Chapter Five

It didn't take long for Yuri and Layla to fall into a routine of sorts. Whenever one of them was in the mood, they would simply knock on the door to the other's dressing room, no explanation needed. Sometimes they would do it there, but, more often than not, if it was after the show, they usually ended up going to Yuri's apartment instead, where they had plenty of privacy and wouldn't have to worry about being caught. They had already had a couple of close calls as it was – not even including Ken Robbins, who so far had kept to his word to keep quiet about what he saw that day in the gym.

If Mr. Hamilton discovered he was screwing his daughter… Well, Yuri had no desire to find out what would happen in such an event.

He really was playing with fire. One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and everything he had worked so hard for these past ten years would be for nothing, his dream of revenge ruined. Yuri knew that, yet somehow it didn't stop him from knocking on Layla's door, his hormones once again winning out against his better sense.

"Ready to leave?" Layla asked when she opened the door, already changed out of her Rapunzel costume and into a polka-dot print dress.

"Whenever you are."

"Let's go, then."

She closed the door behind her and followed Yuri out to his car in the parking lot, the two of them keeping a respectable distance between them. As far as anybody knew, Yuri was just giving Layla a ride home, as he had done plenty of times in the past. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As usual, they didn't say much on the drive to his apartment, Layla only mentioning a couple of small changes she wanted to make to their trapeze act in Rapunzel. Yuri nodded his agreement but admittedly wasn't paying much attention due to Layla's hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

The moment they were finally behind closed doors, they began kissing, Yuri guiding Layla in the direction of his bedroom. There was no need to pretend that it was anything than what it was. The two of them stripped out of their clothes and tumbled into his unmade bed, hands stroking each other's bodies as they devoured each other's mouths.

By that point in their "arrangement", Yuri knew Layla's body well enough to know the best ways to bring her to orgasm. Penetration was rarely enough on its own. He slid his fingers down her stomach, aiming for in between her legs, but to his mild surprise, she reached for his wrist and brought his hand back up to her chest.

His thumb traced circles around her nipple. "Tell me what you want, Layla," he said, his lips leaving hers as he trailed kisses along her jawline. He would let her take the lead this time.

"Your tongue." Layla let out a small gasp as he licked the shell of her ear, her fingers roaming upwards to tangle in his hair. "I want your head in between my thighs," she continued in a breathless voice, "and I want you to fuck me with your mouth until I scream."

Yuri pulled back a little, raising an eyebrow at her use of such vulgar language, so contrary to the ladylike image she portrayed to the world, but he couldn't deny it was a definite turn-on. As Layla spread her legs in invitation, he climbed in between them and smirked, his eyes drinking in the sight of her completely exposed. "That can be arranged."

He started at her sternum, lightly kissing the valley between her breasts. Layla let go of her hold on his neck and raised her arms above her head, taking long, relaxing breaths as Yuri's mouth took its time moving downward. He intended to draw out the anticipation for as long as possible, teasing her until she begged for release.

"Yuri…" she moaned, her breaths becoming heavier as his lips neared her navel. Her hands once again tangled in his hair, attempting to push him even lower.

Yuri smiled, flicking his tongue over her belly-button in preview of what was to come. Layla let out a sound between a gasp and a cry, her hips bucking a little underneath him.

He took that as a sign that she was ready and started shifting down when Layla suddenly let go of his hair and jerked into a half-sitting position, propping herself on her elbows.

"What was that?"

Yuri continued what he was doing. "What…was…what?" he asked between kisses down Layla's flat abdomen, pretending he hadn't heard the faint ringing noise that had caught her attention.

"I think you have a visitor," she said. "Shouldn't you go see who it is?'

"Just ignore it. I'm not expecting anyone. They'll go away eventually."

"But, Yuri…"

Attempting to distract her, Yuri turned his attention to her raised knee, landing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thigh, but it was clear the previous mood between them was broken, Layla barely reacting to his touch. To be honest, the ringing was beginning to annoy him as well.

"Damn, they are persistent. Get a freakin' clue already!"

"Yuri, just go answer it," Layla said. "I don't think they plan to leave until you do.

"Fine," he huffed, climbing off of bed and grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't move."

Yuri pulled his jeans back on and zipped up his fly just before pushing the correct button on his intercom in the living room. Though he was prepared to give whoever it was a piece of his mind, he froze in shock when the image of an attractive forty-something woman – although she insisted she was "only thirty-nine" – appeared on the screen.

"Took you long enough to answer, Yuri. Were you sleeping?" the woman asked with just the faintest trace of a Russian accent.

"Uh, yeah…" Yuri lied, still trying to wrap his head around her sudden presence in Cape Mary. He blinked a couple of times, wondering if he was dreaming. "Mama?"

"Don't just stand there, staring. Aren't you going to buzz me in?"

"Right. Of course. Sorry." Finally pulling himself out of his stupor, Yuri hit the button that would allow her to enter the building and opened the door to wait for her.

A couple of minutes later, his mother arrived at his threshold, carrying a canvas bag full of groceries on one arm and lugging a large designer suitcase with the other. She beamed when she saw him, and Yuri stepped forward to help her with the suitcase. "Sorry again for taking so long to answer," he apologized, showing her inside the apartment. "I just wasn't expecting you." His mother lived most of the time in New York, although she often traveled around the world for her work.

"That's why it's called a surprise. I came to Los Angeles on business and thought I would take the opportunity to visit my only son while I was in the area." After setting the bag of groceries on the coffee table, she kissed Yuri on the cheek. "How are you, Yurochka? You haven't been returning my calls lately."

"Yeah, I'm sorry..." Yuri rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed to admit he had been ignoring her phone calls. Not really on purpose. The issue was due to the three hour time difference, she tended to call him when he was having sex with Layla, so he always turned off his cell. By the time he took Layla home and checked his messages, it was usually too late to be polite and return the call. "I meant to call you back. I've just been…busy."

His mother frowned, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "You haven't been working too hard, have you? Your job is so dangerous. It's not good if you are tired."

"I'm fine, Mama," he said. "What about you? Anything new to report in your life?"

She plopped down on the couch. "I broke up with Oleg," she announced, referring to her on-again/off-again live-in boyfriend for the past severalyears.

Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The two of them broke up so often that it wasn't even a surprise anymore. Every time it was the same old story. "Again? Mama, if you don't want to marry him, then cut the poor guy loose for good and put him out of his misery. How many times have you rejected his proposal now?"

"Oh, I don't even know anymore. I think this was the fifth or sixth time?" She sighed, rubbing her left temple. "Why must that man always insist on ruining a good thing? We already lived together. Wasn't that good enough?"

"You love him, though," Yuri said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know you do, and I don't think Papa would mind if you got married again, if that is what is holding you back from saying 'yes'. You deserve to be happy."

She reached over and patted his hand. "Oh, Yurochka…"

At that moment, the door to his bedroom opened, Yuri's eyes widening as he realized in all the excitement that he had completely forgotten about Layla. She came out dressed only in his vintage Van Halen T-shirt, which was just long enough to cover the important parts…if she stood still and didn't raise her arms too high.

"Yuri, what is taking so long? You said – Oh!" Upon seeing his mother on the couch, Layla tugged at the hem and blushed.

Yuri silently cursed his bad luck as his mother stood up and turned around to face Layla, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Ah, it seems I came at a bad time," his mother said. "I didn't realize Yuri was entertaining a guest."

"Oh, no, we…"

"Yuri, are you going to introduce us?"

"Right." Composing himself, he said, "Mama, I'd like you to meet Layla. She's my…uh, partner at Kaleido Stage. Layla, this is my mother. She's in town for a few days and decided to visit."

Layla stepped forward and offered her hand, having collected herself as well. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Killian," she said. There was a momentary look of confusion on his mother's part at the use of her maiden name, but fortunately, Layla didn't seem to notice. "I apologize for my appearance. I wasn't expecting anybody else to be here."

His mother smiled warmly, taking Layla's hand. "No, I'm the one who must apologize. I showed up without calling first. And please, feel free to call me Elena." Turning to Yuri, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?"

"She's not –" he began, but Layla interrupted.

"That would be my fault. Our relationship isn't exactly…public, for various reasons," she said. "We haven't told anybody about it, so please don't blame Yuri for keeping me a secret."

Yuri ran a hand through his hair. What in the world was Layla doing, telling his mother that they were dating? She would have understood if they just told her the truth. She wasn't the judgmental type.

"I see. Well, if that is the case, my lips are sealed," his mother promised, picking up her bag of groceries. "I thought I would make some solyanka for dinner tonight. Layla, you will join us? There will be plenty to go around."

"I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you and Yuri have a lot to catch up on," Layla replied, much to Yuri's relief. The less time Layla and his mother spent together, the better, as far as he was concerned.

His mother had other ideas. "It's no imposition at all. In fact, I insist!" she said. "Yurochka, where is your kitchen? I should get started."

With a sigh, Yuri took the bag from his mother and slung it over his shoulder. "Here, I'll help you. You don't know where everything is," he said, heading for the kitchen. Looking back, he said, "Layla, you should get dressed and let Macquarie know you won't be home for dinner." It was clear that they wouldn't be able to resume where they left off.

"Okay."

In the kitchen, Yuri set the bag on the island, letting his mother unpack the groceries while he pulled out a large soup pot, a skillet, and the other utensils he knew she would need. When he was a kid, he had often helped her make her famous solyanka, so he already knew to fill the pot with ten cups of water and four tablespoons of beef base before bringing it to a boil. He then began shredding the cabbage while his mother expertly chopped the celery.

"Layla seems like a lovely girl," she said. "How long have you been seeing her?"

Yuri frowned, tearing off a leaf of cabbage with more force than necessary. "Look, Mama, there's something I need to tell you about Layla," he said, switching over to Russian. He didn't want to risk Layla understanding what they were saying if she happened to overhear them.

"You sound so serious." She set down her knife, giving Yuri her full attention. "Don't tell me she's pregnant."

"What? No, of course not."

"Oh, thank goodness!" she said, bringing a hand to her chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm far too young to be a grandmother."

"Because you're only thirty-nine, right?" he teased, to which she responded by lobbing a piece of celery at him.

"Oh, hush, you." She resumed chopping the celery. "So if she isn't pregnant, then what is it?"

The moment of levity passed. "The thing is… Layla doesn't know."

"Know what, dear?"

"About Papa. About how he died," Yuri said in a low voice. "She doesn't even know that Yuri Killian is a stage name."

Again, his mother stopped what she was doing. "So that's why she called me Mrs. Killian instead of Mrs. Brass. I thought that was strange," she said. "But why keep it a secret? How can you have an honest relationship like that?"

"It's…just better this way."

Pursing her lips, his mother gathered the cabbage and celery they had prepared and dumped it into the boiling water. "I suppose this means you still plan to destroy Kaleido Stage."

Yuri crossed his arms, leaning back against the island. "Mama, can we please not talk about that? You know all we ever do is argue."

"I just don't understand why you are so fixated on revenge. You should be in art school. You used to have such a talent for painting. Doing the trapeze is not your passion. I know it isn't, yet you insist on risking your life every time you go on that stage for the chance to hurt Kalos Eido."

Whirling around, Yuri slapped his palms hard on the marble countertop. "Papa died because of him! He needs to pay!"

"And I don't want you to end up like Papa!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she wiped away a tear with her hand. "Why can't you understand that?"

"Mama…" Walking over to the stove where she stood, Yuri wrapped his arms around his mother's trembling shoulders.

He did understand, but he couldn't quit – not now. Not after what he had done to Sophie. It was too late to back out; he wouldn't let Sophie's death be in vain.

"I've never blamed Kalos," she said in a softer voice than before. "Aaron made his own decision to attempt the Legendary Great Maneuver, knowing how dangerous it would be. It wasn't Kalos's fault."

"But –"

"You're right. Let's not talk about this anymore." She pulled out of his embrace and lowered the heat to a simmer. "Go spend some time with Layla," she said, waving him away. "I have everything under control in here."

"I won't be home for dinner tonight… Yuri and I are checking out a new restaurant he heard about … No, it's not a date, Macquarie… His original date backed out at the last minute, so he just asked me instead since the reservation was hard to get… Yes, I will be home by nine. I'll see you later. Goodbye, Macquarie."

Sighing, Layla flipped her phone close, unsure if Macquarie actually believed her or not. She was almost certain her loyal maid suspected something was going on between her and Yuri, although she hadn't mentioned anything directly.

She had already changed out of Yuri's T-shirt and back into the much more modest dress she arrived in, so after one more glance in the mirror above his dresser to place her headband back in her hair, she headed back to the living room. Loud voices speaking a foreign language Layla didn't understand – Russian? – caught her attention, coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Are they arguing? Layla wondered. She hoped it wasn't because of her. Yuri's mother had seemed kind enough to her face, but perhaps Elena had only been putting on an act, waiting until they were alone to tell Yuri how she really felt. In any case, it seemed rude to eavesdrop, so Layla decided to go out on the balcony to give them some privacy.

The sun was just beginning to dip into the horizon, the sky painted in a canvas of golden yellows and fiery reds. In the distance, the lights were off at Kaleido Stage since there wasn't a show playing that night, but the tent still made a majestic sight against the backdrop. Layla smiled as she leaned against the railing, a light breeze tousling her hair; Yuri's apartment really did have the best view.

A few minutes later, she heard the glass door slide open, and Yuri joined her on the balcony. He didn't say anything, just came up beside her and gripped the railing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Is everything alright, Yuri?" Layla asked after a few moments passed. "I heard you and your mother arguing."

"You did?" Sighing, Yuri relaxed his grip on the railing. "Sorry about that. I didn't realize we were being so loud."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not really."

"Oh, okay." Not knowing what else to do – dealing with other people's emotions wasn't her strong point – Layla turned to go back inside, but Yuri's hand reached out for her arm, stopping her.

"You don't have to leave," he said. "I'm okay, really. We have the same damn fight every time we see each other." He chuckled, but there was nothing mirthful about his laugh. "You could say it has become a bit of a family tradition."

"So it wasn't about me?"

"Is that what you thought?"

She shrugged, joining him once again at the railing. "The thought crossed my mind," she admitted. "I didn't make the best first impression, after all."

"Layla, my mother isn't a prude. She knows I have sex."

"Still… I'm sorry I let her believe we are secretly dating. I know it complicates things, but it just seemed…more appropriate than what we really are."

"Fu–?"

Layla gave him a pointed look, stopping him mid-word. "I told you not to call us that, Yuri."

Yuri raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry! I forgot," he said, lowering his arms as he moved closer toward her. "Aren't you being hypocritical, though?" he teased, lightly bumping her elbow. "Just a little while ago, you were begging me to –"

Layla flipped her hair over her shoulder. "That was bedroom talk," she said. "This is public talk."

"I don't see anybody around, do you?" Yuri made a show of looking around. "Nope, it's safe," he said. "But, anyway, it's fine. I don't mind pretending I'm your boyfriend for a few days."

"How long is she staying?"

"I haven't asked yet. I assume at least two or three days, since she's in town on business."

"What kind of job does she have?" she asked, curious. With Elena's stunning looks and fashion sense, Layla assumed she must be a model or an actress – something along those lines.

"She's a celebrity stylist," Yuri said. "Mama has always been into fashion and giving makeovers, so she decided to turn it into a career. She's pretty successful at it, too. Very in demand." He sounded quite proud of her, and Layla smiled.

"I see. Is there anything else I should know?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, turning to his side so that only one elbow remained on the railing.

"I don't know. If we're going to pretend to be dating, we should probably know a little more about each other, right?" She sat down at the patio table, motioning for Yuri to join her. "To make it seem more legitimate?"

"I guess, but I think you already know most of the important stuff about me," he said, straddling the other chair backwards. "You know my birthday. You know my mother's solyanka is my favorite food and that I love 70s rock…"

"What about your childhood? Where did you grow up?"

"L.A., mostly. I was born in Moscow, but we moved to the U.S. when I was still just a baby."

"Just you and your mother?"

There was a brief pause before he answered. "No. Papa, too." Yuri rested his folded arms on the back of the chair, his chin on top. "He was French, though."

"So that's the reason you're fluent in both French and Russian," Layla said. "I always wondered. What does your father do?"

Yuri's eyes darkened. "Layla, don't ask any more questions about my father," he said, his hands clenching into fists. "Don't mention him in front of my mother, either."

"But why? I don't und—"

"Just…don't." His fingers relaxed, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Please, just do me this one favor."

"Okay, if it's that important to you," she promised, frowning. "I won't pry anymore about your father."

But Layla had to admit she was curious as to why he was so reluctant to talk about his father. A divorce? If his parents had broken up on bad terms, that would explain why Yuri wouldn't want to talk about him. She didn't recall seeing a wedding band on Elena's finger, either.

"What about you?" Yuri asked. "What was your childhood like?"

"Lonely," she admitted without thinking. Yuri glanced up, but she looked away, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Poor little rich girl?" he guessed, although there was nothing derisive or mocking about the tone of his voice.

"I suppose that's one way to put it, yes." Sighing, she placed her hands in her lap. "I…didn't have many friends. None at all, really, except Macquarie."

"Your maid?"

"Pathetic, right?" Layla said, knowing what he must be thinking. "She wasn't my maid back then, of course, although her mother worked for us. I think she forced Macquarie to play with me at first out of pity, but after…" Layla paused, her fingers digging into the skirt of her dress. Just as Yuri hadn't wanted to talk about his father, her mother's illness and subsequent death was still too raw for her to discuss, even so many years later. "Well, things happened, and we eventually became friends."

"Layla…"

At that moment, the glass door slid open, startling both of them.

"Dinner's almost ready," Elena announced, frowning when she saw Yuri. "Yuri, please go put a shirt on. I want this to be a nice dinner."

He rolled his eyes, but there was an affectionate smile on his lips as he pushed himself up from the chair. "Yes, Mama…"

Whatever disagreement they had earlier seemed to be forgotten, Yuri tenderly kissing Elena on her temple before heading to his bedroom to change.

While he was gone, Layla followed Elena back inside and offered to help her set the table, but she wouldn't hear of it, shooing Layla away. So, instead, she took a seat on the couch and waited until Yuri came back out of his room, now dressed in slacks and a navy button-down shirt. Elena nodded her approval of his appearance and told them to come join her at the table.

Though it was only a simple meal of soup and bread, Elena had set the table with what Layla assumed was Yuri's best set of bowls and wine glasses. Three white tapered candles were placed in the middle of the round table, the flickering flames giving off a warm, cozy glow.

"It looks and smells wonderful, M—I mean, Elena," Layla said, taking a seat in the chair Yuri had pulled out her.

Elena smiled. "I do hope you like it. It's one of Yuri's favorites," she said, pouring wine in her and Yuri's glasses.

When she got to Layla's, Yuri reached over and covered the top of the glass. "Mama, Layla is underage. She's only eighteen."

"Oh, right, I forgot you can die for your country at eighteen, but no drinking until you're twenty-one. American laws are so…strange." That didn't stop her from pouring a small amount in Layla's glass anyway when Yuri moved his hand away. "But I won't tell if you won't," she said, giving Layla a conspiratorial wink. After setting the bottle aside, she then held up her own glass. "I'd like to make a toast. To new acquaintances and young love. Budem zdorovy!"

Layla exchanged a look with Yuri, but he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "You were the one who said we were dating," and held up his own glass. "Budem zdorovy!"

"Cheers," she echoed, and the three of them clinked their glasses together.

Layla drank a little of the wine to be polite before setting the glass back down and tasting the soup. She had never eaten solyanka before, but her eyes widened, and she involuntarily moaned as she experienced the complex combination of flavors in her mouth. It was unlike anything else she had ever tasted before, a mix of salty, sour, and spicy that didn't sound appetizing at first, but somehow worked together in harmony.

"Oh, my, this tastes incredible!" Layla said.

Yuri nodded his agreement. "It does. Just like I remember it!"

Elena beamed, basking in the compliments. "Thank you," she said, taking a sip of her wine before turning her attention to Layla. "So, Layla, how long have you and Yuri been dating? I asked him when we were in the kitchen, but I don't believe he ever gave me an answer."

"Oh, um…" She took another bite of the soup, giving herself a few moments to think of an answer. "About six or seven months?" She glanced over at Yuri, who subtly nodded his acceptance of her story, and continued, "Since the International Circus Festival. We were celebrating our win, and one thing led to another…" Her voice trailed off, deciding it best not to make their stories too detailed.

"Of course. It's only natural; Paris is the city of love, after all," Elena said, sighing wistfully. "In fact, I was studying in Paris when I met and fell in love with Yuri's fa—"

Yuri suddenly began coughing.

"Yurochka!"

Alarmed, Elena started to stand, but Yuri held up a hand and took several large gulps of his wine. "I'm fine, Mama," he said once his coughing fit subsided. "Some food just went down the wrong pipe."

"Don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry."

Layla stared at Yuri, frowning because even if Elena hadn't noticed, she knew he hadn't been eating anything when he started coughing. He had obviously been faking, but why? Because Elena had mentioned his father? She had more questions than ever, but remembering her promise, she kept them to herself.

"Layla, is something wrong?" Elena asked.

She shook her head. "No, it's nothing," she said, deciding to switch topics to a safer subject. "Yuri mentioned you're a celebrity stylist? That sounds like a fun career. You must meet some interesting people."

"Oh, the stories I could tell! I won't name names, but a couple of years ago, I was getting this one starlet dressed for the Oscars, and…"

That seemed to do the trick. Elena forgot all about trying to pry into Layla's and Yuri's "relationship", gossiping about the celebrities she had worked with in the past for the rest of dinner. Yuri hadn't lied when he said she was successful. It seemed like she had dressed almost every current A-list star, and she had dirt on almost everyone, entertaining Layla and Yuri with stories of torrid affairs, secret drug deals, and botched plastic surgeries. Though Elena didn't name names when telling the more scandalous anecdotes, Layla had her suspicions based on context clues.

"Oh, my, I've been such a – what's the English word? – oh, right, a blabbermouth tonight," Elena said as the dinner winded down. She giggled, finishing off her third glass of wine. "I probably shouldn't have drunk so much. Aaron always complained I talked too – Oops!" She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening as she looked over at Yuri. "Sorry, Yurochka. I forgot."

Aaron? Was that Yuri's father's name?

"It's getting late," Yuri said, abruptly standing up. "Come on, Layla, I'll drive you home."

"Oh, okay." Layla wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up as well. "Thank you for the lovely meal, Elena. It was delicious."

"I'm glad you liked it," Elena said, walking them to the door, "but you're not spending the night? Don't feel you have to leave on my account. I don't mind if you stay."

"I can't. My father is expecting me home." A lie, of course. Her father wasn't even in the country at the moment, gone away on another one of his business trips.

"Oh, right. I forgot your relationship is supposed to be a secret."

"I'll be back in about half an hour," Yuri said to his mother in a brusque voice. "You don't need to wait up for me."

Yuri expected Layla to ask about the mysterious "Aaron" his mother mentioned, but she never did. In fact, she didn't say much of anything at all as he drove her back home, perhaps sensing his anger.

He couldn't believe his mother had let his father's name slip out like that. If Layla discovered he was Aaron Brass's son, his entire plan would be put into jeopardy. Hell, for all he knew, that might have been his mother's goal all along. Considering how much she wanted him to give up his quest for revenge, Yuri wouldn't put it past her to try to sabotage him.

"Dammit," he muttered, running his hand through his hair.

"Yuri, will you slow down?" Layla asked, speaking for the first time since they left his apartment. "You are going to get us both killed if you keep driving like this."

He glanced down at the speedometer, surprised to discover he was going nearly twenty miles per hour over the posted speed limit. "Oh, sorry."

As he decelerated the car down to the legal speed, Yuri drew in a long, deep breath to calm himself. There was no point in getting worked up when all Layla knew at the moment was his father's first name. It was only a small clue; there had to be countless other Aarons out there. As long as she didn't discover his original surname, his secret would be safe.

He hoped.

"What's wrong?" Layla asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"It doesn't seem like nothing to me. Why did you suddenly want to leave? I thought we were having a good time."

"I didn't want to keep you out too late," he lied. "Macquarie is expecting you, right?"

"Not until nine." It was only a little after eight when they left.

"Oh." He hadn't known that. "Well, since we have some time, do you want to pull over somewhere, pick up where we left off?"

"I'm not really in the mood."

Truthfully, neither was he. "I'll just take you home, then."

After dropping Layla off at the Hamilton estate, Yuri drove around the city, killing some time before heading back to his apartment. He hoped by the time he arrived home, his mother would have gone to bed, but no such luck. She stood up from her spot on the couch the second he walked through the door.

"Yurochka…"

Yuri sighed. "I told you that you didn't need to wait up for me, Mama," he said, tossing his keys onto the tray he kept by the door. "I know you must still be on New York time."

"Yuri, I'm sorry. His name just slipped out. You know how I get when I drink too much…"

"Was it really just an accidental slip of the tongue?" he couldn't resist asking. "Or did you mention Papa's name on purpose?"

Her eyes widened. "Of course not. Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Well, you've certainly made no secret that you disapprove of my plans concerning Kaleido Stage," he said bitterly, plopping down on the couch. "If anybody finds out that I'm Aaron Brass's son, everything I've worked for these past few years will be for nothing."

Joining him on the couch, his mother tucked her legs underneath her and rubbed his arm. "I wish you wouldn't say such things," she said. "Look, I know I haven't always been the most supportive of your choice of career or your reasons for pursuing it, but that doesn't mean I'm not proud of everything you've achieved. Your father would be, too, if he was still alive." She sighed. "Oh, how I wish he could have seen you and Layla win at the International Circus Festival. He considered his own win at the Festival one of his greatest accomplishments, so to see you following in his footsteps…"

"You're wrong, Mama." Yuri clawed at the fabric of his pants, his stomach lurching at the memory of that moment. "Papa would have been so disappointed in me."

"Yuri?"

He shook his head. "Never mind," he said, standing up. "I think I'll take a shower, then go to bed. It's been a long day. Make sure to turn off the lights before you go to bed."

"Wait." She reached for his hand, stopping him. "Did something happen at the Festival?"

Yuri inhaled sharply. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"Something's changed in you ever since you won," she said. "At first, I thought I was only imagining things, but –"

"You're being a worrywart, Mama," he said, smiling as he turned back around to face her. "I'm the same as I've always been."

"No, you're not. You used to tell me everything, but I didn't even know you had a girlfriend until today."

"We explained that to you. Layla didn't want –"

"It's not just that." Sighing, his mother rose to her feet and placed her hands on Yuri's cheeks. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" she said, a concerned look in her eyes. "If something happened or if you're in some kind of trouble…"

Yuri glanced off to the side. A part of him wished he could confess to his mother about his involvement in Sophie Oswald's untimely death, but his guilt was his to bear alone. No one could absolve him of the sin he committed that day.

"Mama, I'm fine, really," he said, pulling her hands away from his face and giving them a gentle squeeze. "If I've been…distant lately, it's just because I've been really busy with Kaleido Stage and Layla. That's all."

"If you say so…" Yuri could tell she didn't really believe him, though.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Good night, Mama."

"Good night, my Yurochka."

Not expecting her back until nine o'clock, Macquarie was surprised to see Layla home so early. Layla made up a story about Yuri not feeling well and needing to cut their dinner short, then headed upstairs to her bedroom.

No matter what Yuri said in the car, Layla knew something had upset him, and all signs pointed to Elena's mention of Aaron. She was almost positive that Aaron was the father Yuri refused to discuss, but why was he being so secretive about him? Despite her promise, her curiosity was too strong to ignore.

Taking a seat at her computer, Layla pulled up Google and typed the name "Aaron Killian" in the search box. No results were found. To be on the safe side, she did a few more searches, using every possible alternative spelling of Aaron that came to mind: Aron, Arin, Aren, Aarin, Aaren, Arron, Arren, Arrin, Eren, Eron. She even tried Erin, despite that spelling being more popular for girls, but there was nobody with that name with the surname Killian.

"Maybe Aaron's last name is different?" she mused aloud.

Assuming her theory that Elena and Aaron had divorced was correct, it was possible that Elena went back to her maiden name, or she may never have changed her name in the first place. Perhaps Yuri had taken her name as well, as a way of cutting ties with his father. Or maybe Elena and Aaron had never married in the first place and Yuri had been given his mother's name at birth.

Layla frowned and decided to switch tactics, searching for "Elena Killian" instead. Since Elena was such a successful stylist, Layla knew she was bound to get a lot of hits. If she was lucky, maybe she would even come across an interview or a profile that mentioned Aaron.

However, the few sites that came up during her search were all in Russian, and thus, unreadable to her.

"That's strange… She should be mentioned in some fashion magazines, at least."

Layla leaned back in her chair, thinking back to earlier. She had assumed his mother's last name was Killian like Yuri's without question, but Elena had never actually mentioned her surname, had she? Then again, she hadn't corrected Layla when she called her Mrs. Killian either…

In any case, there was no record of Elena Killian on any English website, so that avenue of investigation was blocked as well.

That just left Yuri himself, although Layla was beginning to think Yuri Killian was just a stage name. It wasn't uncommon in their line of work, after all, and it would explain why neither of his parents seemed to share his surname. To check, she typed in Yuri's name. She got lots of hits about his work at Kaleido Stage and a handful of fansites, but as she suspected, nothing from before he joined the company. It was as if Yuri Killian had just suddenly appeared in the world a couple of years ago.

"Dammit."

She sighed, closing out of the browser. She had hit the final dead end. Without knowing Yuri's real name, it was impossible to find out anything more.

DISCLAIMER: Kaleido Star doesn't belong to me.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry it's taken a while to update. I've been working on a story for an exchange event in another fandom, so everything else has been on the backburner. I'd love to tell you I'll be back on schedule starting next month, but we're going to be moving sometime in the next few weeks, so everything is up in the air at the moment. Don't worry, though. Even if updates do become sporadic, I fully intend to finish this story (and maybe even write a sequel). I hope you enjoy this longer-than-usual chapter in the meantime!

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