Timo is motionless, tears streaming down his cheeks, while Luka stares faraway at the wall.
My chest swells. This is the most accurate portrayal of Nikolai that’s ever been spoken. Most of his twenties has been devoted to them, and I can’t imagine who he was before. It must feel like another lifetime.
“I had a choice six years ago,” Nikolai explains the crux. “You didn’t.”
“What?” Luka chokes.
“Peter, Sergei and me—we were older than you. We could do what we wanted. I chose to be here, with the three of you. I don’t regret that decision.”
Katya lifts her head off my shoulder, her jaw unhinged. “But…why wouldn’t you tell us that?”
“I didn’t want you to think poorly of Peter and Sergei for their choices.”
Timo drops to the mat and cries into his hands. I hug Katya as she tears up more from her brother’s sadness.
Nik reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Timo—”
Timo looks up, his face splotched red and slick with tears. “You bastard…you made me hate you growing up!” His voice trembles with grief. “I thought you didn’t want to be here. You could’ve at least acted like you gave a shit.”
“You mean all those nights I drove around New York City, searching for you? Helping you with your homework assignments, making sure you had lunch, spotting you at the gym when I should’ve been training—is that not giving a shit?” He’s still strict, severe. He has trouble softening for them completely, even when Timo is crying.
Timo buries his face in his hands again.
Luka crawls over to his little brother and he wraps his arm around his shoulder. Then he meets Nikolai’s gaze. “Thanks.” My heart fills. “For choosing us.”
I engrain Nikolai’s expression for life, a look measured in deep, familial love. As though the galaxy parted, just for one moment, to show another blindingly beautiful universe. He responds with a Russian sentiment, sounding tender.
Katya whispers, “I can’t even imagine…”
Timo lifts his head. “I can,” he says to Nikolai. “I couldn’t…I needed you. Growing up, I needed you.”
“And you had me,” Nikolai says lowly.
Timo exhales deeply, his eyes traveling over the pies. And then he looks to me and back to Nikolai. “I need you to not worry about me anymore. I want you to live the life that you gave up for us. Can you do that?”
“I didn’t give up my life,” Nikolai explains. “You’re a part of it, Timo. The good and the bad. You’re not keeping me from living, brother.”
Luka squeezes Timo’s shoulder, and Timo nods a few times. He says something in Russian, that I’m certain means I love you, or a form of the endearment.
Nikolai replies with the same words.
Then Timo nudges the barely eaten pumpkin pie towards me. “You be the judge, Thora James.”
This one gesture somehow unwinds the coiled air. Alone in a gym, surrounded by pies and four siblings who maddeningly, unequivocally love each other—it’s a moment I won’t forget.
Even if I have to leave their world, I promise myself that I’ll always remember this. Because when I grow old and gray, I can only hope to have a family as passionate and faithful as theirs.
Act Forty-Three
Living with a guy is strange.
It’s not a sleepover, where you legitimately know you’ll return home after a brief weekend, back to your own shower, your own sink, your own bed. It’s been about a month, and I’ve just barely accepted that I share all of those with another person. A male person. A guy.
The causal nights—where I return from the gym, he returns from Amour—are the most interesting. There are no boozy 3 a.m. make-out sessions on these nights, no flirty drunk tendencies and my sloppy drunk movements.
It’s just…normal.
On the bed, I flip through One Last Kiss, Please for possibility the thirtieth time, the spine falling apart. My head is on Nikolai’s chest while he talks on the phone in Russian. Almost every night Sergei and Peter call, just to stay in touch with Nikolai, even if they can’t see each other in person.
I dog-ear one of my favorite pages, lines already marked with yellow highlighter. And then the book is suddenly swiped from my hands.
“Hey,” I say, watching Nikolai skim the page. His phone is shut off.
He’s reading your book, Thora.
My heart spasms, and I spring to action, straddling him to try and retrieve the paperback. “That’s mine…” I have no other defense besides this one. Lame.
He smiles that charming smile and tucks the book closer to his chest. “You intrigue me, myshka. Let me read.”
I gape. “You’re not a reader.”
He tilts his head. “And how do you know that?” He thinks he’s stumped me.
“Because…” Maybe he has stumped you, Thora.
His smile keeps growing, waiting for me to collect my words.
I scan the room and my evidence clicks. “Because there aren’t any books in this room, besides maybe one…” I squint at the desk. “…Sports Illustrated magazine, which is not a book.” His free time is usually spent in the company of family. Not with a trade paperback. I mean, I downloaded an iPhone game for him once as something to do, and his attention span lasted about thirty seconds. It was a good one too: Tiny Wings. But it ended with the phone thudding to the floor.
And me under Nikolai Kotova.
“You’re breathing heavy.”
I press my lips together. “No…I’m not.”
His gray eyes penetrate me. That’s not helping my cause. Then he returns to the vampire book, actually digesting the words. He stiffens some. “What is this?” he asks, looking genuinely curious as he turns another page.
“Okay, you’ve seen enough,” I say, leaning forward on his body to snatch it. He easily blocks my arm with his.
And he reads aloud, “Her flesh slapped my flesh in the heat of the night, the noises heightening our blood thirst and my…” He pauses and breaks into an even bigger smile.
“It’s not funny,” I say. “It’s a good book.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been reading this every night in bed.” He’s not judging, just surprised, I guess. Maybe he thought I was reading something more innocent. I’m really happy he doesn’t remember that I loaned this one to his little sister. I doubt he would approve.
He flips the page and reads, “Her wetness glistened in the candlelight. ‘You taste so good, baby,’ I groaned, licking the softness of her...” His brows rise at me.
My eyes have popped out of my face.
He rolls me over so that I’m underneath him, the weight of his body adding a hot pressure. I instinctively split my legs open, around him. Is this really happening?
With the paperback still opened in his hand, he reads, “I grip her face as her lips wrap around my member.” He gives me a confused look at the word member.
“Cock,” I say.
He tilts his head again, his intense gaze heating all of me. “I’ve never heard you say that word.”
“Really?” I think it all the time. “I…definitely said the word cocktail before.”
His lips keep rising, and he watches my ribcage jut in and out, just in a baggy shirt and fleece shorts while he’s in gray, thin cotton pants.
Then he reads, “‘Right there, baby. Good girl.’ That turns you on, myshka.”
“Not always…” I admit. I swallow, lust swimming in his grays. “I like what you do.”
He leans down and kisses my neck, sucking. “And what do I do?” he whispers in my nape, before kissing again.
I let out a breathy noise at the sensitivity, my nerves sparking. I arch up into him. He has to clasp my waist to keep me still. “That,” I breathe.
Before I can float away with these sensations, he sits up, skimming another page with a devilish grin. His eyes flicker to me as he reads. “I sank my fangs into her nape and pounded my erection between her curvy thighs.”
I can’t control my staggered breathing. “I’ve never heard you say that word,” I tell him now. Erection.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back—I’m soaked. For sure. “Fangs?” His lips keep rising higher.
I shake my head. “Not that word…I mean, I actually…” I’ve never heard you say that either. I have no more oxygen to speak properly. He’s chasing me around the room, even if reality says I’m lying beneath him. It doesn’t feel that way.
“Thighs?” he says, more huskily, his hands running up the bareness of mine.
I tensely shake my head, my legs tightening around him, pulsing more intense.
“Erection.” He eye-fucks me.
I buck up, and a tight, low noise catches in his throat. He grips my hip again, and he keeps me still beneath him. I shut my eyes, his gaze basically drilling into me.
“Open your eyes, myshka.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m going to come…and you’re just speaking to me.” My eyes staying closed so this will last longer.
“But I haven’t even reached the best part.” His thumb caresses my cheek, daring me to look at him, to take a quick peek of his features.
It’s too tempting. And I’m too curious to stay in darkness. So I open one eye. And then two, half of his attention planted on the book, scanning a new part.
Nikolai meets my gaze. “With her, and only with her, the dead in me is alive.”
I highlighted that line. And underlined it. And starred it. Coming from his lips—it does more to me than all the others.
He says, “I love that quote.”
“Why?” I have to ask.
It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, staring off. I watch as his eyes seem to lighten with more and more clarity. And then he focuses back on me.
“I couldn’t explain, for the longest time, why I wanted you near me,” he says. “I knew I was attracted to you, but it was more than that. Your energy, your idealism and optimism—I missed those things, the places inside of me that made me feel more alive. And for years, I only sought them out on Saturday nights.”
Performing. During his after-show. His one time to let go and be free.
“And I realized,” he says lowly, “you are my Saturday nights. Being with you makes me come alive all over again.”
My heart thrums and soars at his proclamation. Even if I could speak, I’m not even sure how to express my feelings. He’s never said anything like this to me before.
Thankfully he leans closer, kissing me, not urging me to fill the silence with my voice. He sets the book aside, tugging me to his chest. As though we’re cuddling. His actions are all smooth and fluid like skilled choreography.
Nikolai drapes my leg over his waist. Then he tugs down his boxer-briefs, pulling aside my panties and shorts. He slides his hardness far into me, filling my need.
After many experiences with him, there’s no pain this time. Just pleasure.
I hold him tighter, my fingers gripping the longer hairs by his neck. He’s slow and sweet, powerful and deep. The fullness lights me on fire, and I relax into his body, into the way he has me protectively in his arms.
As he thrusts, his gaze meets mine again, those hypnotic, gunmetal skies.
And I don’t want to lose all these moments with him.
Not yet.
Act Forty-Four
Nikolai believes red and green stockings and a yule log on the television are enough to satisfy all Christmas requirements. He apparently hates dragging a real tree into the suite, but Katya begged for one, citing me as a source for it.
I’m without my family.
It’s sad.
He caved, so now we’re wandering along gravel paths, searching for the perfect evergreen. My hair whips in the wind, strands sticking to my lips. A cold-front moved into Nevada this weekend, chilling any exposed skin.
“I don’t know how she does it,” I say aloud, watching Katya skip off towards a punier looking spruce.
Nikolai clasps my gloved hand after I drop my arm. “Does what?”
“Spends the holidays without her parents.” She hasn’t been with her mom or dad since she was ten. It made me realize that I have no room for self-pity this Christmas.
“She’s not happy about it,” Nikolai replies. “This is actually the only year she hasn’t complained. Though it’s more because of you than suddenly not caring.” Our breath smokes the air. “She’s auditioning in January too.”
I frown. “What?”
“For Noctis,” he clarifies, stone-faced and brick-walled. “She landed the full-in, full-out last night, and she’s been able to repeat it just as well.”
“That’s great,” I say, trying to be happy for her. She’s accomplishing her dreams. She worked hard for it, but…I know if she leaves on a traveling circus show, I won’t ever see her again. You won’t see her if you leave too, Thora.
Right.
My stay here may be temporary as well.
I strain my neck to look up at him. If I miss Katya, his feelings have to be stronger. “What are the odds she’ll make it?” I ask him.
“High.” He stops by a towering lopsided tree, to keep some distance between us and his sister while we talk. “She’s wanted to be with them since the day she left, so this is good.” He nods like he’s trying to convince himself.
“And you’ll still have Luka and Timo here.”
His brows harden, and his darker gaze falls to me. “Luka has been working on a new discipline. There’s a good chance they’ll either put him in Somnio or Infini soon. He has better use there than as a porter.”
I digest this. “So that leaves you with Timo—”
“Kat! I found a winner!” Timo rounds the corner, his fingers cupped to his mouth as he yells. His pink fingers are exposed from his cut-off gloves.
Katya spins on her heels. “Is it big?!”
Timo snorts. “Who do you think I am? It’s the biggest one in this place.”
Nikolai makes a noise that sounds close to a groan. I can tell he’s picturing himself carrying the tree into the hotel. “You were saying about Timo?” he asks me.
I rub his back, trying not to smile too much. He loves his little brother, despite the irritations. “Sorry,” I apologize with a grimace. “In my defense, I had no idea Timo would want the largest tree.”
“He lives his life in excess,” Nikolai reminds me. “He wants the biggest, grandest everything. And he’ll take too much enjoyment watching me lug the fucking thing inside.”
After Thanksgiving though, their relationship is much better. They haven’t had a drag-out screaming match since then. Now when they poke jabs at each other, they’re the friendly kind, not the ones with undercut, hurt feelings.
I look up at him again. Masculine, his hair disheveled in the wind. His jaw unshaven. His eyes piercingly gray. The moment he meets my ogling gaze, his lips curve up. “You’re supposed to stare at me like I’m a devil, not a god.”
Wittier words actually come to me, my face lighting before I say, “I think you’ve always been both.”
Nikolai clasps me by the waist and draws me behind the crooked tree, large enough to conceal us from the gravel pathway. It’s too hard to hide my smile or stop my heart from racing. I just travel with the feelings.
Nik lifts me up around his waist, so my lips align more with his, and he kisses me deeply, slowly, his hand warming the back of my neck.
And then my phone buzzes in my army-green cargo jacket. I break our lips apart. “…it could be my mom.” Though if she could see me now, legs wrapped around a six-foot-five acrobat’s waist, I wonder what she’d say.
“Tell her I said hi,” Nikolai says. He needs to be liked by my parents if we ever want to make this long-term. He knows how much they mean to me.
“Sure…” I trail off as I check the caller ID: SHAY. “Or maybe not.” I hesitate to answer, on account of Shay and Nikolai fighting that one time. I never mention Shay to him. Or vice
versa.
Nikolai sees the screen and reads my body language. “Take it.”
“You sure?” I frown.
He still has me in his arms, and his hold tightens like he doesn’t want to set me down yet. “As much as I dislike him, I’m not going to ruin your friendship.”
My shoulders rise, less anxiety. I mouth, thank you, right before I put the phone to my ear.
“I can’t believe I’m not spending Christmas with you,” are Shay’s first words. “Who’s going to build a stupid igloo with me?”
I’m not sure if Nikolai can hear Shay’s voice on the line, but he gently places me on my feet. It puts a pain in my chest, but I try to ignore it. “We’ve never built a whole igloo,” I remind him. It always takes too long and it always gets too cold.
“Even if it doesn’t have a roof, it’s still an igloo.”
“Are you sure about that? I think it’d be considered a wall.”
He groans. “You’re making me want to do a Google search and that just takes too much energy.” He lets out a real yawn, actually tired. “But seriously, I called because I have some good news.”
“What about?” I watch Nikolai take a few steps away from me, scanning the rest of the trees from afar. He keeps glancing back though, too interested in the conversation to leave altogether.
“You’re going to see me soon.”
I smile. “You’re coming to visit?” I try to block out what happened last time he stopped by.
“Not exactly.”
This is a puzzle that I can’t solve. My face tightens in a scowl, just concentrating on what he could be referring to. But I draw a blank. “So how am I seeing you?”
Nikolai faces me, about five feet separating us. He crosses his arms over his chest, more on the defensive and Shay isn’t even here yet.
“I’m auditioning for Aerial Ethereal’s open positions.”
Amour Amour Page 32
