He begins to fill me with things that I’ve lost.
Thank you, I want to say.
And he kisses my cheek, his lips scorching my flesh. “Your choice,” he whispers.
My choice.
He wanted me to have this role. Maybe even before we started dating. Maybe when he propositioned training me. I wonder if we weren’t in a relationship—if I would’ve had an easier time saying yes to this offer. I know I’d feel less judgment, but I don’t regret that first date. Or all our times at The Red Death.
Love isn’t a mistake.
Neither is courage.
And I want to be courageous enough to not care about what other people think. My choice.
In my heart of hearts, I know what it took to reach this place. I know how hard I worked. That’s all that should matter. My heart, my love, my passion.
My choice.
What are you going to do, Thora James?
Act Forty-Seven
I’m in the circus.
I wonder when it’ll stop feeling surreal. Maybe when I perform on stage in Amour for the first time next week—then it’ll hit me. Right now, it’s the third day of practice with Nikolai at The Masquerade’s gym, and the directors greenlit the aerial silk act yesterday, when we went through the whole routine.
He had taught me all the tricks, with him as my partner, so it took one training session to put it all together, seamlessly.
“Don’t trip when you walk over to me,” he warns.
I gape. “I’m not going to trip.” We’re practicing in wardrobe for the first time, his red slacks on while he breathes heavily, hands on his waist and silk rigged above him. His bandana is tied around his forehead like usual, pieces of damp hair hanging along the fabric—not part of his costume. So technically he’s cheating.
I pointed this out and he gave me a look like and what are you going to do about it?
It was a look that deserved a great response, but I was too tongue-tied and open-mouthed to say anything. I shrugged and walked away, feeling his grin on my back.
Now I’m about twenty feet from him, more in the middle of the gym, wearing a white draping costume. With so many thin, wispy pieces of fabric that it skims my legs and the floor. It’s a hazard, I realize too. But it’s not supposed to stay on my body for long.
His lips curve upward. “Then come to me,” he says, huskily.
My heart bursts.
Just standing here.
Just seeing him.
Knowing that this is going to turn into a bigger reality next week. I almost can’t accept it fully. I hesitate to bask in the joy and accomplishment. After so much disappointment, I guess I expect more to hit me soon, another stipulation, another setback.
I’m not the fool-hearted, idealistic girl anymore. I’ve been shaken enough to be wary. And it’s a mark that’ll stay with me. For better or for worse.
I inhale a deep, motivational breath.
And I sprint towards him, as fast as my feet will go. In a split-second, the fabric tangles with my foot. You’re going down. I realize that too.
I thud to the mat like a sack of flour, catching myself on my elbows. I mean, it’s not the most terrible place to land. My face would’ve been worse.
I hear clapping. Not from Nikolai. Turning my head, the Kotovas on the metal cube apparatus give me applause and whistles for my fall.
“Looking good, Thora James!” Timo calls, sitting on the highest rung like he’s just chilling.
A smile stretches my face, and I pick myself up and kneel. Nikolai walks over with lightness sweeping his strong, masculine features.
For the first time, I’m not the outsider looking in. I’m a part of this grand, magical thing called the circus. Where every person on stage is family.
“What were you saying about not tripping?” he asks, a few feet away.
I open my mouth to reply, but someone in my peripheral catches my attention. Shay adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder. It’s not a gym bag but his luggage. He’s leaving. I quickly stand as he approaches.
“I came to say goodbye.” His eyes cautiously flicker to Nikolai behind me. A lot of us went to Club Zero a couple days ago for happy hour, including Nikolai and Shay, and the uncomfortable tension between them never dissolved. It is what it is, I guess. I can’t make two people like each other.
Nikolai’s hand brushes my hip before he gives us space, returning to the red silk.
“When’s your flight?” I ask.
“At four,” he tells me. “They’re sending all of us to Montreal for training first, and then they’ll start staging the show.”
It sounds like the start of an adventure. I smile, recognizing that I’ve been on one for a long while. “Are you excited?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s something new.”
“No more same-old-same-old.”
He laughs and stares up at the ceiling, as though a higher power changed his life path. Maybe fate, luck—or him. His choice. He took the risk. That’s all Shay.
I hug him, standing on my toes to wrap my arms fully around his shoulders.
He hugs me tighter with one arm. And he whispers, “Be happy, okay?”
My heart clenches, and I look up.
“I know you’ll be safe.” He nods, accepting this. “So be happy for me.”
I smile. “I already am.”
He kisses my cheek, and we let each other go. I watch him head out the exit where he came from. I know we’ll see each other again. Sometime. In the faraway future.
This is the bittersweet portion of my life, but I’m happy. For each of us choosing the better life, even if it was a harder road to take.
Nikolai squeezes my shoulders. “He’ll be okay.”
“I know,” I say, spinning around to face him. “Which part were we at?”
“The part where I take your clothes off.” He’s being serious, and he’s also right. My pulse races as his eyes tear through me.
I think he’s already mentally ripped part of my costume off.
A girl shrieks. Our head whips towards the trapeze, the group of artists excitedly jump up and down with a magazine in their hand. I squint at the title from afar. Celebrity Crush, a tabloid.
“Who’s pregnant?!” Timo calls.
The girl gleefully bounces. “They’re coming here!”
“What?” I say aloud.
Every girl speaks at once and I barely uncover the names in their enthusiasm: Ryke Meadows and Daisy Calloway. The reality stars of Princesses of Philly. A famous family. Famous couple. They’re seeing Amour next week.
My nerves shoot up. “Dear God…” I whisper aloud, on accident.
“What happened to them being in Costa Rica?!” Timo shouts, interested in the family like his little sister.
“They’re on route there afterwards,” is the reply from about three girls.
I fixate on the simple fact that famous people will be watching the premiere of the show. Add in my parents and the directors of Amour—the pressure keeps mounting.
Nikolai’s thumb skims my neck. “You can’t distinguish faces in the audience,” he reminds me. “You’ll be fine.”
The Calloways are infamous. This show will be all over the news…in a good way. Amour needs the publicity, but what if the magazines are littered with bad reviews? “This is worse than having the cast of The Vampire Diaries here,” I realize.
“They were here last week,” Nikolai tells me.
I gape. “What?” I missed them? What was I doing? God, what if you were washing your hair. How lame. I look up and Nikolai is close to laughing.