Chapter Eighteen Juliette #2
“Hit drop shots,” a familiar voice brushes against the back of Luca’s neck.
Luca tries not to startle, but her head snaps to the side.
Juliette leans over the bench to Luca’s left.
Her dark eyes glitter in the light, a smile playing on the edge of her mouth.
“Octavia is struggling with her knee. If you can get a drop shot to her backhand side, you could get some easy points. But you gotta follow it in and put away some volleys.”
“Okay,” Luca says dumbly, her eyes falling to Juliette’s mouth.
“You can do that, can’t you, Kacic?” Juliette teases, her voice full of uncharacteristic warmth.
“I’ll manage,” Luca says thickly, her brain frazzled by the proximity of Juliette Ricci.
She brushes her fingers over Luca’s bare shoulders, leaving goose bumps in her wake as she walks back to the couch.
“You got this, Luca!” Zoe calls. The sound of her clapping breaks Luca from her stupor.
Luca hits twenty-eight drop shots throughout the match and wins twenty-five of them.
Juliette gives her no more advice, but she does cheer whenever Luca hits a good shot. And she’s the first one to high-five Luca when she wins.
Juliette and Claudia put together their sister energy and win their first set while Luca is showering and eating.
It takes Luca until halfway though their second set to step behind Juliette. “Try to hit a kick serve into Xinya’s backhand. She’s weaker on that side,” Luca says.
Juliette glances up from under her devastatingly long lashes. “Are you my coach now too?” she asks coyly, before bouncing off the bench and onto the court.
An embarrassed flush creeps up Luca’s neck. She hides behind her phone, but Nicky sends her a steady stream of tweets about how uncomfortable Luca looks.
@paytoninafountain
kacic and ricci are giving payton and karoline vibes circa 1998. they can’t stand each other, and I can’t wait for the chapter in one of their tell-all memoirs that describes how much they HATED each other.
@storiesofwoe
jules got run into but luca is the one giving butthurt
@NIKEFEMME
Go on kacic, give us nothing queen!
Claudia and Juliette win their doubles match, giving their team their first lead. 7–4 heading into the final day.
It is, unfortunately, their last win of the Connolly Cup.
Luca decides she’s just going to avoid Juliette, but it’s hard to stay away from her.
Every time she turns, they’re scraping elbows and shoulders, always next to each other, no matter how Luca tries to maneuver to have Zoe and Claudia between them.
Eventually, Luca either succeeds or Juliette finally takes the hint to let Luca just try to be. The mood on their side is thoroughly crushed after Nadia beats Zoe to put Aurore and Victoria’s blue team up 10–7.
And when Claudia and Zoe lose a heartbreaking tiebreaker to Xinya and Remi, the last thing anyone wants to do is hang around and tease playfully.
“Aurore is never going to let this go,” Payton grumbles as they head back to the locker room on Sunday after the trophy ceremony. “She’s so annoying when she wins.”
Once they’re back at the villa, Luca wants to crawl under the covers and sleep, but unfortunately there is still one more mandatory event.
Her legs are aching and her left shoulder is tight after so many matches in a row, so she stands in the shower under the hot spray until it unwinds the tension from her tired muscles.
She doesn’t want to think of Juliette, but it’s hard not to.
Juliette has wriggled her way under Luca’s skin, and there’s no escaping her, now that Luca knows Juliette wants her too.
The kiss circles in her head, the feeling of Juliette’s body against hers making heat flush across her skin.
After her shower, Luca crams an energy bar into her mouth and stares at the tailored suit hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
The ending gala is where rich tennis fans buy seats at tables so they can stare at their favorite players like zoo animals.
And Karoline made it clear that they had to be on their best behavior and charm the billionaires into whipping out their checkbooks.
Maybe if her team had won, Luca would look forward to this celebratory gala.
Her stomach roils at the thought of another social event, but she wrangles herself into the suit.
“You are utterly hopeless,” Luca says to herself as she takes in the sight of her still hapless and woefully crooked bow tie. She tries one final time to get the bow tie right. It’s not the worst attempt, so she leaves it, shrugging on her cropped suit jacket before leaving her room.
Downstairs, the rest of the women are dressed and ready to impress. Immediately, Luca’s eyes search for Juliette. As expected, she’s standing between two of her sisters, and Luca has to exert a considerable effort to keep her mouth shut.
Juliette always looks incredible, especially in casual athleisure, but in a beautiful dress, it’s impossible not to stare.
The dress is shimmering and deep blue, strapless, and cupping her body, cinched tight to leave nothing to the imagination.
A high slit shows off one of her long golden legs, the other covered by a rippling flow of silken fabric.
The setting sun gilds her curls, which fall loose around her shoulders, only a few pieces pulled back and held with a sapphire pin.
Her elegant hands hold the sleek body of a vintage camera, and her nails are trimmed short and painted the exact color of her dress.
When Juliette glances at her, Luca’s gaze drops, unable to meet her eyes. She doesn’t want to see what Juliette’s reaction to her will be. If she’ll be angry or hurt—or worse, indifferent.
Luca is distracted by the sight of Juliette’s bedazzled blue Adidas tennis shoes with lighter blue satin ribbon for laces. It’s cute.
“You look nice,” a silken voice purrs in Luca’s ear, and she jumps. Octavia has abandoned her family to stand next to Luca. “I like the suit. Bold choice.” She brushes invisible lint off Luca’s shoulder.
“Thank you. It’s more comfortable than a dress.”
Octavia glances down at the black satin dress clinging to her slender frame.
It’s simple, but with her dark red lips, blown-out, glossy hair, and shining diamond jewelry, she looks ready to be the center of attention at this gala.
“I’m sure it is,” she says with a smile. “Maybe next year we’ll all wear them.”
Luca isn’t sure what Octavia wants from her, but she’s saved from responding by Karoline ushering them out of the villa and to the cars. Luca finds herself crammed in the far backseat between Octavia and Remi. Juliette, Claudia, and Nadia sit in front of them.
As soon as they enter the city proper, Remi presses her face against the glass to try to see Vesuvius against the skyline. Claudia points it out in the distance, a dark rising mound on the horizon.
The car weaves through Naples traffic with vigor and speed.
Luca presses her fingers into the seat in front of her to keep from swerving into Octavia.
She must use a similar perfume to Juliette’s, because Luca’s senses are invaded by the intoxicating sweetness of grapefruit.
She tries to focus instead on the bright lights laid out like winking fairies that weave between ancient structures and modern builds.
Not a moment too soon, their destination comes into view through the front windshield.
Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, or MANN, is a long, rectangular building painted deep crimson, framed by weathered gray stone.
The cars stop in front of it, and Luca tries to climb out without stepping on Octavia’s dress.
“This city is extraordinary,” Octavia says, turning to her.
“I always miss it when I’m away.” She is even more extraordinary in the shimmering lights strung from the palms above them.
She is long and graceful, her high cheekbones painted an artful and rosy pink, her brows arching and elegant, but she is completely impassive.
Luca is aware she’s staring, and Octavia lets her for a moment before holding out her arm.
“Shall we?” she asks, her crimson lips lifting at the corners for a barely there smile.
Her eyes, almond-shaped and piercingly green, see through her, and Luca suddenly panics that Juliette told her sisters about their kiss.
Luca nods, unable to find her voice, and links their elbows together. In heels, Octavia is the same height as Luca.
“Have you been to the museum before?” Luca asks as they walk up the stairs through the flashing cameras and into the lobby.
“I have, yes. My mother is a historian in Rome. I imagine that will explain our unusual names,” Octavia says.
“Oh, yes, Octavius became Augustus, didn’t he? First emperor of Rome?”
“Very good. I didn’t pick you as a history buff,” Octavia says, clearly impressed.
Luca ducks her head. “I watched the TV show Rome over Christmas.”
Octavia chuckles, and Luca counts it as a win.
“Octavia Minor was also the wife of Mark Antony. There is a porticus named after her in Rome,” Octavia says. “I guess I should be thankful she didn’t name me Cali.”
Luca doesn’t get the joke and Octavia pats her arm. “Caligula. The worst emperor in Roman history? Well, at the very least, his name meant Little Boot, so I’m grateful it’s not my name.”
“Octavia seems to fit you,” Luca says. It feels like marble in Luca’s mouth—strong and uncrackable, but beautiful and polished.