Chapter Thirty-Eight Juliette
THIRTY-EIGHT JULIETTE
“Where is your head at, Juliette?” Antony asks.
They’re sitting in a booth at the back of the vegan restaurant Claudia convinced them all to come to after winning the Cincinnati Open doubles’ title.
The Phoenician Taverna is their favorite restaurant that also serves vegan food and Claudia hadn’t wanted to celebrate without her doubles partner, Xinya.
Claudia, Xinya, and Remi are currently at the bar, taking some sort of tequila and spinach shot. They’d played spectacularly, and Juliette is pleasantly sunburned from sitting in her player box for two hours.
Still, Juliette can’t find the energy to enthusiastically party with her sister and friends.
It’s been two weeks since she broke up with Luca, and it seems that perhaps Luca feels similarly, even if she is playing better than Juliette.
On court, she’s even colder. She plays, wins, and leaves.
There is no joy in her face, no fist pumps, no energy outside of points.
Whenever the camera focuses on Luca’s face, Juliette can see the dark circles beneath her eyes and the chapped skin of her lower lip.
She still sweeps through her opponents without much trouble, because she’s just incredibly talented.
In the promotional videos the WTA makes them do, she’s so charming with her smiles and jokes.
Everyone’s been mentioning how much Luca’s come out of her shell this season.
@julesisthesun
the edits that will come from this interview alone will be fire. get on it girlies!!
@gamesetvroom
she’s taking every tournament this swing, istg she’s gonna charm her opponents into defaulting.
@liviasburner
If luca kacic has millions of fans i am one of them. if luca has ten fans i am one of them. if luca has only one fan, that is me. if luca has no fans, that means i am no longer on the earth. if world against luca, i am against the world.
And even if Twitter sees this newer side to Luca, Juliette sees how she’s still guarding herself.
She’s keeping everyone at a racket’s length and Juliette longs to see her true smile, the one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corner.
She wants, despite herself, to hear Luca’s honking laugh.
Juliette doesn’t know if she’s just projecting but Luca doesn’t seem happy either.
And Juliette feels ripped to shreds, left in tatters.
“Onto the next tournament,” Juliette says finally, tracing water rings into the table from her glass’s condensation. She lost in the first round of Miami, and then in the second round of Cincinnati to a random player. Maybe she’s cursed to never play well again.
At least in Miami, Luca lost in the semifinals to Remi, setting up the strangest final in the history of tennis, between Remi and Xinya.
It was the first time that confirmed soulmates had ever played against each other.
And it was fun to watch. It was clear that they knew each other’s games inside and out.
Remi always plays high risk, never backing down from trying to clip the line with every stroke.
Her serve almost always bailed her out with blistering speed and accurate placement.
Xinya, on the other hand, relied on her athleticism, variety of shots, and never missing to win.
And with both of them playing their best, it came down to a few points toward the end of each set.
Xinya won in the third set tiebreaker, falling to her knees as she did.
Then the camera had flipped to Remi. If Juliette hadn’t been watching the match, she would’ve thought Remi won.
The glow of pure joy and pride on her face made Juliette’s throat burn.
When Remi reached Xinya, she hugged her and spun her around.
In their speeches, they thanked each other for making each other better.
After, they held up their interlocked hands instead of their trophies, because they mattered more to each other.
Juliette had wanted to turn the channel, but Claudia had the remote and wouldn’t stop cooing over how cute they were. Her stomach clenches at the memory, and she worries she’ll spew falafel and eggplant all over the table.
“Are you still going to the match tomorrow?” Antony asks, yanking Juliette out of her thoughts. The lighting is low, casting deep shadows over the crags of Antony’s face, making him look even more stern as he frowns.
“It’s Octavia’s final. I have to,” Juliette says, even though she feels nauseated at the thought.
“I know that isn’t all of it,” Antony says. He pauses, for dramatic effect, then adds, “Your head is still wrapped up in Kacic.”
The sound of Luca’s name strikes the still-raw nerves in Juliette.
She can’t even lie and tell her father that this isn’t about Luca, because it is.
Even though she broke up with her, Juliette is haunted by the decision.
She may not be playing as horribly as she did the day after her panic attack, but she is far from her best. “Come on, Juliette, tell me what’s going on.
” Antony reaches across the table and takes her hand, stopping the incessant circles.
Juliette shakes her head, the back of her throat tightening again. God, when did she get so weepy? “We were trying to make a relationship work between us.” She lays her cheek against her other hand, looking out into the restaurant to avoid Antony’s gaze.
“Why?” Antony asks.
Juliette barks out a humorless laugh. “Why?” She slams her hand onto the table, making her father startle. She flips her arm over, the strip of black circled tightly around Luca’s name hiding it. “Take a wild fucking guess.”
Antony looks chagrined, and he frowns. “There is no need to use that language,” he says primly, if only to regain control of the conversation.
Juliette rolls her eyes, not even caring to restrain it. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll do better to answer your dumb questions respectfully,” Juliette says, letting sarcasm drip as heavy as sap.
Antony’s eyes narrow, and a muscle in his jaw flicks. “Luca Kacic has no right to your feelings. Especially if it jeopardizes your tennis.”
“I know!” Juliette snaps, the embers of anger sparking into flames. “Why do you think I broke up with her?”
“That was a mature decision, Juliette,” Antony says, giving her a loaded look.
He pities Juliette for ever believing a relationship with Luca was worth it.
“You shouldn’t go to the match tomorrow regardless.
It won’t be good to watch Kacic. Not so close to the US Open.
Not after your failure in this tournament. ”
It’s such a slap in the face that Juliette rips her hand out of Antony’s. “Don’t quit your day job as my coach, okay? I don’t need your judgment on my life.” She slides out of the booth.
“Juliette!” Antony calls, but Juliette is already weaving through the restaurant, and she bursts out the door into the evening air.
The sun slinks below the horizon, a bleached wash of soft oranges and baby pinks aglow on puffy clouds.
The Ohio wind ruffles her curls and caresses her cheeks, surprisingly refreshing.
She looks up at the sky, slowly deepening to indigos and twinkling with stars.
She thought the pain of pushing Luca away would fade with time, but if anything, it’s worse.
Juliette walks aimlessly until it’s fully dark and the moon is somewhere behind the clouds, hiding her face like Juliette is hiding her own.
By the time she realizes she’s hopelessly lost, she is in the middle of nowhere with only the glittering sea of stars above her, an expanse of tall, waving corn threatening to engulf her to her right, and a long empty road to her left.
She pulls out her phone and sees she has a couple of missed texts from her father about her schedule.
Typical. No apologies.
There are a few messages from Octavia about the match tomorrow. Usually, it would be Livia, but she’s been pissed since the party. She had come to Claudia and Xinya’s doubles match but sat in the back row, stiff and frowning with her sunglasses on the entire time.
Livia is still the content manager for all three of them, so she’s continued to do her job and book them flights and hotels, and post on their social media. All her texts have been impersonal, including the one sitting unopened about Juliette’s approval of a T-shirt post.
Juliette considers launching her phone into the corn.
However, she does the mature thing and turns it off before she begins the long trek back to the hotel. It’s late when she returns, swiping in with her key card. She nods at reception before her eye is caught by a lanky figure moving through the lobby.
For a moment, her heartbeat skips, and she thinks…
But no, it’s simply a janitor with a mop on his shoulder.
She trudges to her room, feeling like a fool for hoping to see Luca. For thinking maybe she’d see the same misery she feels reflected in Luca. That Luca might storm over to her and shake her and tell her she’s being stupid.
Maybe she is being stupid.
She goes through the motions of getting ready even though she wants to collapse face-first into the freshly fluffed pillows and let sleep take her away from her messy feelings.
Juliette finally opens Livia’s text. A new one flashes at her.
It’s a recommendation to post something about Claudia’s doubles’ win and wish good luck to Octavia.
Juliette groans and considers ignoring the suggestion, but she doesn’t want to seem petty by ignoring her sisters’ success when she’s flopping.
She yanks her camera out of her satchel and lays back against the covers to start flipping through her photos. None of them are particularly great, so her eyes glaze over until she hits a photo she forgot she took.
She gasps, her stomach suddenly aching as she stares at Luca.
In a jolt, Juliette is back on Miami Beach.
She can feel the tickle of saltwater air in her nose, hear the din of a crowd in her ears.
The beginnings of Luca’s smile is just starting to curl at the corners of her mouth, the dimple on her left cheek starting to show, a shadowy hint of the real thing.
She is squinting against the sun, but her gaze is fixed firmly on the lens. On Juliette.
Juliette scrolls back further, to pictures of a night she sometimes wishes she could forget, but can’t. Luca at the gala, bathed in red light. Juliette’s shaky hands give the photo a blurry edge. But Luca’s eyes are on her… again. Sharply in focus, as if Juliette is the only one in the room.
With her heart heavy in her chest, pressing her into the bed like an anvil, she goes to the first photo she ever took of Luca. Her fingertips tingle with the memory of Luca’s cheekbone against her skin.
She’d caught Luca midgasp, with her cheeks just starting to flush, a soft gradient of rosy pinks that Juliette knows spreads all the way down her neck and chest. The lighting is low, but Juliette had adjusted the settings to make Luca visible.
Her eyes are so soft, windows to her emotions. Longing and want and hope.
Juliette hugs her camera against her chest, unable to look at Luca looking at her like that.
Its weight presses against her collarbones, much like the swell of yearning that surges outward from her heart.
She misses Luca. Her presence, her humor, her insight, her love .
Even if they haven’t said it yet, Juliette knows it down to the marrow of her bones.
She may be able to get her career back on track without Luca, but fuck , she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t care if her life spirals out of control again because Luca grounds her.
Juliette breathes out, the tightness in her chest unwinding.
She has to fix this.