Chapter Nineteen Juliette
NINETEEN JULIETTE
The first time Juliette entered the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, she was four, clutching her mother’s hand and afraid of the crowds surrounding the statues and art.
Her mother had distracted her by positioning her in front of each statue and telling her stories about the subjects, even adding funny voices to make her laugh.
Now, in the empty halls, the museum is a lonesome sight.
Juliette hears Luca’s footsteps catching up to her as she lifts her camera to snap a photo of the Farnese Bull .
It’s a complex carving of Dirce, the first wife of the King of Thebes, tied to a wild bull.
It’s a horrific image, one Juliette has never forgotten.
She circles the sculpture to see Dirce’s face; strangely serene considering the bull’s hooves are about to crush her.
“Do you know Dirce means ‘double’ in Greek?” Juliette asks. She snaps a photo before turning to Luca. “You see she has a carving on her right wrist?”
Luca nods, stepping closer and lacing her hands behind her back.
She leans forward to inspect the chiseled letters.
“If you peak around the edge here.” Juliette points to Dirce’s left hand, clutching the leg of either Amphion or Zethus; Juliette can never tell.
They’re twins. “You can see another carving here. She has double soulmarks.”
Luca blinks. “How did they know? Is it written?”
Juliette shakes her head. “She most likely didn’t. This is a Roman copy from the Greek original. And, I know you don’t speak Greek, but this second name is Dionysis.”
Luca’s nose scrunches in confusion. “What?”
Juliette grins, glad she retained something from her mother’s endless history lessons. “It’s believed that people would carve their gods’ names onto their wrists as a sign of devotion.”
“Oh,” Luca says, “so it doesn’t mean that Dionysis exists and was soulmates with this woman?”
Juliette shrugs. “I mean, he might’ve been. But the point is, a lot of art reflects the world’s beliefs of soulmates. It’s fascinating.”
“Fascinating is one way to put it,” Luca says, grimacing. “Carving into your own body still isn’t very pleasant.”
“A lot of history isn’t very pleasant.”
Luca’s head tilts, pondering Juliette with her intense eyes.
“Come on, let me show you something,” Juliette adds, hoping the exhibit she wants is still in the same place.
Luca follows quietly, a step behind. Juliette wants to say something to try to mend the broken pathways between them. She wants to shove Luca against a wall and demand that they can just enjoy each other without feelings or soulmate nonsense getting in the way. What had Luca meant by not again ?
Juliette knows Luca doesn’t owe her any answers, but it nags at her anyway, like a blister.
She fiddles with her camera, her stomach tied into a complex labyrinth of knots. Why had she taken that photo of Luca?
Juliette feels like a fool.
She knows in the heat of the moment, she’d wanted to capture the softened, vulnerable look on Luca’s face.
When she’d touched her cheek, so quick, barely there, featherlight, Luca had flushed, a blotchy stain of heat, and her eyes had darkened with something akin to lust. Maybe it was only temptation.
God or the universe or fate making fun of her.
So what if Luca had unwound every tense muscle from her back?
So what if Luca had slipped behind the barriers she’d built and seen the rot but decided to hold her hand anyway?
So what if kissing Luca was like an ice bath after a long match, painful in its exquisite torture, but comforting in how right it felt?
Juliette finds the Maidens precisely where she remembers them being. They’re displayed front and center within a case, surrounded by their plaster brethren.
“Oh,” Luca says.
Juliette watches Luca take in the room, the gravity of the phantoms of death. “Are these…?” Luca breaks off, swallowing. She looks almost guilty, as if it’s her fault that Vesuvius erupted and covered thousands in his acidic ash.
“Yes,” Juliette answers. The exhibit is dim, the air heavy and somber, even though all it holds are plaster molds of what used to be real, living people. Now those people are nothing but decayed dust, lost to the unforgiving nature of a volcano.
Luca follows her to the heart of the exhibit. “The Maidens. Although, not really maidens, because they’re actually men,” Juliette explains.
“What does the plaque say?” Luca asks, her shoulder brushing Juliette as she leans in to try to read it. Juliette shivers at the silky touch of Luca’s jacket against her bare arm.
“It’s discussing the discourse of whether the two were soulmates.” Juliette has heard it all before, especially her mother’s rant about it being unlikely because the actual percentage of soulmate matches in the ancient world was quite low without social media to foster connections.
Juliette looks at Luca’s face as she studies the two figures, embraced together with one’s head angled into the other’s chest.
“It would be nice if they were,” Luca says. She meets Juliette’s gaze.
“Does it matter if they were?” Juliette challenges. Luca’s brow scrunches, as if the mere thought distresses her. “Can it not just be that they were two humans who, knowing the end was near, clung to each other because they wanted comfort?”
Luca blinks and whips her head back around to stare at the plaster replicas of the bodies long gone.
“Isn’t that more romantic?” Juliette asks, her throat tight.
Luca shakes her head, still staring intently at the sculptures. “No.” Luca falls silent and brushes her knuckles over her sternum, pressing in, as if she’s trying to relieve pressure. “Maybe.”
“I believe we have some choice over who we love,” Juliette says fiercely. She wants a response, a crack in the armor. “And that love is more powerful because it’s real .”
“Soulmate love is real,” Luca snaps.
“But is it? If the only reason you’re with someone is because they’re your soulmate?” Juliette presses.
Luca’s mouth twists into a delectable pout as she considers. “What does it matter, if your soulmate doesn’t even want to give it a chance?” Luca spins on her heel and marches out of the exhibit.
“Luca!” Juliette stares after her. A wriggling, greasy feeling unfurls in her chest, and she looks up at the ceiling. It’s cool inside the museum, but suddenly she is far too hot.
Why had she said that? Why had she said it like that ? She had wanted to open the barriers between them, not snap them shut with a half-condemnation of soulmates and love.
Juliette wonders if she’s the stupidest person on the planet. Maybe she should crush herself under one of the statues. She would genuinely consider it if it weren’t unethical and illegal.
She heads out of the Pompeii exhibit and follows the noise of chatter into the Great Hall of the Sundial.
Tables are artfully arranged in a spiral around a raised dais in the center of the hall, all the chairs filled with glamorous rich people swirling wine and whispering to each other.
It’s a sharp contrast to the naked statues standing sentinel along the walls.
The organizers of the gala and the Connolly Cup are giving their usual spiel, joking about the competition and making the crowd chuckle politely.
Juliette barely hears it, her stomach twisted into knots and her camera heavy in her hands.
She lifts her gaze to the warm twinkle of the lights strung around the ceiling that alternate casting the frescoes in red and blue.
Juliette slides along the back wall, finding Claudia’s mass of golden curls and the shimmer of her emerald dress. When she sidles up, Claudia’s fingers curl around her wrist and squeeze. Juliette gives her a reassuring smile, and Claudia lets go with a nod.
Slowly, Juliette lifts her camera and snaps candid photos of their group, freezing them as they are in this moment.
Claudia glows, rosy and wild under a particular shaft of scarlet, while Octavia gleams like ink and ivory under the blue.
Remi is half-and-half, red and blue carving her features into elegant slices of each, her dark eyes reflecting pools of ruby and cerulean.
Her teeth flash as she laughs with Nadia.
In shadow is Xinya, but Juliette catches the softest half-smile as Remi glances in her direction.
The Fierce Four are onstage, glistening in the full spotlight.
Karoline Kitzinger and Payton Calimeris in crimson and maroon respectively.
The Dancer and the Wolf, side by side, sharing glances.
Karoline with her lashes lowered, mouth moving as she whispers something to Payton that makes her giggle into the back of her hand.
Juliette snaps a photo just as Karoline skates her fingers along Payton’s bare shoulder, pushing her curls away.
Aurore Cadieux is speaking, her French accent ribboning over her words with effortless charm.
She glows as she smugly talks about their hard-fought victory.
Her cocaptain, Victoria Ferreyra, is not looking at anyone onstage but instead at their cluster at the back of the hall.
She wiggles her fingers in a wave at them, and Juliette catches it in a photo.
She’s the only one so far who notices Juliette taking photos, snapping them in rapid succession.
She knows they might be blurry when she gets them developed, but it will reflect the whirlwind nature of their lives.
Time rushes by in flicks, but when she turns the camera to Luca Kacic, it grinds to a halt.
She is a bit distant from the rest of them, eyes upturned to the gleaming lights.
She looks pensive, soft in a way she rarely is on court, but often is in real life.
The planes of her face are bathed in warm crimson, soaking her hair in red like it’s blood, and her lower lip is caught in her teeth.
She releases it just as Juliette clicks, catching the slight parting of her mouth.
She selfishly goes to snap more, but Luca catches her, looking right into the lens.
Juliette jolts, unsure if she caught the photo or if it’ll be as blurry as the rest of them. She lowers the camera and looks away.
Juliette barely has any time to think before they’re swept into a line and walked up to the dais single file.
The cameras flash and generous rounds of applause echo through the cavernous hall.
She goes to their side of the stage, bathed in crimson light.
She stands beside Karoline, who winks at her.
Juliette flushes, wondering if Karoline caught her taking pictures too.
She glances to her other side and finds Luca.
The bright lights thread through her hair and make it gleam like bronze.
She squints through the spotlight, and Juliette sees her swallow, fingers shaking before she shoves them in her pockets.
They’re close, but the distance feels immense between them.
Juliette forces herself to smile, sucking in her stomach and angling her body to be perfect as thousands of pictures are taken from every angle. Nausea swirls in her stomach, her pulse so loud in her ears that she doesn’t hear a single word from the tournament directors.
Juliette looks up at the ceiling, at the wash of grays and whites surrounding angelic figures, the riots of red mingling with cool blues to show off the sleek religious imagery nestled in the clouds.
It is right then, in this Great Hall, surrounded by her friends and family, by thousands of eager strangers, that Juliette realizes she’s never felt more alone. It’s as if she’s in the fresco, a painted portrait of herself being stared at and admired, but never heard, never seen for who she is.
A touch to her wrist brings her back to the gala and she looks down to find Luca staring at her. She isn’t smiling, her face a carefully blank mask, but she tilts her head, and her eyes soften with concern.
Juliette wants to point up at the ceiling in explanation, but she knows she’d look like a lunatic. There’s nothing up there, and she can’t convey her thoughts in a few short words. Luca dips her chin, brows raising, and Juliette nods.
She may not be alone, but she is lonely.
She locks that thought away to explore later.
For now, she has rich people to impress, smiles to give, and money to collect for mental health and addict charities. There is no room for loneliness here.
After hours of charming the pocketbooks off glamorous women and laughing along with the stupid jokes from cigar-smoking men, the gala winds down and they’re ushered back to the cars.
Juliette stares out the window, the conversation around her crashing and rolling like the waves, but she stays on the shore, quiet. She turns her thoughts over and over again, pondering them like some kind of puzzle.
Against all of her notions about Luca, Juliette can no longer deny that she wants more. Maybe that is the key that needs to be slid into the lock of her loneliness. She’s had a taste of Luca, and now her body needs more. It might be some biological response to kissing your soulmate.
Whatever it is, Juliette will satiate the urge and be done with it. She can return to her normal life and play tennis and win. She doesn’t have to make this a big deal to herself or to Luca. It can be exactly what this weekend was meant to be—silly, low-stakes fun.
Her thoughts are settled by the time their half-hour drive is done and they’re piling out of the car.
Claudia corners her at the stairs, grabbing onto Juliette’s shoulder as she peels off her six-inch heels.
“Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere. It’s the last night, we’re playing games.
” There is a mischievous quirk to her mouth that has Juliette deciding to play the role of annoying little sister.
“No, Claudia, I’m tired,” Juliette whines, laying it on thick.
Claudia shakes her head, pearl earrings jangling. “It’s tradition.” She pinches Juliette’s cheek, and she swats her away. “Don’t make me sic Remi on you.”
Juliette rolls her eyes. “Fine. Give me five to get out of this.” She plucks at her tight bodice.
Claudia kisses the cheek she pinched. “I love it when you cooperate nicely with my plans,” she says with saccharine sweetness.