Chapter Four Juliette
FOUR JULIETTE
When Juliette was a child, her sisters said she was more bird than girl.
Light on her feet and always climbing the olive trees in their Naples backyard in Italy, higher and higher until she imagined her fingers touching the velvet blue of the sky and peeling it away to see what lay behind the marble atmosphere.
Then, when she was eight, she fell.
Juliette remembers the way her stomach punched into her throat, the melting of the sky and ground as she plummeted.
Then, when Juliette read the fable of Icarus, she dreamed of falling again.
She still has the nightmares. Only in her sleep, it never stops.
The bone crush of reality doesn’t snap her arm, she never hits the ocean and drowns; she’s always caught in the limbo of falling.
But knowing Luca Kacic is her soulmate is like finally hitting the earth and snapping every bone in her body.
The trophy ceremony is a blur of color and motion and sounds.
Juliette doesn’t remember what she says.
She knows she is too stiff with her wooden congratulations to Kacic.
It feels like a lie rolling off her tongue.
She can’t even look at Kacic. She imagines she will see her glowing with pride and triumph, lording this win over Juliette, and a rocklike ball of anger lodges itself behind her ribs.
Once back in the locker room, Juliette rips her wrist wrap off, hoping it is simply a fluke. Some kind of cruel cosmic joke. A terrible dream, like she’s falling again.
Her fingers trace LUCA . The letters are starkly black and strangely bright against the pale skin of her fragile inner wrist. It’s almost shiny, like a burn mark. It takes all of her restraint not to punch the lockers. Instead, she twists her wrap back on.
She storms into the shower stall and yanks the curtain closed.
With frantic tugs, she throws her clothes off.
She wants to immediately get on a plane and fly somewhere far from Australia.
Maybe somewhere snowy and cold so she can bury herself in the ice.
The best she can do is twist the shower to cold and stand under it.
She shivers violently, but it’s enough of a shock to stop thinking about anything.
It is torture to stand under the cold water, but it’s what she deserves for losing.
She isn’t gentle as she wrenches a comb through the sweat-tangled knots. She scrubs her body harshly with soap, wanting nothing more than to wash this loss down the drain. Cold water soaks through her wrist wrap; she can’t bear to take it off. Maybe if she doesn’t look at her mark, it’ll go away.
By the time she’s done, she’s freezing. Goose bumps trail across her skin, just like they had when she first touched Kacic. Would it be better if she didn’t know? Maybe she should have snubbed Kacic and dealt with the consequences of being known as the tour bitch.
She wraps her towel around her and storms back to her stuff. Her hair drips cold droplets down her back, so she tosses on a hoodie and sweatpants as fast as she can.
The locker room door swings open with a creak that says no one’s ever oiled it.
Juliette is grateful she pulled clothes on because in comes Luca Kacic—sweaty, flushed, and happier than ever.
For a heartbeat, they stare at each other. She has her bag over her shoulders, her trophy in her arms.
“Hi,” Kacic says softly, her eyes wide. She still has her visor on. The fluorescent lights cast odd shadows over her face because of it.
Juliette doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want to talk to Kacic.
“Can we talk?” Kacic asks, her voice wavering.
Juliette rakes her gaze over Kacic. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“I know we started on the wrong foot,” Kacic says.
“Don’t you mean ankle?” Juliette sneers. God, the irony. “You said I only won my 1000 because of Chen’s ankle injury.”
Kacic flinches as if Juliette struck her. “I didn’t mean it like—”
Juliette cuts her off. “And then you took a medical timeout to break my rhythm.”
Kacic blinks. “What? No, I twisted my ankle. It’s not like that. None of that is like that.” She looks… hurt. It’s strange to see it peek through the usual smooth, impassive shell she wears. “Whatever. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we’re—”
“Don’t say it, Kacic,” Juliette hisses, cutting her off.
As a kid, she never worried about finding her soulmate because her parents were madly in love and perfect together, despite not having each other’s name on their wrist. Tennis became the love of her life at a young age, and all she’s ever wanted is to be the best—to win Grand Slams and be number one, even if for a brief moment.
Tennis success is so fleeting, and for a second, Juliette had it within her grasp.
But now? She’s lost the biggest tournament of her life, and she’s cosmically tied to the woman who beat her for the Australian Open title.
“But—” Kacic starts, but Juliette shakes her head.
“I don’t want this. I didn’t choose this, or you , so just fuck off, Kacic.”
Kacic’s mouth falls open, and she blinks rapidly. She looks shell-shocked, sputtering as she tries to find words to refute Juliette.
But Juliette won’t be beaten again. She grabs her bags and slings them over her arm, storming out of the locker room on bare feet. The door creaks as it shuts, leaving Kacic alone with her trophy.
It isn’t until Juliette makes it back to her hotel room that the numbness breaks and her eyes sting with tears.
She buries her head under the pillows and lets herself sob.
Luckily, none of her sisters come and try to comfort her.
They will in the morning, commiserating over the loss with room service waffles.
Sure, Octavia and Claudia have lost Grand Slam finals in the past, but never to their soulmate.
This is a specific kind of humiliation that burns in Juliette’s throat.
Before the match, Juliette knew she wanted to beat Kacic, of course, but her need to be better now runs far deeper, burrows into the marrow of her bones.
Juliette forces herself out of bed and to the desk.
She knows what she’s doing is childish, but she grabs the marker out of the drawer and scribbles over the name on her wrist. And for a moment, she feels lighter.
She knows it will wash off, but she also knows she doesn’t have to be with her soulmate.
She may not be able to control who her soulmate is, but she can control her career.
She needs , more than air and water, to win.
And she will. No matter what it costs.