Harley in the Sky - Akemi Dawn Bowman Page 0,107

Maybe even friends.” Vas looks at me seriously. “I might even get invited over for dinner sometimes.”

Is he trying to make a joke out of this? I roll my eyes. “It’s not like we haven’t done the whole ‘stay on your side of the big top’ before.”

He frowns. “Why would we stay on opposite sides of the big top?”

“You know—so we can stay as far away from each other as possible and not make this more awkward than it needs to be,” I say exasperatedly.

The muscle in his jaw tightens. “Is that what you want?”

I sigh. If he’s asking, I might as well tell him the truth. He’ll see it in my face sooner or later anyway.

I’d rather he reject me now and get it over with.

Preferably before my dad invites him to dinner.

“No, of course not. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, it literally makes my heart hurt to think about you. And I do—often. And I know you’re only here because of the job, and that’s fine. When my dad said he wanted to hire someone, I told him about you because I knew you’d be perfect for it. And because once upon a time you went out of your way to give me a chance. I wanted to return the favor. But there are no strings attached here, and I don’t want you to feel like I expect anything at all. Not even a hello, if that’s what you want. I promise you that I will not make working together weird. Because you deserve to have your dreams come true, Vas. More than anyone I know.”

There’s a long silence between us, our eyes flitting back and forth, trying to understand each other.

And then Vas’s face softens. “It’s true that I’m here because of the job. But I would’ve been here months ago if I knew that’s what you wanted. I only stayed away because I thought I was supposed to.”

His words tug at my chest, prodding my heart to hope.

“I still feel the same way about you as I did in November,” Vas confesses. “But if you don’t feel the same, just tell me and I’ll—”

“I do,” I blurt out.

He raises his brow, the corner of his mouth slightly curling. “You do?”

I nod.

“So… I should take the job, then?” He’s grinning.

I smile back, and it feels so much like relief. “Yes. Please take the job.”

Vas takes a step closer, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“Wait,” I say with wide eyes. “Does this mean you get to give Simon a resignation letter?” I’m not going to lie—imagining the look on Simon Tarbottle’s face when he loses his double trapeze act is bordering on thrilling.

“There’s no need. I quit Maison du Mystère the day after you left.”

I feel like I’m spinning again.

I’ve noticed for months that Vas’s name never came up in any of my conversations with Vivien. I assumed she was trying not to open old wounds, but now it makes sense.

Because he wasn’t even there.

“I… didn’t know that.”

“Don’t be too hard on Vee and Dexi. I made them promise not to say anything,” he says with a grin. “Which was probably really hard for them, because I kind of made a scene.”

“You?” I laugh. “I don’t believe it.”

He nods. “I may have set your dad’s sheet music on fire. In front of Simon’s trailer.”

“What?” My mouth hangs open.

“I admit, it was a bit dramatic,” he says sheepishly. “But I didn’t want him to have your dad’s set list. Not when you’d already left. And I didn’t want him to have our act, either. That was your story to tell, not anyone else’s.”

The ache in my heart returns, but this time it’s in the best way possible.

“Thank you, Vas.”

I close the gap between us and let my fingers brush against his. The moment our skin touches, he takes hold of both my hands and stares tenderly into my eyes.

“Would it be possible for us to start over?” he asks.

“I would love that,” I say.

It’s the circus, after all. What isn’t possible?

* * *

Everyone backstage rushes toward the doors, all crowding together because the finale is always chaos. Every performer has to be fast getting to their marks. The aerialists especially, because the technicians have a schedule to follow too, and there are plenty of us that need to be in the air when the timpani roll ends and the fanfare plays.

Us.

Because I am a part of the big finale too.

It’s a small part—barely a part at all. Most of the audience probably wouldn’t even notice there was an extra cast member in the air.

But to me it’s everything.

Tatya squeezes beside me, flashing her teeth happily while we listen to the ringmaster thank the audience, and the band, and then…

The performers rush toward the stage.

It’s too dark for the audience to see what’s going on, save for the burst of shadows and the strategically placed spotlights zigzagging across the floor like wild fairies.

I find my spot near the violins, lift my hands, and close my fingers over the metal bar. I know Tatya is on the opposite side of the orchestra, doing the same.

The percussion takes over, drowning out the sound of the wires raising the trapeze.

And then the fanfare.

The lights turn on, a scattering of colors bursting across the room like a luminous, Technicolor rainbow. Confetti pours from the sky, glittery and marvelous. Clowns charge through the audience, waving in gratitude. Contortionists are balanced on top of each other like a house of cards. Jugglers are tossing colorful pins into the air while they balance on unicycles. Three aerialists are in multicolored silk ropes, high above the audience. And there’s me and Tatya, sitting on two static trapezes like mirror images of one another, doing barrel rolls and side planches and front balances and splits in the ropes.

The circus swirls around me, full of life and wonder and magic.

And below, the audience cheers.