Chapter Twenty-Five Juliette
TWENTY-FIVE JULIETTE
Juliette watches with overwhelming fondness as Luca succumbs to sleep.
Her head tilts to the side, her lashes fluttering, and within moments she’s snoring lightly.
Luca is peaceful in her sleep, without her usual frown or iron-hard exterior.
She looks nearly girlish, sweet in a way that Juliette has never seen before.
She sinks farther into the couch, one hand on Luca’s knee and the other on her thigh, content to sit and trace little circles against Luca’s skin with her thumb.
As the credits roll, Juliette gently nudges Luca’s knee. “Luca.”
“Five more minutes,” Luca mutters, eyes still squeezed tight.
“It isn’t good to sleep on the couch all night.” Juliette glances at her watch. It’s barely past seven, but she knows Luca will try to keep sleeping in her drugged-out haze. “Luca,” she repeats with fond exasperation.
Luca grumbles and curls her face into her hood. “What do you want?” she whines. Her eyes crack open, and she blinks against the light.
“I don’t want you to hurt your back more,” Juliette says gently. “You should sleep in your own bed.”
Luca shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes.”
Luca closes her eyes.
Juliette changes tactics. “It’ll be easier to cuddle in bed.”
Luca opens one eye to glance at Juliette askew. The start of a smile betrays Luca. Juliette lets her fingers trace up the inside of Luca’s knee to her thigh, drifting just beneath the hem of her shorts. Goose bumps pucker along her skin. Finally, with a swallow, Luca nods.
Juliette maneuvers herself out from under Luca’s legs and holds out her hand. Luca takes it, and Juliette helps lift her off the couch.
“Ouch,” Luca mutters and grabs her back. Juliette wraps her arm around Luca to keep her upright, taking a majority of her weight as her knees buckle.
“I got you,” Juliette says, and Luca’s free hand clasps around Juliette’s bicep, fingertips digging in.
“Sorry,” Luca murmurs, “I’m okay.”
Still, Juliette holds on to Luca as they hobble together into the bedroom.
Juliette is about to ask if she can lie down with her when she hears the familiar click of a key in the door.
Luca lets go. “Vladimir,” Luca says, climbing into bed with a groan.
“Stay lying down. It’s better for you,” Juliette says, touching Luca’s shoulder. She leans on the doorjamb. “Hey, Vladimir,” she calls, and Luca’s coach startles in the center of the abandoned living room.
“Oh, erm, hello, Juliette,” Vladimir says, a comically shocked expression on his face.
“Luca’s in her room,” Juliette says, unsure how to explain why she’s here.
Vladimir tilts his head, blue eyes scrutinizing Juliette’s face. Like Luca, he gives absolutely nothing away. “I brought food. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Juliette glances down at the white bag bursting with takeout containers.
“Neither did Luca. I showed up unannounced,” Juliette says. “Anyway, I should go. Early practice time.” It’s a lie, but she’s uncomfortable under Vladimir’s impassive scrutiny.
She glances over her shoulder and meets Luca’s eyes. “I’ll see you in Miami, then, yeah?” It’s a hope, a promise, even if it feels too far away. Still, she smiles at Luca.
Luca nods. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, Lucky Luca,” Juliette teases as she backs out the door and Luca grins, that adorable dimple popping out again.
Juliette gathers her gaming console, shoving all the cables into her backpack haphazardly before stepping out of Luca’s room and sagging against the door.
She knows her sisters will want an update, but she stands in the peace of knowing she hasn’t messed up this time.
And, for once, she isn’t afraid of the butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach.
She heads out to the lobby and orders an Uber to take her back to Claudia’s apartment. She shoots their group chat a quick text to tell them she’s on her way back. She expects one of them to call, but Octavia responds first.
OCTAVIA
Antony is pissed you skipped practice. He’s here. Brace yourself.
Juliette’s stomach drops and all of her giddy joy freezes into immediate dread. The Uber arrives, and Juliette climbs in the back.
JULIETTE
Thanks for the warning D:
She fidgets with her phone as the lights of London blur together.
She should have answered her father’s million questions about why she was skipping practice, beyond a simple I am.
At the same time, though, Antony Ricci wouldn’t have understood.
He has never been good at oscillating between being a father and being her coach.
Juliette wonders which Antony she’ll have the pleasure of arguing with tonight. Probably both at once. Or, whichever one will lay the most guilt onto Juliette’s shoulders.
Too soon, the Uber turns onto Claudia’s quiet street and stops in front of her building. Slowly, as if her joints are made of rusted metal, Juliette gets out of the car and heads into Claudia’s apartment. She lets the door bang shut, announcing her arrival, and hears the murmur of conversation die.
Juliette winces. She slings her backpack around the banister of the stairs and takes a deep breath before wandering into the living room.
“Hey, Jules!” Livia says, lying across the bay window seat. She grins, but it’s too wide and uncomfortable. Octavia is nowhere to be seen. Claudia is sitting across from their father in her usual love seat, but this time she’s upright, feet flat on the floor.
“Juliette,” Antony says, staring at her from the couch she and her sisters had gossiped and snacked on just a week ago.
“Hey,” Juliette says.
With deliberate slowness, Antony rises from the couch. “Let’s talk,” he says, calm and even-toned. He won’t yell at Juliette in front of her sisters.
Livia flashes her a sympathetic thumbs-up, but Claudia doesn’t even look at her as she follows Antony into the back garden. The plants are growing wild, their blooms full of color and warmth, much like Claudia.
Antony plucks one of the flowers and twirls it in his fingers. “Do you want to win, Juliette?” he asks.
“Wimbledon?” Juliette asks for clarity.
Antony’s eyes snap to hers. “Anything. Wimbledon. Miami. Cincinnati. The US Open.”
“Yes,” Juliette says firmly.
“Good.” Antony sighs, a long-suffering and disappointed sound. “It does not seem like you do.”
“I missed one practice,” Juliette says, barely restraining an eyeroll.
“One practice during one of the most important weeks of the year,” Antony hisses, his voice low but harsh. “I have been lenient with you over the years. Perhaps too lenient, but you almost won the Australian Open.”
Juliette flinches. She doesn’t want to be reminded of that failure.
“You’re almost twenty-four years old, Juliette. It is time to stop being irresponsible and take this seriously.” Antony’s eyes are as sharp as a shark’s, his voice pitched low, even though there’s probably no one in this area able to understand Italian.
“I am taking this seriously!” Juliette exclaims. “Missing one practice does not mean I don’t care.”
Antony’s eyes narrow. “Where were you?”
Juliette considers lying, but she thinks one of her sisters probably already spilled about where she was. “With a friend.”
“Which friend?”
Juliette swallows. “Luca Kacic.”
Antony scoffs. “You are not friends with her.” He shakes his head. “Do I have to remind you who took your Australian Open win away from you?”
“No, you do not,” Juliette says, heat burning along the back of her neck. “But you have no control over who I’m friends with.”
“Juliette,” he says slowly, his eyes boring into her.
“Please, let’s not be naive. I only want what is best for you.
” Juliette grits her teeth as Antony stares at her.
Then he stalks across the lawn and plants his hands on Juliette’s shoulders.
He gently taps Juliette’s cheek like she’s a child.
“And Luca Kacic is your enemy.” He spits her name as if it is poison. “Even if she is your soulmate.”
Juliette shakes her head. “She isn’t my enemy.
And I’m not throwing away my career by having friends.
” For years she’s kept herself busy and away from other people.
She has let friendships and potential partners slip through her fingers for the sake of tennis.
“I still want to be the best,” she says. “I can balance friendship and tennis.”
Antony frowns, as if he doesn’t believe her.
She wants to shout and shake his shoulders.
Force him to understand that she still loves this sport and she won’t disappoint him again.
Juliette’s stomach turns unpleasantly. “As long as you still work hard.” There is an assumed question at the end of his statement.
Juliette nods. “Always,” she murmurs. She knows it’s true, deep in the marrow of her bones. But tennis isn’t the only thing she’s allowed to care about.
Antony doesn’t look convinced, but he nods before stepping past Juliette and back into Claudia’s apartment.
He’s ceded ground, but somehow, Juliette feels worse.