I almost wonder if they thought I wouldn’t sign. “Two more years,” I say with a bigger smile. Two more years in Amour. It’s the longest-term contract they could offer me.
“Twelve more years,” he rephrases, shaking my hand like
we did it.
It’s the first time I’ve ever met him: the creator of Aerial Ethereal. I absorb his words
twelve more years.
Meaning—he plans to keep me around, in this same act, for maybe that long. It’s more than I expected coming in here today. I was just happy that The Masquerade bought Amour for another twelve years, their contract signed and sealed last week.
“Thank you,” I say, my smile stretching. My eyes burn.
Don’t cry.
“Take care of yourself now,” he tells me as I head outside of the office, not into the gym but into the carpeted hotel hallway.
Nikolai leans against the wall, in workout clothes, his bandana rolled over his forehead. I decide to play a trick on him, knowing he’ll try to read my features before he asks me what happened.
I wear a morose expression, my lips downturned and shoulders curved.
He straightens the moment he sees me. “They gave you a year,” he assumes.
I shake my head, layering on the distress. His features darken, thinking I’ve been denied a contract.
And then he strides past me, to
storm
into the office. I expected him to use his words on
me
before using them on the creator of Aerial Ethereal.
“Whoa…Nik.” I grab his wrist and yank him backwards, strong enough that he stumbles some.
“This is—”
“Two years,” I cut him off, my heart pounding, a large smile replacing my frown. “I have two more years.”
The realization hits him. “That wasn’t funny.”
“It kind of was for me.”
His lips begin to rise, letting this good news sink in. He signed his two-year contract this morning. And then he lifts me, suddenly, up around his waist, kissing me. This still feels new. “Two more years,” he says lowly. He walks with me like this, kissing me down the hallway.
“Maybe more…” I cling to him, clutching his arms. “Like twelve.”
“Or forever,” he breathes, parting my lips with his tongue. I inhale into the kiss, our bodies melded together. And then he stops walking. Standing in front of the Amour show poster.
“No, keep moving,” I say.
Unfortunately, he sets me on my feet and then spins me around to the framed poster.
My face.
Technically, the side of my face, my profile, stares back at me. My lips are parted, my eyes shut like I’m dreaming, my hair pulled tight.
Amour
is in purple and pink colors across my cheek with the tagline:
love is a circus.
And Camila said my eyebrow has never been so fierce.
I’m on most of the promotional material for Amour. All because of a quote from Daisy Calloway. One person, one famous person changed another portion of my life with just a sentence:
The aerial silk act stole the show for me, dangerous and beautiful.
Luck.
This is more luck than I ever needed, and I’ll never stop being grateful for it—this dream. My dream. It’s surreal. Every day is surreal.
Hold it tight, Thora James. Don’t let go.
Nikolai tilts my chin, and I stare up at those gunmetal skies, ones that I meet twice a day on stage. And afterwards, when the lights fade. In our passion.
His lips lift in a burgeoning, heartfelt smile. And he says, “Well done, myshka.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you all. For believing in us. For being champions of our work. For choosing to read this book when there are so many others out there. Whether you realize it or not—you’ve helped us live our passion, our dream. And there will never be enough
thank yous
to encompass the sentiments we feel and how grateful we are.
But like Thora, we’ll
try
(it’s the best we can do) and begin here:
To our mom and dad—hello there. Your pride for us, well, there are very few things greater in our eyes and in our hearts. And we’ve felt it tenfold this past year. Thank you for being a constant support, for never telling us we “couldn’t” and always telling us we “could” and for making us believe that we could do anything and be anything. We’re 23-year-old dreamers, in large, because of you.
To our brother—thank you for being our cheerleader. We love you for every encouragement with each new book. We couldn’t ask for a better older brother.
To Niki—our courageous cousin. We admire you so, so much, for taking that plunge into the unknown after college, for being independent, for traveling around the world, for your free spirit and “where the wind takes me” bravery. No family. No familiar faces. You changed your landscape on your own. And bits and pieces of your spirit are in this book. We love you, our favorite couch-surfer, our big sister. We hope to see you sometime soon.
And lastly, to the Fizzle Force, with love—that phrase, you know, is written in stone. With love. From us to you. So it goes with every book. Our friends, our readers, our fans: thank you. For everything.
Until next time. Be happy, okay?
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