Chapter Sixteen Luca
SIXTEEN LUCA
Luca digs her knuckles into her sternum, wishing she could release the anxious pressure building in her chest as she stands in front of Juliette’s door. She wants to turn tail and run.
Karoline had told them that Juliette’s scans came back negative for any injury, but she was put on bedrest. Still, she knows if she avoids Juliette and the role she played in her fall, the guilt will consume her.
It already eats at her stomach, an acidic inferno that makes her palms slick with sweat.
So after dinner, her guilt drives her upstairs, followed by the wolf whistles and cheers of the other women.
It’s unfortunate that their tenuous relationship has been on display for months.
It’s like a soap opera, and Luca wants to turn the channel.
With a final deep breath, Luca gathers her courage and knocks.
For a moment, there’s only silence. She wonders if Juliette is sleeping or if she’s purposefully ignoring visitors. She leans closer, trying to listen for snoring or soft sounds of life beyond the door.
It opens, and Luca nearly tumbles into Juliette. Again.
They’re close, too close, her head curved down slightly and Juliette leaning against the doorframe. For a hesitant beat, they stare at each other. Juliette’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed, such a deep brown that Luca is reminded of the espresso Juliette loves to drink.
Luca steps back and clears her throat. She doesn’t want to intrude, especially because Juliette doesn’t look great.
There is a barely there tremble to her shoulders as she gazes up at Luca, her cheeks are ruddy, and a pillow line slashes across her cheekbone.
She’s wearing an oversize T-shirt that exposes the long column of her throat and the edge of her collarbone.
“Are you all right?” Luca asks softly as her gaze roves over Juliette’s face.
Juliette shrugs. “Why are you here?” she asks, equally quiet.
Luca glances into the room. “Can we talk?”
Juliette blinks at her, slowly, as if she’s processing the words at half the speed. “What about?”
Her knotted stomach lurches. It’s now or never. “Are you still hurting from earlier?”
Juliette narrows her eyes and shrugs.
Luca slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out a slender gold glass bottle.
Juliette’s brows furrow. “Erm, it’s massage oil.
I read online this morning that a soulmate’s touch can help heal superficial cuts and bruises.
My back is almost entirely fine from the sunburn, so I thought I’d return the favor.
” As the words pour from her mouth, she realizes how strange this must seem. “It’s fine if you don’t want—”
“Sure,” Juliette says, turning around and vanishing into the room, leaving Luca slightly openmouthed.
She did not think that would work.
Fear and desire fight in her stomach, and she is suddenly very aware of how scratchy her breath is in her throat. She tries to swallow around the dry lump and follows Juliette into the room, gently shutting the door behind her.
“Luca,” Juliette starts, and it sounds like her name is punched out of her. The sound of it on Juliette’s lips brushes down Luca’s spine, and she shivers.
“Yes,” Luca says as the silence stretches awkwardly.
Juliette’s arms wrap around her middle, and she shifts on her feet. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, looking up. Her expression is a mix of guilt and tenderness, her big dark eyes flickering in the low light from the amber lamp.
Luca hadn’t expected that, hadn’t prepared a response for an apology. There is too much space between them, too many unspoken words that Luca doesn’t know how to say, so she swallows them. “Okay,” she says finally, because it’s the only thing she can make herself say.
“It’s not okay,” Juliette says, her arms falling loose at her sides. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. “The other night, on the beach, I—I…” She stutters, pauses, and collects herself before resuming. “It was cruel and insensitive. I know we’re rivals, but you didn’t deserve that.”
Luca picks at the label of the massage oil bottle, still entirely baffled as to what she should say.
She should be used to this. She’s never been anyone’s first choice.
Not as a kid, not as an adult, not even with Vladimir.
The only reason Vladimir even considered being her coach was because the kid he was supposed to train with was sick that day at the club in Zadar.
But Luca can’t tell Juliette any of that. She doesn’t know how to voice how badly it hurts to not even be chosen by the one person who was supposed to choose her. “It’s fine,” she lies.
Juliette’s eyes cut through her, and she shakes her head. Her curls tumble around her jaw. “It isn’t.” She moves another half-step closer, and a cramp of longing spasms across Luca’s chest. “It isn’t fine. It was horrible, and I had no right to say that to you.”
“Was it true?” Luca asks, because apparently, she’s a masochist.
Juliette’s gaze drops, and she heaves out a rattling sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she murmurs, looking up at Luca, her eyes shining. “I think I may have been wrong about you.”
Luca’s breath hitches, and she can’t breathe. “About what?”
“I’ve watched you, Luca. I see you,” Juliette says with such sincerity that Luca’s eyes sting. “I think we understand each other, even if I don’t know how to feel about you. About us.” She looks down again.
“We don’t need to know,” Luca whispers, latching on to the sliver of hope that maybe they don’t have to hate each other and exchange scathing words. “We can try to be ourselves. Try to be friends.”
“Friends?” Juliette asks, tasting the word as if it’s foreign to her.
“Yeah, friends,” Luca repeats.
“I’m messed up, Luca.” Juliette chews on her lower lip. Luca suddenly has the urge to reach out and brush her thumb against Juliette’s lips to stop her from adopting that nervous tic.
“Me too,” Luca says instead, and she gives Juliette a half-smile. “But that’s okay.” Regardless of—and perhaps because of—who they are, their relationship will never be storybook-perfect.
Juliette stares at her, as if searching her face for something, and Luca is suddenly certain Juliette can see through her skin and bones to the wriggling mass of anxiety in her chest.
“So,” Luca says, inhaling deeply, “how about that massage?” She holds up the bottle again, and Juliette gives her the barest hint of a smile before she nods.
JULIETTE
Juliette never thought she’d feel like a virgin again.
It’s ridiculous. She’s trembling like she’s about to crawl into bed with her first boyfriend and have sloppy, uncoordinated, and frankly dreadful sex.
The best part of that experience had been the anticipation before it.
The way he’d slowly lifted the shirt over his head and Juliette had lost her mind staring at the expanse of his perfectly imperfect acne-pocked skin.
But now, as she grabs the hem of her shirt, she feels like she is back in that moment. She is facing away from Luca—she absolutely does not analyze the fact that Kacic has changed to Luca in her mind—and she’s trembling.
She shucks her shirt to the side, grateful she put on a bandeau before opening the door. She twists her curls into a bun on the top of her head so they’re out of the way.
Juliette glances over her shoulder. Luca is hard to read at the best of times, hidden behind a wall of iron and snark. But now, in the half glow of saffron light, she looks mesmerized. Her honeyed hazel eyes, dark and shaded, trail down the line of Juliette’s back.
“Like what you see?” Juliette asks, trying to tease, but her voice is too shaky for it to be convincing.
Luca’s gaze snaps back to her, and pink floods her face. “Erm,” she stutters, and then she licks her lips, and heat pools like magma in Juliette’s gut.
“I hope this works,” Juliette says, trying not to think at all as she gingerly gets back into bed. She arranges herself facedown on the pillows, curls her arm beneath them, and turns her head to one side, angling her wrist so it doesn’t ache. “My back hurts like a bitch.”
The air is thick and heavy around them. She twists her head to the other side to look at Luca.
She blows a rogue curl off her face and sees Luca sitting on the very edge of the bed, rolling the oil bottle between her palms. “You’ll need to be a lot closer than that,” Juliette says, letting her voice dip low.
It’s not quite a command, but Luca shivers anyway.
When she looks at Juliette, she’s hesitant. “You want me on top of you?” she asks quietly.
Heat explodes in Juliette’s stomach, and she nods, not trusting her voice. She didn’t expect Luca to phrase it like that .
Luca moves slowly, giving Juliette plenty of time to tell her to stop. She swings her long legs up onto the bed and gets onto her knees. Juliette twists her head the other way, and her neck protests.
A light touch to her midback has her tensing.
“It’s just me,” Luca says, as if it would be anyone else. But the lilt of her voice loosens some of the tension in Juliette’s chest, and she shifts, letting her legs fall slightly open. Her belly softens, and she sinks deeper into the mattress.
Juliette is very aware that Luca has her knees on either side of her hips, the warm weight hovering just above her. The bottle clinks, loud in the stifling silence. Maybe she should suggest putting on music, but her jaw is wired shut, her body cemented beneath Luca’s.
She hears the oil slick between Luca’s palms, rubbing back and forth as she warms it. Juliette clutches the pillow under her chin and tries to remember how to breathe.
It feels like an age before Luca’s hands touch beneath her shoulder blades, cupping them gently. Just like Juliette did for her the day before. For a moment, Luca is still. Her hands are warm, slick with massage oil, and then she moves.
Juliette never paid too much attention to hands, but maybe she should have.