Page 87 of The Failed Audition

“Some days,” he says quietly. He finishes off his wine, and a phone rings (not just a text), the default tone. He digs into his pocket and answers the cell in Russian. His face morphs into that familiar anger, his eyes narrow and muscles tensing.

He shouts something and growls in irritation. He repeats a couple of the same words, over and over, and then he shuts off the phone and rises quickly, pulling out his wallet. My pulse throbs in worry. Our food hasn’t even arrived, the date ending early.

“What’d you say about Luka—being generous?” He shakes his head, tossing a few bills and then extending his hand for me. “He’sgenerouslywearing on me.”

“He stole something,” I assume, as I rise and take his hand.

He leads me out of the restaurant, in such a hurry that I have trouble keeping up with his lengthy stride. “He’s sitting in jail,” he says, so lowly that I wonder if I heard wrong.

“What?” My eyes bug.

He hails down a cab. “He’s in jail.”

Okay, I heard right. My pulse kicks up—and I wonder what he could’ve stolen. Or if it was something worse. We slip into the taxi together, and Nikolai leans close and suddenly kisses me.

It’s a new kind of kiss.

Soft, gentle but more full. His hand is lost beneath my hair, clutching me, and I inhale with him, my arms on his. His lips brush my cheek, then my ear, to whisper, “In case I forget, know that I loved tonight, with you. No matter what happens from here.”

He’s about to turn on his protective setting, the one where he’s all severe. The warm sentiments buried low beneath.

I touch his rough jaw, my hand small. “What happens from here?” I ask softly, my words sounding more sexual than I ever believed they could.

He tucks my frizzy strands of hair behind my ear. “I’ll tell you a truth, myshka,” he whispers, his lips closing over my cheek before touching mine. And very lowly, he breathes, “It’s all a mystery to me.”

I standwith Luka by the jail’s tinted glass, double doors. He hardly says a word, his gaze literally planted on the ugly browncarpet. We wait for Nikolai, who fills out paperwork at the front desk, out of earshot. Apparently Luka tried to shoplift a four-hundred dollar snow globe.

“Who sells snow globes in July?” I ask aloud.

Luka finally smiles, albeit a weak one. “It was a collector’s item or something.” He’s not even sure what he stole? He inspects my outfit for the first time: the teal dress, the glitzy necklace and my mascara and pink lipstick. His face contorts with remorse, especially as he looks to his brother. “You were on a date?”

“Sort of,” I say, trying not to make him feel worse.

He buries his face in his hands. “Shit…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He’s really lucky that he only has to pay a fine this time. “Why the snow globe?”

“Huh?” he frowns in confusion.

This can’t be an odd question. Right? I mean, everyone would ask this. “Out of everything you could steal, why that?”

“Oh…” He sighs and shrugs, his shoulders tense. “It just seemed harder to steal than the deck of cards.”

I guess he takes things for the thrill and excitement, the adrenaline rush maybe. Which is strange, considering he’s surrounded by death-defying apparatuses. “A television would’ve been hard to pocket,” I ponder. “Way more useful than a snow globe.”

“Hey,” he says with a growing smile. “That snow globe isfour-hundreddollars.”

“Totally overpriced.”

He laughs, for real, and Nikolai glances back with a withering glare like he should in-no-way be cracking jokes. This is probably true, but my strong suits aren’t giving punishments. If Tanner was ever in trouble growing up, I baked him cookies.

“You’re a porter for Russian bar, right?” I ask, remembering that he’s in Viva with his sister. I wonder if it’s not all that exciting for him.

“Yeah.” His smile fades. “I was supposed to be in Amour, you know. But they found out that Timo was turning eighteen around the show’s premiere, so they switched us.” He stays quiet for a second.

“Why would they do that?”

“Have you seen Timo?” He raises his brows at me, stuffing his hands in his jeans. “He’s so good at what he does. And he picks up new disciplines in half the time as everyone else.” He shrugs again. “Look, I’m not jealous or anything. He deserves that act in Amour. I’m just, honestly, bored.”

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