Amour Amour (46 page)

I translate it as:
you’re cute
.

And then he motions with his head towards the stage. “Follow me.” Before I oil my joints, he clasps my hand and leads me out into the middle.

“Stop right here.” He stands behind me, placing his firm palms on my shoulders.

I stare out at all the rows and rows of empty seats. It’s quiet here, only the mutterings of voices backstage. Katya said it was a full house tonight. Not because of me or the aerial silk act. The two famous faces did it, but it’s nice to know that Amour can sell out.

“What am I looking at?” I ask him.

“Your dream.”

I smile.
My dream.
I’m living my dream. “You know,” I say softly, staring out at the seats. “I used to wake up and wonder…is this it?” I pause. “Is there more out there? To finally reach the
more
part of my life…” I laugh into my tears and shake my head. “How do you describe the love of your life?”

“If you could see yourself, you’d realize you just did.”

“I’m not scowling?”

He turns me around and brushes his fingers beneath my eyes. “No. You’re not scowling.”

“That’s…good.”

He laughs and it’s his turn to shake his head, as he stares straight into me. “You once asked me if it was impossible to love two things equally. At the time…it seemed like it to me. I never loved someone as much as I loved this, here, tonight.” He looks up at the ceiling, at the dangling lights, fake snow still fluttering off the rafters, onto us.

“The circus,” I realize. His family.

“But I’ve found the truest form of love,” he tells me. “It’s two loves that can live in harmony.” He looks down at me.

I stare up at him. My heart on an ascent.

“The circus and you,” he whispers, “amour amour.”

Two loves. Two passions. At perfect balance.

I finally feel it too.

Act Fifty

“Are you single?!” the new hostess asks us. Erin, the aspiring model, quit last week. She decided to fly out to New York for job opportunities, Camila said.

Nikolai has his arm around my waist, but in the dark corridor of The Red Death, it’s hard to see anything but the stack of red, blue, and green glow sticks.

“She’s with me,” Nikolai says lowly, collecting the green glow necklaces from the box himself and snapping one behind my neck before he clasps his own. He holds the black curtain open for me, the club in full swing, red strobe lights sweeping the grinding bodies.

I’m just happy the air conditioning works.

“Will they swarm you?!” I ask Nik over the music when we descend into the club. Usually people flock him and start shouting his name, but this is my first time entering by his side since I’m in Amour now (I’ll never be used to that phrase). I’m not sure how much time he has before the mad rush of spectators.

“Not yet,” he tells me. I barely catch his words through the pop music. “We didn’t enter through the back.”

Good. I have time to see Camila before he begins his after-show. I sidle to the bar, Nikolai’s hand on the small of my back.

“Thora!” Camila calls, waving little toothpick flags in celebration. “You were amazing!”

“Hey!” I shout back, squeezing between two stools. “You saw the show?” I thought she had to work. She said that all the girls at The Red Death asked for the night off, wanting to spot Ryke Meadows, the celebrity, so he could sign their boobs. The way Camila reiterated the story—interjecting
I am insanely attracted to him, he speaks Spanish, he’s my soul mate
—I knew she would’ve joined their mission.

She leans forward in a low whisper. “Okay, don’t tell, but I told John to film like a five-second clip.” She raises her hands with the flags. “I know it’s illegal,
but
it’s so short and you mostly see John’s finger and him muttering,
this is such a fucking bad idea.
”

Her impersonation is spot on. “You sound just like him.”

She claps her hands. “Shots!”

I notice that she no longer has a red glow necklace. She wears a blue one like a crown. “What happened?” I ask her, gesturing to the necklace.

“I broke up with Craig,” she says while she pours tequila into six shot glasses. “I can do better.” I’m happy that she’s come to realize it too.

Nikolai leans against the bar, searching the crowds from afar. I bet he’s looking for his little brother.

“So did they give you a suite yet?” Camila asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “They gave me a key yesterday.” I now officially have my own place at The Masquerade, a floor above Nikolai’s. “It’s…”
surreal.
 I wish I had something better to say, but this seems like the most accurate word, for however redundant.

“You better be here for the full year!” Camila shouts over a new song, scrounging for the lime.

“I will be!” I tell her. My contract ends in one year. It’ll only be renewed if the directors like me enough, and even then, The Masquerade can shut down Amour at any time. I try not to think too hard about the logistics. It’s the storm that hasn’t passed yet, and I’m choosing to bask beneath the sun.

Camila starts sliding shots. “This is the
you deserve a thousand standing ovations
shot.” She pushes it to me, and my chest swells. “The
oh my God, look at that handsome fellow next to you
shot.” She passes it to Nikolai. He gives her a look. Camila is the best bartender, an immediate friend. “The
thanks for being the best roomie I’ve ever had
shot.” Another for me.

“The
you’re certifiably insane and could have cracked your fucking head open
shot.” That is John. He steals that shot and drinks it before Camila even slides it over.

His cousin is not amused. “You just drank a celebratory shot. That was not for you.” She swats his wrist.

“I’m celebrating the fact that Thora is alive right now. And it’s a fucking miracle if you ask me.”

“Thanks, John,” I say with a smile, and he toasts to that with another shot.

Camila growls in frustration. “You just downed the
John Ruiz is a gloomy, pessimistic
—”

“Old man,” Timo finishes with a blinding smile. He slings his arm around John’s shoulders. Camila’s lips immediately rise with mine. It’s hard not to smile at the sight of them, both wearing green glow necklaces.

Taken.
It’s official.

John acknowledges Timo with the roll of his eyes. “All true except the old man,
kid
.” He stands up straighter and kisses Timo in hello.

And then Timo nods to me. “Killed it, Thora James!” He squeezes my shoulder and then give his brother a thumbs-up.

Nikolai is having a hard time not smiling too. This may be the first time where we’re all happy together, a good day all around.

I’m about to say thanks to Timo when the chanting suddenly begins. “God of Russia! God of Russia!”

The circle is starting to form right
here.
At the bar. The people create a semi-open space where Timo, John, me, and Nikolai reside.

John groans. “This is my stool.” He points at the one he
always
sits at. “This stupidity can’t happen at
my
fucking stool.”

“You love it, John,” Camila retorts. “And technically this is happening at my bar. And I say,
proceed.
” She waves Nikolai on, who’s watching me, waiting for me. He takes a couple steps into the middle of the semi-circle, and he begins to unbutton his black shirt.

People holler, excited that his after-show is finally beginning.

I prepared for this tonight, even going as far to wear spandex shorts underneath my aquamarine dress. Maybe he realizes this.
Don’t back down now.

I won’t.

I don’t want to.

I grip the bar behind me, my back digging into it, and then I raise my hand, our eyes never drifting apart. I say, “Choose me.”

His lips rise, and the girls let out a series of
awwwws
. He removes his shirt fully, his body chiseled, sculpted—familiar.

He reaches me, lifting me onto the bar so that our lips are parallel. My heart hammers, my pulse throbbing.

A breath away, he whispers, “Every day.”

The hot kiss burns my skin, and I accidentally knock over one of the celebratory shots.

Every day, he chooses me.
It rings in my ears.

When he parts, he turns to the crowd and tells them exactly what we’ll be doing. A one-handed handstand competition. I watch him climb onto the bar, standing, towering above us all. And extends his arm, for me to take his hand.

I do, and he pulls me swiftly to my feet.

His gaze flies across my features. “Your eyes are black.”

“They’re always like that…” I lose my thoughts at the devilish smile he wears, the red strobe lights bathing us in the hue.

“You’re ready,” he states, reading me well.

I nod.

And we split apart. We’re doing this
on
the bar. For the entire club to see. The crowd—it’s larger than ever before, pushing up to the lip of the bar, and John still has his stool, Timo next to him.

You can do this, Thora James.

“On the count of three,” Nikolai calls out.

“One!” the club yells.

“Two!”

I inhale.

“Three!”

And I place my hand on the sticky bar, my legs broken apart at first, but when I find my balance, I put them together. Straight, like a board. I glance over, and notice Nikolai in the same position.

Don’t fall.

There’s nothing that says I can’t beat him. The cheers from the crowd jumble together, but I hear my name, from multiple, indistinguishable voices.

“Thora! Thora!”

What?

My eyes flicker to Nik again. And even upside-down, his curved lips are unmistakable. Very rarely does anyone root against the God of Russia. And he’s happy. Really happy that they are.

“Thora! Thora!”

I shut my eyes, concentrating, smiling, unable to stop my pulse from speeding. My muscles ache, pull and stretch, but I ignore the pain. Mentally sound, I stay at peace, motionless and still.

Thirty minutes pass and my eyes snap open at the gasps and “Ohhhhhs!”

I turn my head.

Nikolai dropped.

No way.

He sits on the bar, his forehead beaded with sweat. Looking shocked, he shakes his head over and over. I bet he’d already picked out a place to pierce me. When he sees me as I sit next to him, he lets out a short, humored laugh. “You’re beaming!” The crowds are so noisy that I barely distinguish the words.

“I can’t believe you lost!”

“You won!” he rephrases.

I won. My heart somersaults. Which means… “Tattoo or piercing?!”

He runs a hand through his hair, still in disbelief. Nikolai is not the kind of man who’d lose on purpose, even for his girlfriend. This is a true win, one that everyone in the club sees. It’s insane. The whole night.

“Tattoo,” he says.

My smile fades. I have no idea how to ink a tattoo on someone. I could permanently mark him with a messy blob.

He leans into me. “I’ll guide you.” And then he motions for the tattoo gun from someone, and he asks them for another thing—his words lost behind me.

I scan his body, and it takes me a quick second to figure out what I want to draw. Where I want to draw it.
At least you’re sober.

Yeah—I’m not sure my sloppy self would tattoo something pretty.

Nikolai passes me…a magic marker. “Draw it first.”

I nod, relaxing at this idea. Without hesitation, I straddle him. On the bar. Whistling—everyone is whistling. Including Camila, who even winks at me and I read her lips:
get ‘em, Thora.

Timo is tossing dollar bills at us, and John is muttering things—that I can only assume are variations of
this is so stupid and crazy and is that tattoo gun sterile?

Nikolai turns my chin, so that I focus on him, his eyes descending into mine. “What’s it going to be?”

I open my mouth to tell him my plan.

“Show me,” he says.

“You don’t want to know first?” I question.

He shakes his head. “I trust you.”

I am full of life today. Uncapping the marker, I place one hand on his chest, his heart pounding in a drumbeat that matches mine. Deep. Slow. With the other hand, I pinch the marker between two fingers and lean close to his ribcage. In my neatest cursive, I write three small words.

circus is family

His hands rise up my thighs, up to my hips and when he sees what I drew, his face floods with too many emotions to pick apart. Our gazes lock, and the noises around us seem to drown into silence.

“Where did you come from?” he asks again, shaking his head more. In a daze.

I have a better response this time. “Cincinnati, Ohio.”

He breaks into a laugh, and he kisses me, my skin tingling, on fire. His hand warms the back of my neck. And I feel his smile against my lips.

I’m average. I’ve been average most of my life, but there are moments where I feel extraordinary. Invincible. Able to conquer any fear and step outside any box. There is no illusion, no fantasy. I can climb a forty-foot pole. I can fly eighty-feet in the air. I can be taller than tall.

It’s a dream that I’m living.

Every day. With him.

Epilogue

1 Year Later

I shift on an office chair, the wheels squeaking beneath me.

“Sign here.” The shaggy-haired businessman pushes a stack of white papers, flipping it open to a highlighted line. “And all the pages with marks.”

I’ve already spent fifteen minutes reading the papers, so I click my pen and scrawl
Thora James
in each and every free space. I smile when I reach the last one.

“Is that it?” I ask.

“You’re all done,” he verifies, standing up with me. And then he extends his arm, for me to shake his hand. “We’re ecstatic to have you, Thora.” He’s reiterated this sentiment a few times since I entered the office, praising me with more and more compliments.