And he’s right, of course.
Get up, Thora. I prop my elbows on the mattress this time, but I hesitate, a mental, emotional, physical block. I think my pity party needs one more hour.
Nikolai isn’t having it. “Time’s up.” He pulls my baggy tee off, leaving me in my lacy red bra, part of my Phantom costume. He won’t let me slack off, not for my emotions, not for him. Not for anything.
I think I love him more for it.
Love.
It’s a strong word, but I’m not sure what else to call this. It’s greater than just like. It’s more powerful than friendship. If I’m not falling in love with him, then I’m missing the definition of the level right below it. Sort-of-love. Almost-love.
Maybe-one-day-love.
“You’re a slug,” he says, unclipping my bra. “A melancholic, defeated slug.”
He’s trying to put a fire under my ass by insulting me, since I’m rarely sluggish or defeated. My lips rise in the pillow. I definitely love him.
And then he yanks down my pants and lacy underwear, exposing my bare bottom. I feel him tense, and I look over my shoulder again. His severely stern gaze is locked on a new reddish bruise along my ass, which has begun to purple.
From when the drunken guy slapped and grabbed me at Phantom last night.
Out of instinct, I try to roll onto my back, to hide the shape of the mark, but his firm hand bears on my shoulders, keeping me in place.
His chest rises and falls in a heavier rhythm. “Someone slapped you,” he deduces, his voice hollow, like the depths of a cave. My stomach overturns. I can’t see as well as him, but there must be five dots like fingerprints.
“Hazards of the job,” I say under my breath.
His unflinching, hot eyes burn holes right into me. And then he climbs off the bed, his muscles more flexed. I uneasily lift my pants back to my waist and clip my bra. “Nikolai…?”
He stops short by the bathroom door, his back facing me. “Just…give me a second.” He’s collecting his anger, his volatile emotions that burst and harden his broad shoulders. Since Coco Roma, the costume shopping, we rarely talk about Phantom, almost not at all.
I slide to the edge of the bed, waiting for him to turn around. “It rarely happens.”
“Rarely?” He finally faces me, so much anguish contorting his features. “You think that’ll make me feel better?” His cold voice stings more. “I don’t want it to happen at all, Thora.”
“I get bruises from training,” I defend. “Can you pretend that I just fell?”
He looks at me like I stuck my fist in his chest. “No. I can’t pretend, because you didn’t just fall. A man assaulted you. I’m never going to be okay with that.”
The weight of Roger’s proposition still hangs over my head. I need this job, and it’s become a whole hell of a lot risker than what it was. “I know you’re angry at me, but—”
“I’m not angry at you. I’m furious at every piece of shit that walks into Phantom and believes they have the right to touch you.”
I hang my head, the guilt pummeling me down. This probably wasn’t the reaction he hoped for.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks lowly, reading me too well.
I twist my small simple pinky ring, avoiding his gaze. “They cancelled my act last night, at Phantom.” I swallow hard. “It was right before my parents showed up.”
“And?” His voice sounds tight, knowing this doesn’t end on a happy note. I wouldn’t be this sullen if it did.
“They said the only way that I can still work there is if I perform my act in private shows.” I pause, but he stays quiet. So I continue on, “I don’t have many details to go on, but they said that I’d make a lot of money. And that I have to give them a decision today.”
He rubs his face with his hands, as though he’s trying to wake up. Then he meets my eyes. “You already said yes.” It’s not a question. And the pain in his voice hurts me more.
“I was going to…”
He shakes his head repeatedly. “Thora, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“It’s probably not as bad as you think.”
He stares at me like I’m out of my mind. “You’re completely naïve if you believe there won’t be a sexual favor involved. They’ll make you strip, suck him off, give him—”
“Stop,” I cringe.
“No, you have to hear this.” He steps nearer, until he towers above me. “I won’t let you take a job that you believe is something it’s not.”
I’m conflicted, all over again. But I remember my plan. “I’m going to try to find another job today. I’ll call John. He got me the one at Phantom. And I’ll ask around and look online, but if I can’t find anything…” Tears well at the devastation in his eyes. “I need this job, Nik.”
“Live with me,” he says.
For so many reasons, this isn’t possible. “You know I can’t.” The words hurt as much to hear as they are to say. And as horrible as it seems, I think it’d be different if he was just a friend. If I was crashing at his place for a couple nights like at the beginning. But to rely on him this way now—it feels like defeat, like I failed at my purpose for being here.
He kneels. At my feet. I don’t have to strain my neck anymore. And he places his hands on my thighs. “I know you want to be independent, but it shouldn’t cost what you say you’re willing to pay.”
“I wouldn’t…” My voice cracks and I shake my head. “I wouldn’t blow another guy. I wouldn’t do anything like that, Nik.”
“And what if they put you in that position?”
“I’ll leave,” I say, adamant about this.
“And what if they don’t let you leave?” His jaw muscles tense.
“They will.” I have to believe they will. Before he rebuts, I add, “I can’t leech off you. Timo spends all of his money, and you support him and Katya and Luka. You can’t afford to provide for me too.”
He doesn’t refute me—because it’s true. He suddenly rises to his feet. “We’re not training today.”
My stomach drops. “Wait—”
“I have to make some calls,” he clarifies. “If you only have today to find another job, then I want to use every hour.”
My lips part in shock. “You’re going to help me?” I’m not sure what I expected his reaction to be, maybe to throw an ultimatum at me. Him or this job. Like my dad did. But this outcome overwhelms me, in a bigger way.
He tilts his head, his eyes softening. And he speaks in hushed Russian. Not long after, he says in English, “I’d help you every day so that you could see a better tomorrow. I will never give you less than that.”
My heart expands with each syllable.
And I wonder if his briefly spoken Russian was what those gray eyes convey now. The sentiments too strong to ignore.
I love you.
I see those words all over him.
I feel them.
But neither of us can say them aloud. Maybe we both refuse to wedge I love you between my purpose for being here, in Vegas.
Love—it has to come second.
Act Thirty-Six
After non-stop job hunting, Nikolai and I came up short.
I agreed to the private shows about three days ago. Roger booked me one for tonight. And in those three extra days, available jobs seemed nonexistent. At least ones in my skillset. John said that most clubs are cutting back on aerialists, and I didn’t have enough experience to be a bartender or a dealer.