Thora frowns. “Who was that?” She looks to me for answers, but Dimitri’s mouth is bigger than mine.
“A man who can’t take a joke,” Dimitri says.
Zhen picks up his Nike gym bag. “Maybe because it wasn’t funny, Dimitri.”
Dimitri cocks his head. “I saw you laughing.”
“Everyone was laughing,” Brenden cuts in, “but the humor kind of dies when we’re the ones getting into trouble for a prank we didn’t start.”
Dimitri scoffs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about—it’s still fucking funny.”
These arguments happen about every hour in our suite, and I stay out of it. Dimitri likes to hear his own voice, and Zhen has known him way too long for any real fight to start. He’ll pull Brenden out of the crossfire after a while, and it’ll all simmer down until it heats up again.
By now, it’s just ordinary.
Sergei steps forward. “Let’s just end this. Whoever set up the joke, go confess.” He wants someone to fall on a proverbial sword so he doesn’t have to go to the sexual harassment seminar.
(Predictable.)
No one speaks at first.
So I say the logical thing, “It could’ve been someone who fled into the gym.” I know a handful of cousins who would’ve put a dildo in Geoffrey’s office.
“Or it could be you,” Brenden retorts.
It stings, but our history together has always been strange. I can’t touch it now. I don’t want to, but I remember how moral he is. It’s a good quality. Something I admire. He started a petition when he was sixteen to have equal pay for all minors. The girls had a lower salary than the boys.
He helped get his sister, and mine, a pay raise.
And there I was stealing a souvenir cup and three bags of Cheetos.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “It’s not me,” I say coolly, knowing why he’d believe it was.
“You could be lying.”
“Yeah, I’m not.”
“What about Dimitri?” Baylee asks, steering the attention off me.
(Thank you, Bay.)
“Not me, Baybay.” Dimitri walks backwards towards the elevators. “This is someone else’s genius handiwork.”
I watch him leave with Sergei, and Brenden and Zhen speak in Mandarin before following in tow. The only way out are those elevators.
Baylee is slower to exit. We barely speak at work unless it’s necessary, and we haven’t even tried to talk as frankly as we did in her suite. I worry that I might’ve scared her back then.
Her body is rigid, eyes pinned ahead. If she looks at me, it means she still cares about the possibility of us.
It means there’s something still worth fighting for.
It’s what I think. I stare intently, hoping. Praying she’ll glance back. She passes me, staggering slightly.
(Come on, Bay. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.) My stomach knots, and I fixate on her back as she leaves. Is it wishful thinking? Am I just dreaming—believing we could have something real outside of the gym?
She waits at the elevators, says something to her brother, and in the briefest moment, her head turns. Her eyes touch mine, and my lips begin to rise.
Hers pull up too. In a small, heartfelt smile.
“Okay, I’m…” Thora’s confusion steals part of my attention, then all of it as Baylee disappears onto the elevator.
I help her out. “That was Infini’s new choreographer. Let’s just say I could cough and he’d glare.”
Thora winces. “That bad?”
“Oh yeah.”
“He might not last long.” Always the optimist.
“Maybe.” In my world, bad things don’t disappear. They fester and extend for years.
Thora wears concern and sympathy, but her eyes are on the double doors. “He’s not going to be happy.” In the tiny squared window, I just barely distinguish Nikolai.
He ties up the aerial silk so no one slips on the fabric, finished for the day.
She’s right. Nik will be pissed and agitated that some choreographer—on a different show—just sentenced his girlfriend and siblings to a sexual harassment seminar. And there’s nothing that he can do about it.
He won’t pull strings for this. My brother saves his influence for much bigger, more serious issues.
“You know,” I say, swinging my head towards Thora, “besides you, there’s not much that makes Nik happy. So it’ll be like any other day.” I don’t think people remind her enough how much she’s affected my brother. How much joy she brings him.
Before Thora, Nikolai just swam through the motions of life, living dully day by day, sacrificing everything for Timo, Kat, and me. Then he started falling for Thora, and I saw him smile for no reason at all. I saw him breathe wholly and freely, and it’d been some of the best days of my life.
For once, my brother finally got something good.
Thora scowls. She’s so laidback and down-to-Earth that her “resting bitch face” or RBF (as she calls it) throws me off a lot. She’s not mad, but really, she looks it.
She shakes her head at me. “I’m not the only happy thing in his life…he loves you. And Timo and Katya.”
I shrug because I recognize that Nik loves us. I see that in everything he’s done for us, but I can’t say that I’ve made him happy. I’ve disappointed him, caused him anxiety and restless nights. I wasn’t what he needed.
Guilt hurts like twenty knives in my gut, and I laugh into a weak smile. I don’t have the strength to wrench out the blades. So I feel them.
(Every fucking day.)
Thora is about to reply, but Nik pushes aggressively through the double doors. Cellphone in hand, he aims for me. Gray eyes zeroed in, single-minded.
“What?” I ask, knowing it’s nothing good.
“Timo just lost nine-hundred dollars on roulette,” he says. “I need you to go to the casino and talk to him because I’m not getting through.”
I frown. “He was just here. I saw him like ten minutes ago.”
“Then it took him less than five minutes to lose nine-hundred bucks.” Nik’s muscles are hard as rock, more tensed than me. “Five more minutes and he’ll be down another grand. Go.”
“Okay, okay.” Gym bag on my shoulder, I turn but hesitate. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to tear him away.” I couldn’t last time, but Nik knows this. “When Timo’s down, he just says he’s going to win it all back.”
“But he’ll listen to you over me,” Nikolai rebuts.
I’m the good cop to Nik’s bad cop. In one breath, we’re co-parents. I’m the consoling mother figure, who hugs a crestfallen Katya. Who soothes a heartbroken Timo. And then in another breath, Nikolai is scolding me, and I’m back to being a child in his eyes.
(Our relationship is weird.) “Okay, I’ll try.” Before I turn around, he speaks again.
“And I need you to take Katya to the gynecologist. She has an appointment next month, or the month after—I’ll text you the date and time.”
My face scrunches. “Since when does she need to go to the gynecologist?” I shake my head. “She’s not…” having sex. I just see Kat as a little girl. She’s not having sex. She’s not…even dating. Right?
I remember how she called herself a woman, and then the makeup, needing to keep things private from Timo and me and—shit.
Katya is getting older.
She could definitely be having sex. Or at least, acting on romantic feelings and desires. I don’t want to think about it.
“She needs to go,” Nik explains. “She told me that most girls go by the age of fifteen.” He expels a heavy breath, and he glances at Thora for confirmation.
“I mean…some, not all…” Thora shrugs. “It just depends.”
“On what?” I ask.
“On whether you’re having complications, or want to be more informed, or are sexually active—”
“She’s not,” Nikolai says like it has to be a fact.
“Is it so bad?” Thora wonders. “Timo said he lost his virginity at fourteen. Just because she’s a girl…” she trails off at the thickening tension.
Nik and I exchange a look, both of us knowing Thora is right, but our feelings don’t waver. Double standards exist, and I know we’re at fault for perpetuating them. My huge extended family bubble-wraps Katya because we’re all afraid. We know men.
We know Vegas.
I think we’d just rather Katya stay young forever.