Chapter Fifty-Eight

~ Nikki ~

We are sitting at the railing, overlooking the stage, with no obstruction of our view, whatsoever.

Overhead, the red-and-white-striped, billowy awnings—with their accompanying small-bulbed, string lighting—create a Big Top effect that’s enchanting.

Everything is red. Strikingly red. Almost a deep crimson that is sexy and seductive, rather than that cheesy, middle-of-the-road red that just screams Valentine’s barfed all over, and it’s not a pretty sight. Know what I mean? Maybe not. I have a thing about red, I guess. It can look dated, like… 1980s taffeta bridesmaids dresses with those tremendously puffy sleeves and ginormous bows on the butt, and the sickly sweet color that seems flimsy, in a weird way. My aunt’s wedding photos, from her super-short-lived marriage, makes me think of this.

Here, however—and despite the old-fashioned feel and the “antique red” accents—the crimson is warm and perfectly paired with all the golden lighting and gas lamps.

Below us, there are tiers