My mind spins, trying to determine his sentiments on the situation and my own. He’s upset, I realize quickly. Really upset. The nonstop sex says enough. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “What does this mean for you?”
“They’re putting the aerial silk act on hiatus, not retiring it but not actively seeking a replacement. I spent five months with Elena, training her, working with her. And it’s all a waste.” His gray eyes storm below me.
I touch his strong jaw and kiss his lips gently. “It’ll be okay,” I say. “Helen and the rest of the directors love you.” But I can’t forget how Elena looked at me—in the gym. And I wonder how much time I ate from her training. He’s reading me right now. My lost expression.
“It’s not your fault,” he says.
Why didn’t I question it though? “Did you train her more than you did me?”
He’s quiet.
My stomach drops and I gape. “Nik.”
“I wouldn’t have practiced with her any more than I did, regardless if you were in Vegas or not.”
I want to believe him. Otherwise, it hurts too much to think that I may be the reason his act is shelved for eternity. And the reason why Elena was sent home.
That’s not how this is supposed to go. Not at all.
Act Forty-Two
It’s midnight, the gym empty and only half the lights turned on. The trapeze and Russian swing are shrouded in darkness. I’ve been here since noon and still no one has really filtered inside. It’s Thanksgiving, and instead of sulking about not being with family, not having the money for a plane ticket, I just focus on training.
I breathe heavily, lying supine on the blue mats. I still can’t land everything I saw in Amour, during that climatic group act. Not without being harnessed.
But I’m closer to nailing the aerial silk drop. When I fall, I’m now five feet from the floor, not seven. That has to count for something. Right?
The heavy double doors click open, and I prop my sore body on my elbows. The hall light streams into the darker area of the gym, until the door shuts. For a split second, I wonder if coming to the gym alone was such a good idea. But Nikolai had Thanksgiving festivities with his whole extended family, and I didn’t need him to miss that for me.
“You look exhausted.”
My shoulders sag at the familiar, deep voice. “It’s been a long day.”
Nikolai emerges into the light, his hands in his black slacks. He removes them as he sits in front of me, resting his forearms on his bent knees.
I notice a bit of…I motion to his hairline. “Pie?” I smile.
He brushes the pumpkin residue. “Dimitri.”
“Did you get him back?” I ask, slightly sad I missed it. You needed to train. That’s why you’re here, Thora. I know.
“With a butter cream pie.” His lips curve up in that charming smile, the one I see on Saturday nights. “I wish you were there.”
“This is more important.” I hate that each word hurts to say and to hear.
He nods, this tension stretching between us, from the uncertainty of our futures. It’d be easier if we knew where we’ll stand. But we’re riding towards a big gray cloud.
The double doors click open again, louder voices emanating. “He was not flirting with me,” Katya refutes. Nikolai stiffens, but Katya is still in darkness, the door thudding closed.
“I fear for you, sister,” Timo says. “Said boy tells you that you’re pretty, that you have nice legs, and he touches your hair. Said girl thinks he’s friendly. Next thing you know, you’ll be in bed with him and think oh wait, he actually likes me.”
“He didn’t compliment me like that,” she refutes.
Timo whistles. “Someone’s in denial. What do you think, Luka? Flirting or no flirting?”
“Honestly, I want to self-eject from this conversation.”
Timo laughs, and all three siblings step into the light. Literally. “Thora James,” Timo exclaims with a wide, dazzling grin. He carries a half-eaten apple pie and a bundle of forks. Luka has a pumpkin one in hand. Katya, a chocolate.
“Hey,” I say, a smile growing. “How was the family feast?”
“Boring,” Luka says, sitting next to Nikolai.
Timo plops next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “Entertaining.”
“Draining,” Katya adds with a sigh. She chooses the spot between me and Nikolai. Which is really the only free place in the circle, since I face him.
Boring. Entertaining. Draining.
“In that order,” Nikolai says to me, lightness in his eyes. I’m having a hard time not smiling right now, even sweaty, muscles achy and heart on a slow descent.
Timo passes me a fork. “Luka’s pie is the worst.”
Luka looks uncaring. “No one taught me how to cook.”
“No one taught me how to cook, but mine still turned out edible.”
Katya pushes the chocolate one towards me. “Mine is actually the best.” When I first met her, I doubt she’d ever consider herself better than her brothers, in any arena.
I believe it. I try a small portion, the taste richer than I expected, making me smile. It’s really good. I give her a thumbs-up, and her orb-like eyes brighten. After another bite, I ask, “So who’s this boy?”
She groans. “You heard that?” Her eyes flicker nervously to Nikolai. What is he going to do? I think about all his rules with me and training. Yeah—I’m sure he has an equally long list for Katya and dating.
“How old is he?” Nikolai layers on the no bullshit, no humor expression to the millionth degree.
“He’s no one,” Katya refutes. “I met him in the hallway.”
Nikolai almost chokes on a bite of pie.
“The hallway?” I say. I don’t get it. Is that a meeting spot for people in the circus—like code for under the bleachers?
“He was just here for the weekend,” she clarifies.
It clicks. “Like a bachelor party kind of thing?”
“Yeah.” She nods.
Nikolai starts, “You didn’t give him your number—”
“I know the rules. Okay? I wouldn’t do that.”
“And plus, she was oblivious.” Timo points his fork at Katya. “You need to take my class: Timofei 101. I’ll teach you the ways of men, little sister.”
I don’t see all three siblings together often, only because they spend more time together than they do with Nikolai. And I’m usually with him. So I eat silently, my eyes pinging between the Kotovas.
“She’s sixteen,” Nikolai says sternly.
Katya sighs like she’s heard this all before.
Luka rips open a packet of Junior Mints, exiting the conversation and stepping away from the spotlight that his little brother adores.
Timo gives Nikolai a look, as though he’s living in the wrong decade. “And I lost my virginity at fourteen.”
Nikolai pinches his eyes. “I don’t want to know this, Timo.”
Timo redirects his attention to me. “Thora James.” His grin seems to twinkle in his eyes, in a sprightly evil way. “When did you lose it?”
A piece of pie lodges halfway down.
Nikolai smacks the back of Timo’s head and says something in Russian that I’m almost certain has to do with tact.
Timo touches his chest innocently. “I’m friends with her.”