Love's Final Act (Circus of Love Romances Book 3)

by S. Andrea Milne

  Love’s Final Act

  A Circus of Love Romance

  S. Andrea Milne

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  Circus of Love Romances

  Love’s Tightwire Act

  Love’s Sister Act

  Love’s Final Act

  Other books by S. Andrea Milne:

  The Adventures of Nora Watson

  The Cure

  The Cause

  The Disease

  For more information check out: sandreamilne.com

  Love’s Final Act

  Copyright © 2020 S. Andrea Milne

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual locals, events, or organizations is coincidental.

  Pegraelian Publishing

  Kitchener, ON

  Canada

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Afterward

  Chapter 1

  “Do it again please, Cass.” Inwardly I sighed—at least I was pretty sure I didn’t sigh out loud.

  I’d been teaching with the High Flying Circus Club for nearly six months, and had dreaded the appearance of Cass in my classes for nearly six months less a day. She was one of those infuriating students who had a decent amount of skill and knew it, and worse, refused to take advice from me. At first, she’d been excited when I mentioned I’d performed for Circus of Flight—I omitted it was only for one month—and pestered me with endless questions about auditions and life on the road. She still sometimes did, but an unpleasant air of superiority had gradually taken over, possibly because I didn’t fawn over her the way some of the other instructors did.

  “Come on Beth, I’m really tired and it’s the end of class. I already did it twice.” Cass rested one hand on her hip, which she jutted out in a way that said to me, spoiled brat. She was seventeen, but she was still a brat in my mind.

  “Once more, straight legs, toes pointed. If you want to perform, you have to nail everything, even when you’re tired.” What I didn’t add was how Archie Gorelick, former Artistic Director/choreographer/dictator of the Circus of Flight regularly yelled at me, made me cry, and pushed me so hard that I once fell from fifteen feet up—luckily we were using mats and I wasn’t injured.

  Cass shot me a look that maybe didn’t say she hated me, but one that definitely said she was severely unimpressed. She approached the silks anyway. Suck it up, princess. Now on the mat, the girl made a bunch of huffy, over-exaggerated sighs that made me want to chuck a yoga block at her head. Next, she paused to adjust her leggings and make sure her tank top was tucked in perfectly. She was stalling. Hoping I’d tell her class was over and we would try it again on Wednesday.

  “Come on, Cass. Let’s end class on a high note. Show me what you’ve got and make yourself proud.” I crossed my hands over my chest. No way was I going to let this prima donna off the hook.

  The girl pouted at me. Had classes three times a week for almost six months not been enough to teach her that that kind of behaviour had no effect on me?

  “Come on, Cass.” A hand came to rest on my shoulder, heat radiating across my chilled back. The heating inside the old factory that the High Flying Circus Club called home was so-so in terms of consistency. “Let’s see that drop you’ve been working on all class.”

  Cass smiled at the person standing behind me, flicked her ponytail over one shoulder and batted her eyelashes. “Sure thing, Robert.”

  Grabbing the silks with both hands, she tipped her upper body back, as she arced her feet over head. With a swift lift of her hips she hooked her knee tightly across the fabric, swung upright again and climbed. Fucking show off. She wouldn’t do this for me, but the second my fiancé came over to watch, off she went, into the air. Yes, Robert was off-the-charts gorgeous, with abs that were harder than marble, but seriously. He was my fiancé. We were getting married in fifteen days, and she was only seventeen. Teenage girls.

  Even if Robert’s presence had driven Cass into the air, she was clearly tired. After the first strong inversion, her form weakened, her knees bending every time she turned upside down, the hook across the silks not so well placed.

  “Take it easy, Cass, it’s the end of class. Go slow, get it right.” The last thing I needed was for the girl to fall; that would make me as bad as Archie.

  After a brief pause, Cass made it to the top of the silks, inverted, hooked her knee again, and began wrapping her drop. As I watched each move closely, Robert’s hand drifted along my shoulder to the base of my neck where he massaged my tight muscles. I’d complained about this girl for months, but when she was in his handstands class she behaved differently. She paid attention to every instruction he gave her, practicing hand placement, shoulder engagement, and body alignment over and over, no matter how many times he asked her to do it.

  It infuriated me, and she wasn’t the only student whom I’d noticed a difference in their behaviour between my classes and my soon-to-be husband’s. Hers was the most pronounced. I constantly reminded myself it was mostly young women—plus a few guys here and there—who were affected, and therefore I attributed it to Robert’s looks, not my teaching skills. Still, it threw my decision to abandon the idea of performing in an aerial circus into question. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be instructor. Not everyone was. But Robert was ready to settle down after twelve years of touring and was thriving here.

  “Okay, Cass,” I said, having realized that my student was dangling in the air, waiting for me to give her a signal. “You’re good to go.”

  Now that she was secured in her wrapping of silks, Cass swirled the tail of fabric dangling below her, so she slowly started to turn. Once she built up momentum, she grabbed one foot and pulled it to her head, while she released her hold with the other leg and extended out into a full split. She completed a couple of revolutions until she floated upright into a star-like position. Finally, she released the coil of silk that held her in place until only one part of her wrap remained around her thigh, then tumbled two down the length of fabric to her horizontal ending position.

  Several people in the studio broke out into applause. Great, just what that girl needed, encouragement.

  Cass unwrapped herself completely and lowered herself the rest of the way to the mat. Striding over to me, she stopped a few feet away and curtsied. What cheek.

  “Well done,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance and growing anger out of my voice. “That’s the way you want to end the class, on a high note. Go stretch, you’re done.”

  “Thanks, Beth,” the girl said in response. Her gaze drifted behind me and her smile widened. “Thanks for the encouragement, Robert.” Then she turned and joined the other students in the class, who were already performing a series of stretches to ease their tired muscles.

  Steppin
g away from the warming presence of my fiancé, I joined the circle of students so I could sign off for the night and complete the pleasantries required of being an instructor. “Nice work tonight everyone. This is the last of this class before the break, so make sure you get yourself signed up for next session if you plan to return in the New Year. The times for practice sessions during the holidays are posted on the website, and for anyone who’s interested, Rebecca and Rachel Nicks will be in town for two weeks and will be offering workshops and private lessons on trapeze during that time. You can check it out online.”

  My students continued to stretch and cool down, rolling around on their stomachs, arms outstretched to open their shoulders and backs. I remained on the floor with them and performed a few stretches of my own, but otherwise didn’t involve myself in their conversation. Soon I’d have three weeks off teaching—not that there would be much down time during that period. I had two more corporate Christmas parties to perform at this weekend, then I had to get ready to get married. We’d kept things small, but still, the unfinished to-do list was breathtaking.

  “Good night, Beth.” “Thanks, Beth.” My students were packing up.

  “Good night, guys.” I dredged my thoughts back to the present. Only a couple more minutes and I could toss off my teaching hat for the night. “If I don’t see you again, have a great holiday.” I waved as a cluster of students retreated across the floor of the studio, then out into the front waiting area. One hung back, and as I was still seated, they loomed over me. Good grief, it was Cass. What did the girl want? Typically, it wasn’t anything good when she stayed after class to talk, whether it was to mine me for performance-related information or complain about something that happened during class. Either way, I wasn’t up for it.

  However. I pushed myself to stand and straightened myself to my full height of nearly five foot eight inches. Now I was the one doing the looming over Cass’s tiny frame.

  “Is there something you want to talk to me about?” I struggled to keep my tone civil.

  “Uh, yeah.” Cass had one hand her hip, not unlike the pose she’d struck earlier in class. Then her attention drifted from my face to beyond, where I was certain Robert still stood—confirmed by the small, but coy smile crept onto her face. “I’d like to book regular private lessons with you—both of you—in the New Year so I can prepare for auditions in the spring.”

  I kept my lips pressed together as I nodded. Great, just what I needed, even more time with Cass to drive up my blood pressure. Private lessons, of course, paid better, and if she and her parents really wanted to pay the both of us to train her more, it would help. Teaching aerial silks wasn’t the most lucrative of career choices, and one day Robert and I hoped to own a home.

  “Sure thing.” I forced my old performance smile onto my face. “You email Dehlia to set things up. She’ll communicate with each of us to find times that works.”

  Cass tipped her head to one side, her lips purse together like there was something else on her mind, but she didn’t want to say it. After a couple of moments, her gaze drifted back to my face. She shrugged. “Well, great. I’ll see you on Wednesday, Beth—and see you tomorrow night, Robert.” The girl gave a wave in my general direction, and a much more pointed little ‘toot-a-loo’ wiggle of the fingers to my fiancé before she flounced off across the studio.

  The moment Cass disappeared into the waiting area, strong hands came to rest on my shoulders, thumbs working their way into the tight tissue. “Easy, Beth. She’s just a kid. She’s harmless.”

  “Easy for you to say.” I tried to force my shoulders down into a natural position, but after three hours of teaching, and the last hour and a half with Cass, it was going to take a while, even with Robert’s ministrations. Never mind we were supposed to rehearse once students were out for the night. “That girl is crushing hard on you, and possibly doesn’t have the sense to realize she hasn’t got a chance.”

  “At least you know that.” Robert pulled me close, wrapping his arms across my abdomen, while he gently kissed the side of my neck, in the sensitive spot behind my ear. My skin tingled down to my belly button.

  I might have mumbled something along the lines of ‘not now,’ but I wasn’t all that keen to get on with our rehearsal. We, or at least I, rarely had the energy for intimacy these days. Between training fifteen hours a week, teaching another ten to fifteen hours, and frequently performing on weekends, I felt like I was dragging myself around from one commitment to another, my knuckles practically scrapping the ground. I had enough reserve energy to enjoy the feeling of Robert’s callused fingers slip underneath the fabric of my exercise shirt, and lightly scratch my skin. I nuzzled my back into him as he explored farther under my shirt, when I heard a sharp whistle cut through my fuzzy thoughts followed by a shout.

  “Aw, come on you two, get a room.” Riley, another instructor, had arrived for an evening practice.

  Robert’s arms tightened around me, his lips pressed deeper into my neck, but after a few seconds he released me, giving me a playful push in the shoulder. “Do you need a few minutes to warm up before we start?”

  I sighed, and despite the tightness in my shoulders I felt them sag. We were working on a new piece, one that we could do together for a couple of gigs booked in the New Year. Unfortunately, we’d opted to work in Robert’s discipline, not mine. I’d tried to get him up in the silks, and he wasn’t lacking for strength, but…what was the polite way to put it? He most certainly lacked the knack. Despite having been an Olympic level gymnast, he was all angles and brute strength in the air. No lines or grace whatsoever. We decided I should come down to the ground even though that meant I had to learn nearly everything from scratch.

  Thankfully, Robert was very good at partnering a hand-balancing routine, and an equally skilled instructor. He showed endless patience with me despite my many failures. Maybe his ability as a coach was the real reason the students who took both our classes seemed more attentive and motivated in his rather than mine.

  “Beth, love, do you want some time to warm up?” Robert stood in front of me, his eyebrows drawn low over his blue-grey eyes, a slight frown fixed on his face.

  I pressed my hand to my forehead, my chilly fingers soothing my heated skin. “Sorry, just lost in thought for a moment. Give me a few, will you?”

  Robert’s frown deepened as he settled both hands around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  I shrugged, twisting each arm in a circle, trying to break his hold—not that it was tight. “I’m just tired.”

  Robert released me and stepped back, although he kept his eyes fixed on my face. We hadn’t known each other all that well when we’d left Circus of Flight to coach for Dehlia Martin and Stephen Nicks. However, after living and working together so closely over the last six months we’d learned a lot about reading each other’s moods. My posture surely said: back away slowly, or you might get bit.

  “Okay. Let’s do a quick warm up and run through your handstand section, then we’ll call it a night. Half an hour tops.” Then Robert turned, and started to jog lightly around the perimeter of the studio.

  “Sure,” I said then trotted along behind him.

  My handstand section. Also, the part I sucked at most. Most of the other bits merely required steady movements and careful counter balancing of bodies, plus a couple of lifts that were pure strength on Robert’s part. I could manage those, mostly, but my handstand section relied on me being able to hold a strong handstand, which I could kind of do on solid ground. Holding handstands while balancing six feet in the air on Robert’s hands for supports were another matter. He insisted we could get it if we kept trying.

  We circled around the studio for a few minutes, Robert getting progressively farther and farther ahead of me—or closer behind depending on how you looked at things. Was he purposely running faster, or was I that tired? In the early days of our residency here we would race each other around, laughing as we tried to outdo each other, but that energy had d
issipated sometime around Thanksgiving, when the wedding preparation had begun in earnest. The two weren’t connected. I loved Robert, I was certain of that, and I wanted to marry him, but something else happened at that time, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

  “Beth.”

  I shook my head, realizing that once again I’d been caught totally zoned out of what was happening around me. “Yes, sorry. What? Is something up?”

  Robert stood in front of me, hands on his hips. His lips were pulled so deeply downward that his chin dimpled, while his eyes didn’t flicker from my face. “Let’s call it a night, Beth. We’ve been working hard to get this routine right, maybe working too hard. The first performance isn’t until February, we still have time to get things right.”

  I wanted to protest, but he didn’t let me launch into the total lies I was about to insist upon; I wasn’t that tired; we still had a long way to go with my handstand section; I could push myself through one more rehearsal.

  “You look exhausted.” Now Robert moved in, possibly sensing my resolve was weakening by the second, and took my hands in his. “I don’t want to push you so hard you get hurt.”

  I had two performances this weekend—the real source of our income—I couldn’t afford to injure myself. I looked into the steady blue-grey eyes staring at me. Robert was right. I couldn’t remember the last time I went home early after teaching or took a day off training.

  “Plus, I don’t want you to have to walk up the aisle on crutches or in a cast. It’ll totally ruin that sexy dress you plan to wear for the wedding.”

  I smiled. One of things I loved about Robert—his easy-going sense of humor. I nodded but did my best to keep my expression neutral. “Sexy dress? I thought we were going cowboy casual—jeans and flannels, right? If you wanted sexy, you shouldn’t have suggested a winter wedding.”