Amour Amour (45 page)

“I keep waiting for someone to say
gotcha, Thora James, you’re really not supposed to be here
,” I admit to Nikolai while we ride down the elevator, the strap of my gym bag slung on his shoulder. Tonight is my first time in Amour. Tonight is when it all becomes real.

“You’re going to be waiting for a long time, myshka.”

Because no one is going to pull a fast-one on me. Hopefully.

The elevator doors slide open, and we head to the lobby. “They’re going to meet you here?” he asks, checking his watch. We still have plenty of time.

“Yeah, my mom just texted that she’s waiting for my dad and Tanner in the hotel room.” In my family, the men take longer to corral than the women.

We stop on the cobblestone, next to a map kiosk of The Masquerade, the 1920s clock hanging above us. I catch sight of a few familiar faces along the west wing, headed this way.

Timo, Luka, and Katya are talking in a huddle as they walk, gesturing to the fountain wall that the Dionysus statue sits in.

They’re up to no good.

Nikolai is zeroed in on them, his face all strict lines. “Don’t do it,” he says under his breath.

And then the three siblings break apart. Maybe we’re both paranoid. “They’re probably just talking—” I cut myself off as the three of them
sprint
towards the wall.

“Shit,” he curses.

Heads all across the lobby follow the three teenagers. In unison, they run up the tiled wall and flip backwards, trying to land on the fountain ledge. Timo sticks it at first, but then he staggers on the lip of the marble and splashes into the water. Luka tries to help him up, but he loses his balance and follows his brother, drenched from the waist-down.

Leaving Katya the lone victor, only her feet wet, still standing. 

People start clapping. I join in. Damn—that was cool.

I look to my left, and Nikolai is applauding too. Katya meets our gaze with the biggest grin. It lifts my spirits, my nerves about tonight beginning to wane.

Then I remember that she’ll be gone in a week, and my brief smile fades. Nikolai was on the phone with Sergei all last night, talking about Katya. And when he hung up, he threw the cell at the wall. Apparently his parents aren’t that excited about her joining Noctis.

They’d rather she stayed here. Because it’s “more stable”—Nikolai used air quotes when he told me. As though it was all a joke. He wants them to love Katya the way that he does, to be as thrilled to see their daughter as she is to see them.

But it’s not likely that’ll happen.

He’s handing Katya off to people with less love to give, less care to offer, and it’s killing him inside.

“Hey!” security calls, aiming towards Nikolai’s siblings.

“Run,” Luka says, grabbing Timo and lifting him to a stance. They race away, down the east wing, slipping on the cobblestone and laughing.

Katya shakes her head at them and steps off the fountain ledge. Security just watches her, and she points to us. “I’m with them.”

Nikolai raises his brows. “You’re going to have to find a new scapegoat when you’re in Noctis.”

Her shoes squish and leave wet footprints as she approaches. “No, I’m not.”

I frown in confusion.

She rocks on the balls of her feet, her long brown hair parted in the center. Her big, round eyes seem to sparkle like her brothers’ now. “Because…” She smiles, tears filling her eyes. “I’m staying here.”

Nikolai’s face falls in shock. “What?” He looks to me, as if I planned this.

I hold up my hands. “I didn’t know anything.”

“It was my decision.” Katya fiddles with her fingers. “I’ve thought about it since Thanksgiving…” She takes a deep breath. “…I only wanted to go to Noctis because Mom and Dad were there. And it took me some time but I realized something important.” She rubs her eyes with her hand, cheeks already splotchy.

“And what’s that?” Nikolai asks.

She laughs into a tearful, happy smile. “I realized,” she says, “that
you’re
more of a parent to me than they ever were.” She laughs again and points at him. “You’re my favorite brother, Nik. You know that?”

He has his hand over his mouth, his eyes flooding. When he drops his arm, he says, “And you’re my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister,” she reminds him.

He hugs her, and I hear him whisper in Russian that sounds close to
thank you.
He wanted her to stay.

I wanted her to stay. I blow out a breath, relief loosening my muscles. She chose him over her parents.

This good news comes on the heels of Luka’s. He accepted a role in Infini yesterday, after learning a new discipline. They’ve added the Wheel of Death back into the show, the apparatus that Timo was previously known for. The one that Luka didn’t think he had the patience or skill to learn.

I realize exactly what this means for the future. Katya will be in Vegas. With Luka. Timo.

Nikolai.

And me.

I smile. So much. It’s a better ending than the one we’d all been imagining.

When they break apart, Katya looks to me, wiping her eyes again. “Can I keep
Darkest Warmest Night
until I finish?” she asks me.

I nod and Nikolai gives me a look. “What kind of book is that?”

I clear my throat, a tickle where my lie sits. “It’s not romantic.”

“It’s about a werewolf family,” Katya says. “It’s a good book.”

I really can’t stop smiling. “Exactly.”

He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. And that’s when I see my mom, dad, and little brother emerge from the elevators. My pulse picks up speed.

“Good luck tonight,” Katya tells me, noticing my family. “I’ll be in the nosebleeds with Luka, but we’ll be there.” She waves goodbye and heads down the east wing.

The nerves return.

“Act normal,” I say to Nikolai.
This’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it.
 The closest I’ve come to this moment was introducing my homecoming date to my parents. I was sixteen. Not living with him, of course. This is a different caliber.

Nikolai stares down at me. “As opposed to all the times I act abnormal.”

Right. No, wait, not
right.
“You pierced my…”

“Thora!” My mom exclaims, throwing her hands in the air to hug me. That was a close call. She squeezes me tightly, my dad nearby with a proud smile.

“Pierced what?” Tanner asks.
Or not.

My thirteen-year-old brother is taller than me. It’s not right. He has his hands in his jeans, sizing up Nikolai.

“I pierced her friend’s ear,” Nikolai lies easily.

Tanner looks impressed. “Really?”

“It’s easy if you have a piercing gun.”

“Huh,” he says.

I’m in a death-grip with my mom, frozen at the string of lies.
No one thinks they’re lies but you.
Right. I release my mom so she can breathe and then gently hug my dad.

“I’m proud of you, Thora,” he says again. He tells me that almost every day now. Even though I achieved this position with my boyfriend’s help—they see it as a true success. I didn’t think they would, but their joy—it’s everything to me.

Don’t cry.

I’ve been doing well so far. “Thank you. And thanks for coming.” I hug Tanner next.

And he whispers, “Your boyfriend is a fucking beast.” He has an f-bomb problem.

“He’s not that tall.”

Tanner steps back from me and gives me a weird look. “Did Vegas make you stupid?”

“Hey,” my dad cuts in.

“Just saying,” Tanner says, raising his hands. “I’d still live here…even if it rots a couple brain cells.” He nods his head, fixated on a
much
older cocktail waitress at the casino bar.

“I’m sure,” I say. Now for the hard part. “Mom, Dad…this is Nikolai.” I gesture between the three of them. My two worlds are colliding again. This time, it’s a much smoother fusion.

Nikolai shakes my father’s hand, both amicable.

“Thanks for looking after my daughter,” my dad says.

“She did well on her own.” He looks down at me, his lips rising.

My mom is full-blown smiling. “How long have you two been together?”

“Almost seven months,” he answers.

Seven months.
It went by quickly but in the same breath, I feel like I’ve spent years with him. Maybe because we shared every day together training.

“Seven months?” She smiles more, if that’s even possible. “Wow.”

I say, “It’s been wow.” I end up grimacing. What even was that?
It’s been wow.
That’s not how you describe a relationship. “I mean…you know what I mean.”
Stop while you’re ahead, Thora.

“Well, you have a show to get to,” my dad begins. “We just wanted to wish you good luck. And we’ll see you after?”

“But we won’t keep you too long,” my mom interjects. “We know you’ll want to celebrate with your friends.”

I start crying. I don’t know why. Maybe having them here. My two worlds meeting. Their pride. Their love for me. My mom hugs me again, tears welling in her eyes.

“We’re so very proud of you, Thora,” she whispers again.

No matter how many times they say it, it will always overwhelm me. I think it’s the part of me that wants to please them the most—the piece of my heart that craves their satisfaction—that soars with that phrase.

I’m flying today. In all ways.

Act Forty-Nine

Behind stage, I wait for my cue.

My heart races, not matching the slow-burning tempo of the music to our act. Nikolai is already in front of the audience. I exhale a few trained breaths, my costume’s white wispy fabric away from my feet. Icicle lights are strung, the background a romantic, cloudy night sky.

And I focus on the melodic sounds of a violin.

Another exhale.

Relax, relax.

My mind traverses a million miles an hour, but I land on Nikolai’s advice, from a long time ago. His deep voice resonates in my mind like a whisper.

Whatever passion you’ve ever encountered in your life, you use it now, Thora.

It’s not hard to search for it, existing right at the surface, unlike before. I peek out, where the audience can’t see me. Nikolai descends from the aerial silk, eyes masked in purple and silver paint, his chest rising and falling in a powerful rhythm.

This is our act.

Our passion.

He looks my way.

Someone taps my shoulder, my cue. I’m ready. Without second-guessing, without falter, I sprint onto stage. I run towards him without slowing.

Nikolai stands tall, beckoning me, and I leap with all my strength. He bends only slightly, my left leg catching above his shoulder as I latch onto him. The gasp from the audience is the last thing I hear, blocking out the rest.

I clutch his hair, and he grips my back, our inhales in sync. Our exhales timed. My heart explodes.

In a billion pieces at the way he stares at me. At how he holds my face, caringly, like the love of his life just ran into his arms. He whispers something in Russian that I know means:
I love you.

It builds something in me.

And his desire fuels mine.

Slowly, he kisses me, an ache in my throat, and he grasps me like it pains him to be away. I lean backwards, breathless, and flip onto the cold stage. Smooth, agile. He grasps the hem of my costume, tearing off the extra fabric with my momentum. Leaving me in a thinner, shorter white slip.

My nerves are gone. I think he knows it, a smile in his eyes. Almost like
you’re doing well, myshka.
I contort my body, languidly flipping onto my feet. He circles me, stands behind me, and I only watch him, looking up.

Over my shoulder.

He lowers his head, lips touching mine again, the silk wrapped around each of his hands. And I spin to face him and hook my arms around his neck, like I’d rather slow dance.

In the air.

The riggers pull the fabric higher, so he’s lifted off the ground, and we stay in the same position, Nikolai’s strength keeping us airborne, afloat. And soon slicing through eighty-feet of nothingness. Of uncharted, untouched space.

I trust this man.

With my life.

My heart. My soul.

* * *

We’ve dressed into regular clothes and washed the makeup off our faces, Amour ending about twenty minutes ago. I realize that I don’t mind what people thought. I felt alive. Happy. For one of the first times, I know I belong in this world. It can be mine too.

After I zip my gym bag backstage, Nikolai leans against the vanity, smiling. “You were beautiful.”

I try not to smile too much. My cheeks hurt during the standing ovation for the entire cast. It was a lot to take in. Overwhelming. “Thanks for not dropping me…” That’s what I choose to say?
Recover.
I clear my throat. “I was worried during that last half.” I think I made it worse.

He wears that no-nonsense, all business look for a long moment. And then he bursts into a charismatic smile. It sends me dizzily backward, into the bottles of hairspray and trays of makeup.

He clasps me around the waist. “I never drop my partner, myshka.”

“That’s…good to know.” My lungs have catapulted out of my body.

When his humor fades, what remains is longing. In deep Russian, he whispers a phrase that I’ve only heard once before. The day of The Masquerade’s pool party.

“What does that mean?” I ask, my pulse beginning to race again as I catch certain words.

“Here is my heart.” His thumb skims my neck. “It is full of love.”

“You said that to me before…”
All the way back then.
I mean, that alone is reason to start flipping through a Russian dictionary. I’m getting better at the language. I’m trying.

“I did,” he admits. “I also have something else to tell you.”

My face tightens at his serious tone. “If this is about The Red Death, I promised Camila we would be there at midnight. I don’t think I can change that…” I trail off at the look in his eyes. It’s not about our plans tonight.

He says another Russian phrase, his lips curving.