Chapter Twenty-Six Luca
TWENTY-SIX LUCA
Vladimir insists on joining Luca at her hotel to watch Juliette play in the Wimbledon quarterfinal. It’s stressful watching her play Chen Xinya and near impossible to keep her face neutral. Every missed backhand and randomly thrown-in double fault has Luca flinching.
She hasn’t talked to Vladimir about her tenuous friendship with Juliette Ricci.
She hasn’t told anyone about it. Nor about the sudden appearance of Juliette in her dreams, or the longing that has buried itself between her ribs.
Luca swallows around the realization that Juliette has subtly intertwined herself in Luca’s heart without her even realizing it.
It is possible Juliette wants to screw her over, but despite everything Juliette has said, her actions say something completely different.
And in a rush of unstoppable desire and the absolute knowledge that this is right, Luca has let herself fall.
If she thinks about it too much, she’ll panic, so she chooses to trust her gut.
Watching Juliette does nothing to lessen the feelings. It’s thrilling to revel in Juliette’s fluid grace, her toned body, her sweat-slicked olive skin tanned by the sun, her tousled mess of highlighted-brown curls that darken with sweat as the July sun beats down on her….
“Are you sure you should play Miami?” Vladimir asks as Juliette breaks to win the first set.
Luca can barely breathe, she has been so invested in the match. It’s a weird sensation, to be rooting for her rival. Especially when Juliette winning Wimbledon would mean she’s a step closer to overtaking Luca’s number one ranking.
“Yes,” Luca says belatedly, mentally cursing the TV as they cut to a commercial even though Juliette is lifting her shirt to wipe the sweat off her brow and lip.
“Luca,” Vladimir admonishes.
Luca looks over at him, reclining on the adjacent couch.
She doesn’t understand why a penthouse living room needs three couches, but at least both of them can lie down to watch the TV.
His hands are clasped behind his head, showing off the plethora of tattoos that snake across his pale skin.
Luca never dared to ask what they meant, even though she knows Vladimir would tell her.
“What?” She looks back at the television. “I have a lot of points to defend.”
“It’s going to be so hot. You’ll be cooked! The pavement will melt.”
Luca frowns. “I’ll be fine.” The doctor gave her the all-clear for playing in the next tournament.
“You shouldn’t have to be. I don’t know why they made Miami the beginning of the US hard court swing.” Vladimir heaves out a resigned sigh. “April was better.”
Luca shrugs. “It’s a cruel summer.” The broadcast returns to Juliette serving in the first game of the third set.
“I thought you disliked her,” Vladimir says suddenly, and Luca snaps her head to look at him.
“Dislike who?” She blinks, and Vladimir’s lips curve into a barely there smile.
“Ricci,” he says, gesturing to the television.
“Oh.” Luca looks back to see Juliette acing Xinya to even the game at thirty-all.
“Are you two getting closer?” Vladimir presses, and Luca plants her cheek on her hand to hide her blush. She shrugs, aiming for nonchalance, but Vladimir laughs.
Whatever is brewing between them, Luca knows it’s too delicate.
She’s afraid that any misplaced word will break the tentative strings holding them together, and she can’t lose Juliette.
Not when she’s only had the briefest taste of her.
Luca wants to explore the boundaries of this relationship, and it seems Juliette does, too.
If that means they get closer, so be it.
“I don’t know,” Luca says, fiddling with her phone. For two days, she’s been texting Juliette. It’s different from talking, easier, since she can’t see Juliette’s face or read too much into her reactions.
Although, sometimes it’s worse. Luca often has to swallow the itching desire to respond within seconds.
“Really?” Vladimir’s voice drips with incredulous snark.
Luca is half-tempted to throw a pillow at him. “You know I’m not good with feelings,” she mutters.
“Oh, so there are feelings involved?”
Luca smashes the pillow into her own face and groans. “No!” she shouts through the fabric.
When she lowers the pillow, Vladimir stares at her with a knowing look. “Be serious, Luca.”
Luca picks at the peeling skin around her thumb and says nothing. She doesn’t know what to say.
“I will always advocate for your happiness. I may be your coach, but I also love you as if you were my own child,” Vladimir says, achingly sincere.
Luca’s eyes sting, and she swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. Vladimir has never been the sentimental type. He is a quiet listener, a gentle soother, but never someone who outright says what Luca needs to hear.
“And I know how much tennis means to you,” Vladimir adds. “I love seeing you play at this level, and if you hated it, I would tell you to quit. But you do love it, Luca. And I don’t know if this relationship is good for you.” His tone is pointed, and Luca understands why.
Her last relationship had not ended well.
Mae was another tennis player and had known that Luca wouldn’t always prioritize her.
They had agreed to keep their relationship to “just sex,” but Luca’s heart hadn’t gotten the memo.
When she expressed that she wanted more, that she was in love , Mae had recoiled.
Luca doesn’t blame her, not anymore.
Still, after the breakup, she didn’t win a match for three months. She lost touch with her friends.
Except Nicky. He held tight and didn’t let her disappear.
He and Vladimir rebuilt Luca from the demolished rubble and helped her suture up her fractured heart and feelings.
She started winning again. Clawed her way into main draws of important tournaments, got notoriety and sponsors and a nickname from tennis fans.
Now, she’s on that precipice again and hoping she won’t be crushed.
Luca looks up at Vladimir, a gentleness to his pale gaze that Luca is still uncomfortable under. It has taken years to build a tennis career and she has sacrificed relationships, friendships, and family to be in this position. Several of her exes hated that she didn’t prioritize them.
“I know.” Luca’s heart has never been particularly adept at compartmentalizing, and a part of her still worries that Juliette is only messing around to try to throw Luca off her game. “I’m figuring out the boundaries,” she says finally.
Her life is nearly perfect now, except she can’t keep her nagging anxiety from telling her that Juliette is only going to hurt her in the end.
Her heart feels like a grenade, ready to explode after any rejection.
She needs to be careful, outline the boundaries of whatever this is, and not implode her life from the inside out. This won’t—it can’t —be like last time.
“If Juliette makes you happy, I will be happy. I want you to reach your goals, so if they’ve changed, I need to know,” Vladimir says.
Luca heaves out a sigh. “I want everything.”
“Life rarely gives you that,” Vladimir says with a rueful smile.
Luca leans her head back against the couch and lolls it back toward the television. Juliette has lost her serve, and Xinya is poised to win her next game.
“Ugh,” Luca mutters. She turns her attention back to Vladimir. “I know I can’t have my cake and eat it too, but for once, I want to.”
Vladimir shrugs. “Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe it won’t. But I want you to make the best choices for yourself, and even if it all falls apart, Luca, you won’t be alone.”
Luca has to bite the inside of her cheek and stare at a spot on the floor to hold back her tears. “Thanks,” she says, her voice raspy.
Vladimir simply hums, giving Luca the space to collect herself. By the time she does, Juliette’s serve is about to be broken again.
The camera flashes over to Xinya’s box after she crushes one of Juliette’s weak returns down the line.
Luca squints, almost certain that Remi Rowland is in the second row.
It’s hard to tell with a hat pulled low over her face.
Seeing other players in someone’s personal box is unusual, but Luca shakes it off.
If anyone could get away with it, it would be a social butterfly and extrovert like Remi. It isn’t that weird.
Although… maybe, eventually, she could sit in Juliette’s box. Antony Ricci might kill Luca for even attempting it, but she doesn’t mind the thought of watching Juliette courtside. Anticipating the hypothetical Twitter response does make her shiver, though.
The rest of the set does not go Juliette’s way.
Xinya is one of the best returners on the tour.
She is lightning-quick with decent volleys.
Any ball Juliette leaves short, Xinya attacks and puts away with either a featherlight drop shot or an angled volley.
Juliette loses the second set 6–2, with one final set for the match.
It’s grueling. Xinya holds easily, but Juliette struggles to keep the score even. Eventually, Juliette hangs on to send it to a tiebreaker.
“She’s playing too passively,” Vladimir says as Xinya prepares to serve. “She needs to move in, make Xinya defend instead of letting her play aggressively and dictate from the center of the court.”
Luca frowns. “Her forehand is misfiring, though,” she says.
“The best way for her to gain confidence is to hit out, to trust her muscle memory,” Vladimir says. “She will lose either way—by letting Xinya dictate the points or by hitting the ball out, but only one of those could lead to a win.”
Luca considers Juliette as she loses the first point to Xinya serve-and-volleying. Her shoulders are tense as she holds out her racket to the ball kid. She lets two of them roll behind her as she steps up to the baseline.
Luca has been on the wrong side of that serve during a tiebreaker. At first, she couldn’t figure out how to adjust to the strange lefty spin Juliette hooks onto her kick serve. Finally, Vladimir had urged her to step in and take the ball on the rise.
Which is exactly what Xinya does to take the point. Juliette should move forward, but she doesn’t. She hesitates, keeps the ball in the middle of the court, and hopes Xinya makes a mistake.
She doesn’t.
Xinya has Juliette on strings, moving from one side to the other until she whips a crosscourt angle and steals the minibreak. The crowd roars in awe, and Luca bites her already worn-down nails.
“Come on, Jules,” she mutters to herself.
As Juliette gathers her composure for the next point, Luca thinks about Vladimir’s tennis advice. It explains a bit of Juliette’s behavior in real life. All aggression and passion until she starts missing, then her confidence drains away.
Juliette doesn’t win another point, and the match ends on a rather anticlimactic ace from Xinya.
Juliette slides the white headband off her forehead and shakes out her sweaty curls as she jogs to the net.
She clasps Xinya’s hand and touches her shoulder.
The announcers and the roar of the crowd keep Luca from being able to hear what they’re saying to each other, so she switches the broadcast to Nicky’s match.
Guilt worms its way into her throat at the thought of the string of messages he’s sent that she hasn’t replied to yet.
She should text him, but she clicks on Juliette’s name instead.
She knows Juliette won’t respond for a couple of hours, but she types out a message anyway. Perhaps this is her way of being more aggressive, going for what she wants. They won’t get anywhere by playing passively.
LUCA
Tough loss, Xinya’s a top player. You did play well.
If you’re looking to drown your sorrows in some bright sun, you could join me in Miami
Maybe she should add a winky face? Or is leaving it without a period better, more open-ended?
Before she can overthink it anymore, she hits send and tosses her phone to the end of the couch, so she’ll have to sit up to get it again.
Her chest constricts, but she stares up at the ceiling as if nothing is wrong.
Vladimir shuffles around the kitchen, ice clinking.
Luca’s phone buzzes and she lunges for it.
It’s only a message from Nicky’s soulmate and on-again, off-again boyfriend, Magnus, about the match.
She sighs and watches the lucky loser—a player who lost in qualifying for the main draw but got in because another player pulled out—march onto the court for his first quarterfinal.
Nicky follows with a sunshine-smile, waving at the crowd as the announcer lists off his accomplishments.
As expected, it isn’t until Nicky is almost through his third set that her phone buzzes. She stares at where it lies facedown, hiding whatever message is waiting.
With a deep breath, she flips it over and opens the message.
JULIETTE
are you serious?
I mean that earnestly. like are you fucking with me?
LUCA
I’m not. If you want to come early for Miami, we can have some fun? It’s fine if not, but I thought I’d offer.
Luca does not have to wait long for Juliette’s response.
JULIETTE
have fun, huh?
Luca’s cheeks heat, and she fiddles with the fringe on a pillow, the blinking cursor laughing at her as she tries to parse precisely what she wants to say.
LUCA
Another massage perhaps?
Get to know each other better?
“Way to break back, Nicky!” Vladimir’s voice is too loud and too close, and Luca slams her phone onto her chest.
“Yes! He’s playing well,” Luca says, even though she wasn’t paying attention. Her phone buzzes, and as Vladimir arranges himself on the couch again with a sandwich, she sneaks a glance at the text.
JULIETTE
gimme the room # and I’ll be there
Luca smiles to herself as she texts her room number. Warm tingles spread out from her stomach, excitement taking root alongside her low-level buzz of anxiety.
For once, the idea of exploring something physical with Juliette doesn’t make Luca want to vomit from fear.
Well, it does, but Luca is not going to sit and play passively until they both lose.