Chapter Eighteen Juliette
EIGHTEEN JULIETTE
The rapid flicking of the overhead light on and off wakes Juliette from a fitful slumber.
“What the hell?” She tosses her arm over her eyes.
The bed rocks and bounces. “Time to wake up!” a familiar voice singsongs.
“Fuck off, Remi,” Juliette mutters. She feels hungover, even though she hasn’t had a drink since that night on the beach. Her eyes burn, her throat is sore, and there is an unpleasant and frankly annoying ache in the center of her chest.
She would never admit it to any living soul, but after Luca left unceremoniously, Juliette had fallen asleep crying.
She allowed herself the grace to wallow in her self-pity and overwhelming feelings.
She didn’t know what she was crying for after a while.
She tells herself it was the fear of hurting her wrist again, a catharsis after an emotional day.
But she knows that it has everything to do with the way Luca had behaved—all over her one minute and pushing her away the next. She wouldn’t put it past Luca to try to mess with her head, but she didn’t expect herself to fall for it so thoroughly.
“Come on, Jules,” Remi says, nudging her hip.
“Leave me alone.” Juliette lowers her arms and finds Remi lying next to her on her stomach, her head pillowed on her arms, and her soft dark eyes sparkling with barely contained mischief. She looks happy with herself, like she knows something Juliette doesn’t.
“Nope,” Remi chirps, kicking her legs back and forth like a teen girl from a 1990s commercial.
“What?” Juliette isn’t in the mood for Remi’s games. She stretches out her leg and kicks Remi’s calf.
Remi leans closer, undeterred by Juliette’s attempts to shove her away. “You and Luca Kacic?” She wiggles her brows.
“Nothing happened,” Juliette lies, turning on her side to grab her phone.
She has a few missed calls and messages from Livia.
She winces as she reads through them, the panic evident in her rapid sending of the texts.
By the time she gets to the end of them, clearly someone had called and finally soothed her.
PICCOLA POLPETTA
you better be okay or I will kill Luca.
(I don’t care if she’s your soulmate btw.)
hope you feel better soon though xoxo
“I’m sorry, Jules,” Remi murmurs.
Juliette glances at her. “For what?”
Remi nudges her again. “Luca was going to come up here last night. I guess she didn’t.”
“Oh,” Juliette says, swallowing hard. “Well, she did.” She is grateful her voice doesn’t crack.
“Oh,” Remi says, interest piqued.
Juliette curses herself. “Shut it. Nothing happened. She just gave me a massage.”
“A massage!” Remi’s eyes widen, and a smile sprawls across her face. “You’re kidding! Then what?”
“Nothing!” Remi is the last person she wants to talk to about Luca and their kiss.
Remi’s pout is nearly compelling. “Come on,” she whines.
Juliette huffs out a sigh. Even if her head is swimming and her heart aches, her body thrums with a renewed, electric energy. “She gave me a massage because a soulmate’s touch cures little ailments. Like bruises and cuts.”
Remi’s mouth quirks into the start of a smile and Juliette looks away. She doesn’t know why she admitted it to Remi, but it’s not like Remi didn’t suspect it already. Still, saying it aloud makes it feel like her ribs are too tight around her lungs.
“It’s true,” Remi says, nodding solemnly.
Juliette raises her brows, seeing this as an opportunity to divert attention away from herself, but she’s also curious. “Oh, yeah?” She touches Remi’s wrist, closely wrapped in black and bracelets.
Remi rolls her eyes, equal parts annoyed and amused.
“Why are you keeping it a secret?” Juliette asks, looking up at the ceiling.
For a couple of heartbeats, Remi remains silent until she finally sighs, long and heavy, as if the weight of the secret lies on her shoulders. “She wants to keep it a secret.”
“Why?” Juliette turns over, stuffing a pillow under her head so she can look at Remi fully.
“She just wants to wait for the right time, y’know?” Remi rolls over onto her back, flopping back with a heaved sigh.
“Is she on tour?” Juliette asks.
Slowly, with her lower lip caught in her teeth, Remi nods. Some of the tension in Juliette’s chest unwinds. Maybe Remi isn’t as much of a gossiper as she thought. Maybe Remi is looking for someone to confide in about the complexities of having a rival tennis player as a soulmate.
“Are you happy?” Juliette asks softly.
Remi tilts her chin back, her grin genuine and utterly luminous. “Yes,” she breathes, as if saying it too loud will snatch the happiness from her.
“That’s all that matters then, right?” Juliette asks.
“Yeah,” Remi says, her smile softer, but she still glows with incandescent happiness.
Juliette swallows the sudden bile of jealousy in her throat and rolls onto her back to open Twitter.
“Oh, no,” she mutters as she scrolls through about a dozen tweets about her collision with Kacic.
@sexyalmasibae
i’d say this is sabotage before wimby but we all know ricci is shit on grass xD
@cozyclaudia
there is no “charity” between luca & jules it seems lol
“What is it?” Remi asks, and Juliette tilts her phone to show her the feed. “Yikes.”
“That’s an understatement,” Juliette grumbles, tossing her phone to the end of the bed, as if that’ll rid her of the internet gossip. She presses her knuckles into her eyes to try to block out the thoughts of the media scrutiny.
At big events, like WTA 1000s and Slams, the spotlight is glaring and stressful.
It’s hard not to shy away from it, and Juliette is not the best at keeping the media from spinning her words and intent.
Some players, like Remi, are better at it, but even she isn’t immune to the media’s criticism—of her inauthentic schmooze, of the way she reacts after games.
They definitely lay into her more harshly than the white players, and while Juliette has certainly rolled her eyes at Remi’s tendency to be openly arrogant after a particularly thorough win, she has never been worse than Juliette.
And sometimes, Remi deserves to be a little cocky.
She’s one of the best players in the world, and Juliette rarely sees any of the same criticism lobbed at the men.
A rapid knocking on the door pulls her from her musings. “Go away,” she calls, recognizing Claudia’s annoyingly loud knock.
“Too late!” she chirps as she throws open the door. The bed creaks as she jumps onto it.
Juliette lowers her hands to her chest to glare at her. Claudia wriggles her way between her and Remi, lying on her belly. “Who pissed in your oatmeal today?” she asks, pouting at her.
“Cornflakes,” Remi says, exasperated.
“What?” Claudia asks, scrunching her nose.
“It’s ‘who pissed in your cornflakes?’ Y’know, forget it.” Remi shoots Claudia a look that says don’t ask about Jules , and Juliette huffs.
“I’m right here. I can literally see you making that face.”
“Is it your wrist?” Claudia asks, her playfulness dissolving into concern.
Juliette rubs her wristbone, but there isn’t even a dull ache anymore. “No, it’s fine. It’s Twitter.”
“Oh, hell, Jules, I told you to delete it. They’ve been hounding you this year.” Claudia shakes her head and pushes off her belly to sit cross-legged at the end of the bed.
“I know, but you know Livia. She won’t let me.” It’s a poor excuse, and Claudia’s eyes immediately narrow.
“Livia isn’t even five feet four and hasn’t worked out a day in her life. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of her.”
“She’s surprisingly terrifying,” Remi chimes in.
Juliette looks at her, thoroughly confused.
“Oh, I see her in y’all’s box.” She shrugs, as if that explains anything at all.
Claudia rolls her eyes. “You two are ridiculous.” She swings off the bed. “We’re leaving in an hour.” She swats Remi’s leg as she passes. “Do not be late!” she calls over her shoulder.
LUCA
Juliette insists she’s well enough to play her singles match. Luca keeps her mouth shut because it’s none of her business.
The Italian crowd chants Juliette’s name when she comes out for the first match. She soaks in the praise, glowing in the bright lights. Luca is entranced by her. She keeps trying to look away, but every time she does, her chest tightens. She needs to look.
It’d be weird if she didn’t look at her teammate, though. Luca decides to just look at her as much as she wants. She can almost convince herself it’s so that she can give advice to help Juliette win.
Not that it matters because Luca hangs back during the changeovers, letting Karoline, Payton, and Claudia encourage Juliette as she loses horrifically to Xinya.
Luca’s advice probably wouldn’t have been helpful anyway. Stop double faulting. Get your second serve in. Don’t push the point too early and miss. Move your feet.
All things she’s sure Juliette is thinking herself and would fix if she could.
Luca is saved from sitting on the bench for the second set because she has to prepare for her match against Octavia.
But she can’t escape the televisions in the locker rooms, even if she tried.
From using the arm bands to stretch out her shoulders to warming up her legs on the bikes, she’s forced to watch Juliette lose.
Once the game is over, Juliette seems in good spirits, grinning as she hugs Xinya at the net. Aurore and Victoria pat Juliette on the shoulders, sympathetic to her loss. It looks like Victoria asks about Juliette’s back and she shrugs it off.
Luca shakes out her wrists and hands, sinking into her competitive headspace. Because Juliette lost, they’re down 4 points to 1.
The crowd screams for Octavia like they did for Juliette, loving all the Italian representation. The match begins slowly. While Luca wants to win, this is still just an exhibition game, and that lack of pressure keeps her loose as she plays.
On the first changeover, Karoline hands her a water bottle. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Any advice?” Luca asks as she takes a swig.