. “Please tell me you cooked my pancakes in another pan.”

I wipe my mouth with a flimsy paper napkin. “No, but I cooked yours first.” Timo has been vegetarian since we were little.

“In a clean pan? No judgment,” he adds. “Just being careful.”

“Clean,” I say through a mouthful of food.

Then he starts cutting into his pancakes. I look around the lobby. I miss Katya. I’ve been in her suite less than usual because Baylee is there.

Likewise, I overheard Brenden complaining about nearly the same thing. To Zhen, he said that Bay won’t come over our suite because of me, and he’s spent less time with her recently.

“How’s Kat?” I ask Timo.

“Unhappy. Like the rest of us.” He adjusts his earbuds around his neck and picks up his plastic fork again. “I asked for a pay raise yesterday.”