Chapter Thirty-Five Luca
THIRTY-FIVE LUCA
“What’s bothering you?”
Luca’s gaze snaps up to Vladimir. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” She glances sideways at the cameras being set up for Miami’s press day. Players mill around the back of the main stadium, waiting patiently for their turn and hiding from the vicious sun.
Vladimir’s brows raise over his sleepy, hooded eyes. His cheeks are flushed from a sunburn Luca doesn’t remember being there the other day. What else has slipped her notice since her thoughts have been consumed by Juliette?
“I’m only checking in,” Vladimir says evenly, patting Luca’s shoulder, and a bit of the tension in her chest unwinds.
She fiddles with her wrist wrap, the humidity sticky against her skin.
Even though this is literally part of her job, Luca’s insides feel more scrambled than usual.
There’s a lingering question about whether she’s fully recovered from her injury.
The hard court swing is always her favorite, but there’s a deepening pressure at being the number one player and being on her preferred surface.
On top of all that, her mind keeps picking at the things Juliette has said, at the posts about their rivalry and whether there’s more between them, at how people seem to be looking at them even more now.
So many comments and tweets are about how this is normal for Juliette.
She’s always been a flirt who flits from person to person, having flings and two-week-long relationships.
Luca had never cared to look into Juliette’s past lovers, but now it’s all Twitter wants to throw at her.
A full thread of every person she’s held hands with or had in her box.
It’s all piling on and threatening to snap Luca in half.
Those are the thoughts that should be plaguing her and eating away at her confidence.
Instead, it’s Juliette’s sudden panic attack that has left Luca feeling woozy and off-balance the most. Dark thoughts infect the cracks she knows she should patch up, but much like a scab, it’s easier to peel away the healing flesh and see what lies beneath.
She’s just doing this to mess with you.
You’re just one of many in a string of failed relationships.
She pinches the inside of her elbow to ground herself and focuses her gaze away from the concrete pad of cameras and lighting equipment until she spots Nicky’s bright splash of red hair on the grass. “I’m going to talk to Nicky,” she tells Vladimir.
Luca knows she’s been withdrawn from Nicky and has not answered a single one of his texts.
It isn’t uncommon; she is historically bad at texting.
Still, her stomach twists in anxious knots as she walks across the lawn.
Nicky has always been understanding of her tendency to avoid interactions when she’s too busy or stressed.
And he knows she prefers to talk in person.
Luca calls out to him, but he doesn’t turn his head. Magnus Akerman, Nicky’s on-again, off-again partner, glances up and flicks Luca a wave. He sits next to Nicky, long legs sprawled out and his knee barely nudging Nicky’s.
“Hey,” Luca says, and Nicky’s head turns slowly, tilting up as he squints at Luca.
“Oh, are we friends now, Kacic?” Nicky asks, an undertone of ice sending a shiver down her spine.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Luca asks, glancing at Magnus.
Magnus’s brow scrunches, but as always, he says nothing. He’s always been one to simply skirt in the shadows of Nicky’s light, following him around like a dutiful wolf. The commentators love to call him the Swedish Servebot, but he’s only just made his debut in the Top Ten last month.
Nicky’s mouth twists. “What do you think?” He scrambles to his feet and brushes the grass off his shorts. “Friends usually tell friends when they’re dating someone,” he hisses, glaring at Luca.
“What?” Luca’s stomach bottoms out.
“And the fact that I found out you’ve been screwing Juliette Ricci from Twitter?” Nicky rakes his hands through his hair, sending it into fiery disarray.
Luca doesn’t know how to process any of the words coming out of Nicky’s mouth. “They shouldn’t know about that,” Luca whispers because that is the thing currently digging holes in her brain.
Nicky chokes on a nearly hysterical laugh. “So it’s true?”
Luca knows she needs to say something else, but the sun is too bright and her focus slips to Nicky’s clenched fists.
“I don’t understand,” Luca whispers.
Nicky shakes his head. Magnus stands and touches Nicky’s shoulder, but he brushes him off. “It’s your life and I shouldn’t be so upset about this, but fuck, Lou, after everything we’ve been through, you can’t tell me what’s going on with you and Ricci?”
Luca tries to take a deep breath, but it’s hard with the pressure crushing her lungs. “This isn’t really about Jules and me, is it?” Luca murmurs.
Nicky’s facade of anger shatters into hurt. He looks away and crosses his arms over his chest, defensive in a way that Luca has never seen before. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.”
Luca follows Nicky’s gaze and sees that several players and media interns are glancing at them out of the corner of their eyes. Luca’s skin crawls, distinctly aware that this isn’t a conversation to have in public, but her stomach aches to think that she hurt Nicky.
“It does matter,” Luca starts, but a springy ponytailed woman with too much energy bounces up to them.
“Nicholas Andrews? We’re ready for you,” she says with a bright smile.
Luca watches as Nicky’s face transforms from barely concealed hurt to a bright, cheerful smile.
After years of practice, it’s a smooth transition, but Luca still sees how much Nicky hides behind his eyes.
Because she’s known him since they were sixteen and he was the only person at tennis camp who would talk to her.
Because she’s seen him hide his emotions from everyone, but never from her.
He always confided in her about everything , but now, she’s pushed him so far away that he won’t talk to her.
“What is happening?” She turns on Magnus as soon as Nicky is out of earshot.
Magnus’s shoulders hitch up to his ears and he holds up his palms in surrender. “I have no idea.”
Luca pinches the bridge of her nose. “Shouldn’t you know? What’s been going on with him?”
Magnus shrugs. “I’ve been asking him that all week. He won’t talk to me.” He stares after Nicky, who is clearly and shamelessly flirting with the producer lacing a microphone through his collar. “Are you going to Remi’s boat party?”
Luca nods, looking away from Nicky. Her stomach churns. This is her fault. How is she going to fix this?
“Talk to him there, Luca.” Magnus clasps her shoulder and gives her a little shake, which Luca knows is meant to make her feel better, but it intensifies her nausea.
Usually, she would’ve dismissed the haunting paranoia in her chest as her typical anxious thoughts, but she can’t help but worry this party is going to end in sinking ships.
JULIETTE
“Drama on the Miami lawn this afternoon,” Claudia says as she sashays into Octavia’s room.
Juliette sits up so fast her head spins. The room is permeated with the scent of hair spray, grapefruit, and lilac.
Claudia holds out her phone. “Apparently the Licky stans think they’re fighting.”
“The what?” Juliette snatches the phone out of Claudia’s hand and scrolls through the feed. There’s a video of Luca and Nicky arguing over something, but it’s cut off by him being rushed off to do his media interviews.
“Luca and Nicky? Their ‘ship’ name. Kinda cute, I think,” Claudia says, plopping down on the bed next to Juliette.
“They have a ship name?”
Claudia groans. “Of course they do. If a man and a woman are best friends, the internet will immediately think they’re secretly madly in love.”
“Leo and I have one,” Octavia says from the vanity. She’s straightening her silky dark hair into elegant flips. “Leoctopus.”
“Gross,” Juliette says, and Octavia flips her off.
Juliette stares at the posts, scrolling through them without really seeing them.
She clicks on the #juluca and frowns at the flood of tweets about the pictures from the other day on the boardwalk.
“But wait, if people think Luca and I are in a relationship, this speculation isn’t just going to go away. ”
@RowlandGarros
wait! jules and luca not clawing each other’s throats out? we keep winning #juluca
@luckyclaycic
bitch if we dont get another juluca interaction during the hard court swing imma lose it fr #juluca
@nickyssmile
y’all are clowns for thinking #juluca has a chance. #licky is the friends-to-lovers arc we want
“What does half of this even mean?” Juliette asks, thrusting Claudia’s phone back at her. “This was meant to be over.” She drops her head into her hands.
“Miami is built for things not to blow over,” Claudia says, patting her shoulder.
Juliette groans. “That does not help.”
“Octo! Do you have a red lipstick? Mine ran out.” Juliette doesn’t look up as Livia’s footsteps tap down the hall.
“Yep, come in,” Octavia calls, and the door creaks open.
Claudia gasps, and Juliette looks up in surprise.
“What the hell are you wearing?” The words fall out of Juliette’s mouth before she can stop them.
Her little sister, who is rarely seen out of her favorite sweatpants and oversize T-shirts, her hair always stuffed into a floppy and frizzy bun, is wearing a dress.
“Where did you get this? Wow, I didn’t know you had curves,” Octavia says, swiveling around to look at her.
Livia is in a slinky black dress, dripping from her silhouette and revealing more than Juliette ever expected to see. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, her usual frizzy mess tamed into bouncy ringlets.
“What? I’m going to the party.” She rubs her palms down her thighs, and Juliette blinks at the double slit that reveals her thigh on both sides.
“Not in that. No fucking way.” Juliette will not have her baby sister harassed by drunken tennis players all night.
Livia’s eyes narrow. “Yes, I am. Red lipstick, Octo.”
Octavia stares at her.
“I am an adult. I was invited to this party, and this is what I’m wearing. If you have a problem with it, too bad,” Livia says, her hand still open and expecting.
“Livie, we’re looking out for you,” Claudia starts.
“Don’t give me that shit, Claudia. If anything, I’m the one keeping all of you in line.
So, what, you get to be crazy and wild but poor little Livie can’t have one night of fun?
” Livia’s chest heaves and color floods her cheeks.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t look and feel good going to this party. ”
“Every tennis player that matters will be there, probably drunk, and I’d rather not have my baby sister sexually harassed.
Is that enough of a reason?” Juliette snaps.
Heat bubbles beneath her skin—anger, but more than that, fear.
She can’t let something happen to Livia.
She trusts Octavia and Claudia to protect themselves, but Livia is the softest of them. She is sweet and innocent.
Or so she thought.
Livia starts to reply when Octavia cuts her off quietly. “Who are you meeting there?”
Livia freezes. “No one,” she snaps, too quickly.
“Livia,” Claudia tries to say, but Livia shakes her head.
“No!” Her voice raises and shakes, so unlike her that Juliette is unsure whether she’s about to laugh or cry.
“You all get to have your secrets and I don’t press you on it.
I don’t tell anyone, I keep us all safe and our images crystal clear.
So, for once, let me have my fucking secret.
” Livia stamps her foot, which only makes her look even more like a petulant child.
Octavia stands, setting her straightener down. “Well, I think you look lovely.”
Juliette blinks. “Octavia,” she starts, but Octavia’s iron glare stops her.
“Thank you,” Livia says breathlessly, taking the red lipstick Octavia holds out. Then she storms from the room without another word.
Juliette blinks, frozen in betrayal.
“What the hell was that about?” Claudia demands.
Octavia meets their gazes in the mirror and shrugs. “She’s right. She’s an adult.”
“She shouldn’t be wearing that,” Claudia says, running her fingers over her hair and sweeping the thick mane off her neck.
“No, probably not, but it doesn’t matter now.” Octavia straightens her shoulders. “We have a better chance of keeping an eye on her if we don’t drive her away.” She shoots them a dark look, eyebrow raised.
Then, she sweeps to the closet and pulls out a pair of crisp white sneakers and a strand of pearls. “This will match your jumpsuit,” Octavia says, tossing them at Claudia. She can’t catch them in time, and they clatter to the floor, effectively ending the conversation.
Juliette presses her knuckles to her sternum, hoping it brings her some comfort like it seems to do for Luca.
It does not.
Her phone lights up on her lap, and she opens her messages to find a text from Antony with practice notes.
She should ignore them until tomorrow, but she opens the document and finds it’s significantly longer than his usual notes.
Under the first header, “To Work On,” Juliette scrolls through three pages of errors she made during her practice.
Slow on footwork.
Racket speed through the ball significantly slower.
Sluggish on decision-making.
Inconsistent ball toss on serve.
As it continues, Juliette’s throat closes. She knew she was distracted at practice that morning, but not this badly. She hasn’t had such a scathing review of her game since she was twelve and tried to play with a sprained ankle. Now she has no excuse for practicing so horribly.
She knows why she was tired, slow, preoccupied.
At the end of the document, Juliette’s heart stops.
Without getting to a quarterfinal, you’ll drop out of the Top Ten to number twelve.
Juliette slides her phone into her purse, but her father’s words are seared into her skull.
They weigh heavily in her chest, a physical manifestation of how out of control she feels and how much it has ruined her game.
He knows Juliette better than anyone else, and he has always wanted what was best for her.
He wants her to reach her goal of being number one.
The further she falls, the harder it’ll be to win tournaments and claw her way back to the top.
So maybe it is time she listens to him.